Poems - JP Melville

She And I Were Both Here - Somehow

 I am moving on from here now. A story is closed... a new chapter opened somewhere. I will have to find it. So... Epilogue Weyburn Yellowgrass You Me We All Too Two fathers buried there now, Weyburn? If not, I can help you with that. Maybe in Yellowgrass Or maybe even in Mauritius? Where the wind nor the dirt makes no difference Except perhaps their disregard of folly with which we encumbered history, For a family is was will be built there, Like to Yellowgrass where I go again this late summer With a daughter to visit gravestones slowly multiplying, For there is no escaping the living graves of our history... All of us immigrants of innocence. Psychiatry our fathers shared They cared Then politics and history again Rewrote rewrites erased erases their efforts One of colour One white Both dead except Alive a flame That they each one mattered too. I loved love my father Regardless of political erasure So too can you I know you do too. What is this faux Canada Who we all fails to rec...

                            Fi - In Search Of A Missing Note A Trilogy In Three Parts   Love Faith Life No longer in print. Only web version for now. email: jpmlvll (at) gmail.com  

Fi - In Search of A Missing Note Something happening Fi I couldn’t take you any where But where you’re gonna go Déja vu Some where when rising sun comes And sweat our skin shows Colour of love I move with you again dawn yellow sun Don’t let the night forget that I was there Cause I came when the horses called And riding through I’ll be there when again Again our sweat says here That God calls its really all okay Cause all you take you took from me and more… I’m okay let’s move rock on Women work and men fall back Let’s dance around a pole of history Cause baby Fi you’re the ride And ride I will Carry me through mountains thorns drop me leave me I’m ok bled… Love’s a ride and maybe Weyburn Reference to the world crowd That damn I’m from the bush and I’ve the guts to ride your plain… Babe she says I’m a ride your gonna ‘fraid to take Girls gals ain’t nothing near what that pop girl says Says hey… donwannabrakson...

Constellation 5 June 2020 jp Focus is an art…   (says he who is notoriously not…)   How not to be distracted by constellations so everywhere above and at our feet…. Wherein we are ourselves a constellation.

If There Was One Thing I Want To Say jp melville 1 april 2020 If there was one thing I want to say....

I Met You 2020 jp melville I met you upon a platform nowhere here one day… Neither yours nor my train nor station But there I you we were was… On platforms not of our own making. Hey: This aft about 2 good. You choose spot. I am mobile so wherever. “Little Victories,” you wrote… That those v’s would grow so, oh… Even with the white boys golfing on land claimed by others… Oh… indigenous people’s day… You said, “Buzzkill”. I said, “I am indigenous”. Both of us knowing that neither of us right or wrong: Both born on and in and through the land that gave us citizenship… That in any other language gave us native ethnic rooted rights… For I am not a colour Nor are you a history We are the child born… So we put aside our victories… Over each other… pale limpid constructs that they are… Those we have won and those for which we or others fight… I you we are not an ideology… God knows that love is...

I Struggle to Come to Right 2020 jp I struggle to come to right To confront and own Fears, force, passion To care about right things. A resilient life. Endure adversity. Wisdom in practice. Ambiguity and uncertainty. To journey home. To come to right.

Caravanserai – Dawn Creeps in Through the Mist 2000+   jp melville <song play chris isaak cover london grammar wicked game> Caravanserai, sleeping above where the camels once slept. A stone building with wide, tall archways, hosting travellers who now have nowhere to go but toward visiting the past, worlds not yet wholly versions of Dupont and EveReady and Nylon, yet celebrating New Year on December 31 st . Odd how we travel from airport to airport, from faucet to faucet that turn clockwise to open, from white granular salt that pours to white granular salt that pours... Yet we long for distinction in our lives, to say that we have been there and done that, there which is where we are not and that which is not this. And we try to do this by travelling, fucking a no one, and staying in places like those where camels once slept. Caravanserai… Where, I wonder, is the stench of manure in the cracks...