Bears in London

Part of my excuse for visiting London on the weekend was to attend the Forest City Bears bar night at Tracks 722, part of Club London spa. I was pleased to learn bigmacbear and gmjambear would also arrive from Rochester. After running errands with detailbear on Saturday, we met the boys for dinner at a Hungarian Restaurant.

The Budapest has been around for 40 years. It is decorated with gold and red velvet wallpaper, and burgundy velvet curtains. The two waitresses, sisters, had apparently worked there since the beginning. The elder had too much arthritis to be waiting tables. We had the younger, who served with an ambiguous grimace. I settled on duckling, while the others ordered more conventional fare. Afterwards the beaming elder sister brought a dessert plate with poppy seed loaf, ice cream rolled in a crepe and drizzled with chocolate, and something else I couldn't attempt.

The four of us stuck together for bar night. I was also happy to bump into Cloey; hadn't seen him in weeks. I met a sexy and affectionate biker from Sarnia. Later I recessed to the spa for a couple hours. Kevin's house is conveniently located nine blocks from the club.

[bigmacbear has posted a photo of Kevin and me along with a link to a gallery of London photos in his journal.]

Do you want me to sit in a corner and rust, or just fall apart where I'm standing?

On the phone last night, Brenna told me she and Marian went with their mother to see A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy on the weekend. I can hardly wait. She told me the voice of Marvin the robot is....

( this is perfect )

Three poems

A shot of the Y2K fireworks in Toronto, which I observed with my daughters from a condo near King and Bathurst

~~~~~~~~~~

(1)

A whole spectrum fancied;
pallid glare reveals a monochrome
night palette of hormones.
And what a moon
that sucks such heavy
course of blood and leaves
the chest can't hold this cavernous dire waning.
Enough it seems to fire new life
a multitude of variations on platelets.
Until all the crust turns up
a new explosion of theories and crucifixions.
No name to follow after all:
it's just a wordless feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kind of

It was the kind so full and fierce all you could do
    was open gasping but he filled your gape
    and tongued your soul.
The kind so lusty it broke your indecision
    so strong it uplifted the poor
    so wholesome it healed the broken-hearted.
The kind that rearranges
    continents.
So light it shattered sky off cities
    turning night so bright you saw the sun
    and day so dark you saw the stars.
It was the kind so rich
    you would kill to have it all to yourself
    or kill yourself to have it all again.

~~~~~~~~~~

(3)

In such a warring world as this
veiled with fire, torn with hate
could I be so old-fashioned
as to crave an elegant path
where evening light falls
beside the lake
where we might hold hands
and I could turn my smile
content
entrusted to your kindness.

~~~~~~~~~~


The second and third poems were written in a leatherbound diary balunbustingbea gave me for my birthday, the latter on March 27. "Kind of" was written on a crowded subway on April 4, and is dedicated to Torvald. The first poem is based on a passage from yesterday's morning pages. I'm including these in an extra post because I have too many ideas to write about the next few days.