Inside the Mind of Muscle


Original artwork by Bernard S. Barnes

Do You Mind?

The mind that for
I can only fathom a guess
over two decades has been
for whatever ill-conceived reason
protected from harm and damage
inside a skull,
behind eyes,
atop a body,
whose digits drum incessantly
in intrusively noisy percussion
on the hard and hollow table-top,
is a mind that seems to me
allergic to stillness,
averse to silence,
absent of concern,
regard, or courtesy.
This mind,
this horrible and annoying mind,
may it enjoy its time
being met with kind smiles
and polite laughter for now
and may it at last and for good
meet its reckoning.
I curse you, O chatterbox.
I curse you, and hope
both your thumbs shrivel into toes
and eventually drop from your hands
into the mud
where they are consumed,
digested as seed-pods
and grow into enormous beanstalks
which yields nary a bean,


The Magician

The day started off normal enough, I muse to myself falling heavily into the chair pulled up to my kitchen table and gripping the cold bottle of lager freshly procured from my fridge. Thinking back on the events of the day, I find myself scarcely able to accept they actually occurred. Life sure can be funny sometimes. Continue reading

absolute rubbish

I remember a wistful evening I spent in Charlottetown
on the day before Victoria’s Day
two years before my life changing colon surgery

I was standing adrift in a field of witch hazel
near a lichen-covered pond full of ribiting bull frogs
beetles were a-buzz in the cool, close country air

the smells of warm horse apples wafted effortlessly on the air
from a barn-like structure on the edge of collapse
on the far side of a border fence made of cedar logs
and mixed with the peat from the nearby swamps
to form a heavy aroma that simply screamed “rural humility”

I, a young and foolish boy of twenty-six
burning with desire and Vick’s Vaporub
her, a vibrant girl dressed in a paper bag
she stole from the grocery store
her eyes peering into my own with a look
that seemed to cry out in a passion-filled wail
“Why is there pumpkin in your teeth?”
I knew what she was really saying

I will never forget Wilma
no matter how I try
pass the beans, please