re: new poem!

Oregon Jack Creek

It is early morning

And I read archeological

And historic documents

Wading through hip deep

Rivers and creeks of paper

Reading about my people

My relations

My ancestors

Hunting and fishing

On the land

For thousands

And thousands of years

Our DNA in the ground

Living in sheest-kins, pithouses

During the cold months

And thule reed tipis

During the warmer months

Moving with the seasons

Speaking our language

Nlaka pamux

To one another

Shin-gee little brother

Cha cha little sister

Skee-Zeh mother

Sqac-Zeh father

Yah yah grandmother

Spap za grandfather

Yetek shin wen wen

A good morning

It is as I reclaim

My language

Reading about Oregon Jack creek

And how 4800 years ago

My Nshayt-kin

My relatives

Were processing

And butchering elk

Deer

Salmon

Berries

Potatoes

Herbs

Medicine

And preparing for winter

And as I drive up

And down the valley

Along the Thompson river

I try to imagine

What it was like

Before contact

How bright the stars were

How clean the air was

How free our people

Must have lived

Instead of now.

re: another new poem

An artists life:

I think people

Misinterpret an artists life

Believing it to be more

Glamourous

And exciting

Than it really is,

More adventure

More fame

And most importantly

Believe

There is more

Money

Than there really is

Mostly it is just tedious

Trying to come out

With a new work

A new show

For an ever fickle

Audience

That expects more for less

Or for free

And then

You have to promote it

Like hell

Like mad

Like you just invented

Sliced bread

Or the light bulb

And then do it all

On the cheap

Either through endless

Grant writing 

So you can have

The time the precious time

To create something new

And potentially exciting

When really there is not

Enough collaborating

Because everyone is fighting

For the almighty

The real god today

Money

And god forbid you

Do something amazing

Because then you end up

Sitting in airports

All the time

Going to festivals

And conferences

Talking about a project you

Are already over

And really just want to get home

To create something new

Or be with your kids

If you have kids

But you are slogging it out

On the grind

Doing your best

I am dead inside smile

Cant you see that?

For the millionth time

See kids?

It isn’t what you wanted

Or expected

Its much worse

So really

Don't even bother

Stay home

Live a good life

Get what you want

Get what you need

And stay out of the arts

Trust me

You will thank me

You wont go crazy

Like the rest of us.

re: new poem

The 15 pack prophet:

I was waiting for transit

When an aboriginal fella

Came up to me

Holding a 15 pack

Of Budweiser

He looked at me

Are you native he asked

Yeah

I replied

Cool, I knew it he said

He asked how long the liquor stores

Were open until

9 pm for the government ones

and 11 pm for the private ones

what!?!? 

He exclaimed

in Winnipeg theyre open till 2:30

in the morning 

oh yeah? I reply

I didn't much feel like talking

So I kept my mouth shut

He smelled slightly of booze

And seemed like a talker

We stood in silence

For a few minutes

Then he looked at me again

He had short hair

Clean clothes

Seemed normal

And then he said

Did you know im a prophet!?!

I am going to save our people

Oh yeah?! I reply regretfully

Yeah he replies

But not answering how really

Im going to unite all our people

Show them the way

Do you play guitar? He asks

Out of the blue

Yeah, a little bit I reply

He then says I was once offered

A deal by Sony records

By RCA when I was younger

Im nearly 40 now he concludes

Whens the bus get here?! He asks

In about 10 minutes I reply

A bus comes up

And he gets on it

The wrong one I tell him

He says he doesn't care

And gets on it

And disappears

I wait 10 more in the cold

And the bus I wait for arrives

I put my bike on the rack and get aboard

A few minutes later

The bus passes

The 15 pack prophet

Walks onward

And I slip into the night

Anonymous

One more time. 

re: more new pomes !!!

What is for breakfast dad?

Farts I reply

Dad what is for breakfast?

Farts I repeat

Silence

My youngest daughter stretches

Out on the couch

Dad that isn’t funny

I wasn't trying to be funny

Silence

Okay I will make some pancakes

Yay!

Life resumes joyfully.

re: more new poems!

Just like that:

Its over

The stress

The holiday has passed

The kids woke early

At the same

Time as I did

I groggily sit on the couch

And glad

To be sober

To not wake up

Hungover

Or sad or empty

The kids giggle

Filling their room with joy

And I am thankful

For this beautiful time.

The silence between now and then:

Is immediately

Noticeable when I wake up

The colourful Christmas lights

Strung throughout the apartment

Bring a delicate light

To wake up to

Its nice and quiet

I get up

Rub my eyes

The sand in the corners

Crumbles away

I groan a bit

Standing up

And stretch

I listen

Silence

Except for gentle snoring

In the girls room

And my sons room

Is a low rumble

I smile to myself

And head to the kitchen

To make coffee

And enjoy the silence

But joy knowing they

Are with me. 

re: new poems!

Dear friends, fans, foe and lovers,

here are some new poems, i will try to make 45 posts before new years eve and i am making a new plan creatively in my life. time for big changes and time to move forwards. lots to do! i thank you for your love and support, i wont let you down.

cheers and kukstemc,


Chris Bose.

Anger and Frustration:

I feel saddened

When I don't

Know how to parent

How to stop

Siblings from fighting

Over space on the couch

Two opposing sisters

8 and 10

fighting over a blanket

and couch space

and I send them to

their room

snapping at them

to not piss me off

the day before

Christmas

And they can have

Cold cereal

Because now I am

Pissed off

And frustrated

Because I never

Learned

Any parenting

Skills from a single

Mother

Who was traumatized

By St. Georges Residential

School in Lytton BC

I feel my lack

Of parenting skills

And coping mechanisms

At times

Like this

And know

And wonder

If the residential school system

Is still trickling down

And how to stop it

I think of what to say to my kids

And write this down

Merry Christmas.

Pause. Reset. Apologize. Discuss.

The couch:

As I lay on the couch

The house silent

As my two daughters also

Lay in silence in different rooms

I think back to 1978

Or 1979

When my mother

Got in a fight with her boyfriend

Terrance

What an asshole

A drunk

A wife beater

We were living in a trailer

Off hart highway

In prince George, just

Across the mall and skating rink (in 2000 it was still there)

He left to go get drunk

Somewhere

And my mom took a bunch

Of pills

Trying to kill herself

Then woke me up

And told me to go to friends

More than a kilometer away

In the cold

Christmas eve night

She passed out in my bed

And I ran around the trailer

Putting out the fires

And somehow didn't get burned

Then a car crashed out front

And some drunks banged on the door

For help

And saw what happened

And robbed us

While one tried to take advantage of

My mom

I pleaded with the woman

To get the two men out

And they finally left

But will all our gifts

Merry Christmas.