Church: Untitled

"might be best to read Author's notes before reading Poem" Many thanks to my friend, Winston for his insightful and ever so needed counsel on a slight modification to the original version of this poem

Walking up Seymour

half block from the refurbished St Regis

a lost flock of desolation

angels sift

for the scent of spare change

I'm not in a giving mood.

Beggared out.

This f*****g city ought to re-brand itself,

Sodom and Gomorrah 2.0.

ΩÿΩ

Across the street the big blue T--

Granville Station beckons--

the tenth gate Dante never envisioned

I stop for a dart

inside a little nave,

turning to light,

the scales peel from my jaundiced eyes

Love is large and

incredibly patient...

not easily irritated...

Corinthians I...

Love is a safe place

for it never stops believing

the best for others...

I am lost, buggered
and somehow some how

finally found.

I gave the next poor b*****d passing
my last ten dollars. I'm fine,

I found the place

of believing.

Ken e Bujold

©2020

Author's Note

this is the last of 5 in what I am calling my Vancouver Suite. The 5 poems are in order of origination: Cambie Recollected; Hard Times; Chinatown, Sunday Morning; The Crooked People; and Church: Untitled.

Church: Untitled is named for a real church in Vancouver on Seymour St that works with the many homeless in the city. The bible verse cited is First Corinthians 13:4

While these poems may be jarring, or even unsettling for some, they are my attempt at coming to my own past. A brief history, I lived in this city for quite some time, before disillusionment with myself, my career choices, and the city drove me out. Had a lot of ambivalent feelings about the big V and haven't been back here in over 2 decades. Much has changed, and much hasn't, but I am a different person now, and I have exercised my demons. Vancouver is a beautiful city, surrounded by some of nature's most amazing natural wonders. Go visit it, I'm sure you will love it. The demons here are all mine.

A last note, if you wish additional context to the suite, read my poem Requiem of the Other Self, which is as autobiographical as I fear to ever get.

ken e