Proper Purpose

Copyrighted@RobMason2012

The entire room was filled yet not one voice could be heard. All remained silent in anticipation of the decision soon to be announced. It had been time consuming. It had been costly. Yet, those who had already paid a price had not yet paid in full. And those with no voice would be the ones to soon pay the dearest. Someone is destined to win. And then all invested, lose. In the end it is worth nothing. In the end it is worth everything.     

Debra sat silent scanning the room and peering at the faces now peering back at her. In a few moments, some would hail her as fair and just while others would view her as biased and unfair. There were two sides representing two individuals with one judge to determine the lesser of two evils. And of the spoils to be won, the most important would be the satisfaction of a spite legitimized. Madam Justice Debra Johnston was to decide this case although she wished to be anywhere else at the time but here. After nineteen years as a family law lawyer, she was now in her sixth year as a judge. As she continued staring out into the crowd whom she knew were becoming impatient waiting on her decision, her mind began to wander to places and faces in her past.

Debra was born in the small town of Bay DeVerdi, Newfoundland. A fishing port of less than two hundred people on the eastern tip of Canada, it had one grocery store and one gas station. Although having many fond memories of her child hood there, Debra could not recall any saddened feelings when leaving for college. She never regretted leaving and had no desire to return. Her father was a fisherman while her mother stayed home to raise her and her older brother James. But through government regulations and from years of over fishing, it was hard to make living being a Fisherman. One spring, Debra’s father had to find work out west. He left one day on the train and he was never heard from again. The abandonment had a profound effect on Debra as she carried the resentment towards her father from that day on.

Her brother James, being the man of the house, followed in his father’s footsteps as a Fisherman and tried as best he could to provide for the family during such harsh economic times. It was difficult but they made do with what they had. But that resentment Debra carried only multiplied with each day she saw her family struggle. It fuelled the fire inside her and gave her the resolve to one leave this place in search of a better life. Yet fate was not finished doling out its indiscriminate fate to her family. When Debra was 15, her brother’s fishing boat was caught in a storm on the ocean. No one survived and the boat was never found.

Graduating high school with honours, Debra was accepted to the University of Toronto law program where she also graduated at the top of her class. She paid her own way by working several part time jobs while attending school full time. After graduation, she started her own law firm and began accepting clients for family law matters. Debra mostly represented women and soon earned a reputation for being a fierce women’s advocate. She sat on all the right committees and made all the right friends and soon Debra was lavishing in wealth and recognition. It wasn’t long before advocacy for her clients was the furthest thing from her mind. Winning and wealth soon became her only priorities. And she won often and collected many fees. Debra’s star continued to shine and after nineteen years as a lawyer, she was appointed to the bench as judge.

Six years of presiding over separations, divorces, custody issues and monetary battles had come to take its toll on her and Debra had slowly began to feel unsettled about her chosen profession and the role she played in it.  For many years she helped greedy, spiteful and self-serving women destroy their ex partners leaving them in financial ruin and without a shred of dignity in tact. For many years Debra had convinced and coerced reluctant women into believing that they were victims and that these mothers and their children should be compensated and looked after by the automatic delinquent and derelict man. She convinced women that if the man wanted a divorce, then he must have been using her. She convinced women that if they wanted a divorce that it must be the man’s fault for not being a better partner. She advocated conflict. At times, Debra would take male clients but would never advocate for them in the same manner that she did with her female clients. It was the only time she tolerated losing but always considered it a victory for women. And of course, she still received her fees. And Debra, like most of her other colleagues, was not above cheating, lying and fraud to win her case. Often she and the other lawyer involved in a case would discuss the process, outcome and even the total cost to their clients before the case even went to court. It was the way things were done. And as a judge, she would sit on the bench and say nothing while she watched many other lawyers employ these same unsavoury tactics. Although never speaking publicly to anyone about it, Debra was beginning to have difficulty justifying the philosophy, agenda and the corruption of her family law institution. Perhaps it was from witnessing first-hand the pressures and stress that are placed upon men in society and at difficult times. Perhaps it was in bearing witness as to how far many women would go to destroy the father of their children. Perhaps it was due to her decision to retire at the end of the current court session. Perhaps it was her loss felt by her mother’s passing earlier that year leaving her with no more immediate family. And perhaps it was the recent news from her family physician that she had developed a cancerous tumour on one of her kidneys. Whatever else it was, it was her conscience telling her to set things right. But to do so would be to turn her back on her colleagues, her profession, and her life’s work of advocating for women. Debra sat at a crossroad knowing that her next decision would either haunt her few final days left or set her free.

She continued to peer around at the crowded court room. Everyone was clearly becoming impatient for her decision as the once low murmurs became intensified. Where once two lawyers would sit confidently having already predetermined the outcome, they sat nervously looking at one another as if knowing something was not right. Debra cleared her throat and finally began to address those in the courtroom. She spoke about the law, its intentions and founding principles. She spoke of philosophy and generally accepted practices. She talked about the changing world and the role of parents and the stress placed upon children of divorce. She engaged in the role of lawyers and judges and the complexities of weighing the rights of each parent against the best interest of the child. For over a half hour, Debra spoke about the law and how the legal system had been failing families for too many decades and the consequences of that failure to society as a whole. For the first time in a long time, she personally addressed each parent as well as their respective legal counsels. She even spoke directly to those in the courtroom who had come to show support for their respective family. And then, and in great detail, Debra read her written decision.

It was difficult to say whether the thunderous applause was louder than the groans of disappointment. Somebody wins and somebody loses. The institution of family law had progressed to a point where there was no changing that fact. Debra stood up, left the courtroom and retired to her private office still hearing the voices of decent and praise. And for the first time in her adult life as a legal representative of the community, she knew that she had made the right decision for the community. Now was a time of healing for the respective parties, their families and the community as a whole. And it was a time of healing for Debra. Ironically this healing process would begin for her at a time when she was dying.

The changing would be fought until finally embraced. It is the order of things. The laws would eventually change and then the changing of perception and philosophy would see those new laws upheld. The purpose of any law is in part, to assign blame. Judge Debra Walsh left an institution in chaos on that day when she assigned blame to everyone involved. No one was victorious and no one was defeated on this day. No one lost nor gained, not even the lawyers. Nothing was resolved and there was no closure. Yet in her heart, Debra knew that she had acted for a proper purpose by placing the outcome back into the hands of those who needed to learn that they must reap whatever they sow. It would be a hard lesson for all to learn and it would take time. It always does!

Medicating Myself

Copyrighted@RobMason2012

Among us
Now availing transparent
Cultivating amnesia
But I remember
Their fingers always pointing
At you then at me
The instigator
A victim
Only they decide when
Manufacturing misinformation
I will not be their consumer
Just another enemy
With straight jacket objectivity
Enslaving the masses
Totalitarian with our permission
Still the activists
In a spectator democracy
Inalienable rights are denied
As we remain in denial
Complacency creeping in
Then that day came
And we disowned ourselves
Each premonition was foretold
All of us were entertained
One by one and we watched
Each domino fell
While all of us were entertained
Medicating pleasure
The new wonder drug of choice
Society high and overdosed
Combating the symptoms
I medicate myself

Bridging The Gap

Copyrighted@RobMason2012

Shrouded from the outside world
Alone with my thoughts
Unfocused and uninhibited
Yet determined
This time there's no going back
I have come again for the intangible
Often a visitor
But tonight changes everything
I reside here
Or else I reside nowhere
Above my own plain
Existing of alternate ego
Kept in secret
Reserved only for me
That gap will be bridged
The bridge will be crossed
Not burned
Not this time
A leap of faith coercing
A step into the abyss
It changes nothing else
Nothing but me
My hand held high
In extension
Reaching for the unobtainable
To the limit
Fingers are stretched
And stretched some more
To feel it's texture
Take in it's essence
Cryptic and for a cause
What for I do not know
Or perhaps
Too personal to tell
Is there an aroma
I cannot say
Yet I can almost taste it
It lingers
Harassing in nature
It will not let me be
And I will not let it go
I keep writing
And write some more
I present curious
Maybe I am desperate
For an epiphany
One will suffice
For a life out of sync
Without rhyme
Without reason
Some see obsessive
I feel addicted
There are higher callings
But none calling me
And I write

Land Of Dying Dreams

Usually when publishing a book of poetry, it is a process of seemingly endless changes. But this time around it was much different. There will be no changes. There will be no rewrites. The file of poems sent to the publisher will be formatted and then put to print exactly how they were originally written. And it is a refreshing change from the normal, most frustrating and time consuming process.

Firstly, I dealt with the cover art long before any file was submitted. Usually, that is the last issue I deal with. Choosing the right picture for the cover is a very personal choice and only the writer can have a special insight into which one of the many pictures/drawings/sketches considered says what he/she wants the reader to know about what is in between the covers. The creative department of any publishing company can be instrumental in their suggestions as to how to enhance the cover art and for this latest book, they nailed it perfectly the first time and I am so very pleased with the end result. I suspect that by the end of the week I will have approved everything for the final stage of printing that first and most cherished first copy. When I receive that first copy I always go to the copyright page to read my name. That has always been, still is, and I suspect will always be my favourite part of every book.

The book is titled, Land Of Dying Dreams and as the title suggests, it is about death. It is about the act of dying and also about feeling dead while still seeing your breathe. Obviously one will find no happy thoughts or inspirational words of hope in this book. And that is exactly what I was intending when writing it. Also, there are no profound words/phrases in this book that would be considered a literary work of art. It is a very simple book to describe some very simple emotions. Whereas with most of the poems I write there is a rewriting process, there was none this time. However I first wrote it, it remains unchanged. Yes, there are many poems in this book that I could have changed to make myself seem more intellectual and profound but I chose not too. I wanted this book to be filled with the raw emotions that came to me when writing. Of course many of my peers will congratulate me on the new book but most will not think it to be anything special because of it's simplicity. And that is understandable since most writers I know are well beyond me in their writing abilities and creative thought. But it is that simplicity that I was aiming for. This book is about pain. And who knows better about that kind of pain than those who are currently enduring such. And it is my belief that they will not care whether these writings that describe their pain are well written or not. If they read it and relate to it than I have accomplished what I was hoping for. Those are the people who are my target audience for this book. This simple writing style and a limited target audience is not an equation that leads to book sales and income but then again, that is never what I am hoping for. I am doing something I love to do and hope one day to do it well.

I have done this before with a previous book project and was thrilled with the end result. I like the idea of writing it as I see/feel it and then never being concerned with the choices of words. Pain is pain and sometimes just using that simple word is all that is required for many to be able to relate. There are a few different writing styles in the book but it was never intentional. I just wrote it as I felt it. And I am hoping that some will just feel it as they read it. Perhaps this book exposes too much of myself. But then again, what is the point of creative writing if we never give any insight into where the ideas come from? Although this book will never be considered by others to be of my best written work, the process of stripping myself bare of protecting shields will make this one of my most personal and meaningful books. And that pleases me. I did not write to impress my peers and receive their praise and respect. I wrote about certain people who's suffering is so intense that they cannot endure living. And if any of those people ever read this book, it would be a failure on my part to have them not understanding my own expose describing their pain. It is about them and for them. And they are the ones who's understanding, acknowledgement and validation will have me proud of the effort I put in to the book.

And as always, there is the same phrase in this book that appears in every one of my books. Nobody Wins Unless Everybody Wins.

Better Man

Copyrighted@RobMason2012


Thirty eight dollars in his pocket
A thirty eight special
Holding it tight in his hand
The chamber is full
His life is empty
Seven bullets
As he takes his final stand
Keep pushing
Watch a man go to the edge
He will give no warning
Availed contradiction
Ignore the irony
Protective precautions
Then he steps off of the ledge
One is for the dignity stolen
Two is the loss of faith
Three is for the label binding
Four is the scar never healing
Five is for the torment
Six for the one who laughed
Seven for looking the other way
The bill comes due today
Thirty eight dollars spent
A thirty eight still in his hand
He turns and walks away
You labelled
He defined
You stole his life
He gifted you yours
He remains a better man

Giving Half To Be Whole

I remember the first night we met
As if closing my eyes
I strayed into a dream
A beauty of life that had escaped me
Now basking
With weary eyes and grateful for
For what a barren heart had not felt
On this night
Moments to memories
Familiar becomes rekindled
Of a wanting
While remaining silent
Now released
It is a river raging
Close enough to touch you
Yet I dare not
Nearer to your lips
I recede
A man who doubts
Never sure of himself
Lets in love
Yet never lets love out
Just your presence
No flaws
Only my perceptions
What I am is not near enough
Yet what I want
No longer seeming distant
I could risk my heart
What man wouldn't
To be more than he is
Giving away a partial of himself
Living half
For wanting whole

Cancer

Copyrighted@RobMason2012

When I breathe it breathes with me
In my sleep and dreams it grows
It pinches me reminding
It wants me to feel its presence
At first only subtle
Not yet ready to be spotted
Irritating as if like an itch
Then full blown and excruciating
Like rust it never sleeps
And like a child always growing
Restless yet always patient
Our fates shall be the same
It feeds off of me living
Defining an appetite unchecked
An animal without a conscience
Savoring its host
Indiscriminate with its victims
Habitually on the prowl
Like a demon let loose
There is no saving me now

Unknown Man

Copyright@RobMason2012

Remnants will reveal the man

That one unknown and faceless
Understanding his life in death
Leftovers are the failures defining
Scattered thoughts and trinkets
How he lived and how he passed
What happened in between
And how he died while still living
There were no valuables left behind
No treasures for you’re choosing
He took with him what mattered
Love and pain he kept to himself
He toiled for that better man
Labouring for a proper purpose
Never wanting to change the world
Only wanting to change his self
He was a meaningful man
But he could not see it
He was filled with such love
Yet he could never feel it
He wanted more time
But he did not get it
He was a man unknown
And he always knew it

Intrinsic Life

Copyrighted@RobMason2012

My vision has come to fade as this world blends to out of focus. Your clarity only brings me ambiguity as I cannot comprehend your advertised and temporary good. The questions have been answered yet the solutions deferred to more convenient times. You test my faith with your corruption. You task my morality with your improper purpose. Calamity is that weapon of fear that romances our darkest thoughts. My darkness remains pent in a proper place but nothing stirring can be caged forever. You are wasting me and that waste continues to multiple exponentially.  In your world, victory and defeat are mandatory and blame assigned to the ones with quieted voices. I see the collusion and I am disheartened. I see the end result before the end and I am devastated. Encouraging sickness so that you may cure, providing wars so that you may present peace, causing starvation so that you may feed with the end justifying the means. And no one yet will legitimize the ones in need. I am here now and I am still amicable for a time. I present with two hands, one heart and a void only you can fill. But I am in need of mending. I cannot give while only sustained. I cannot be me while the victim still remains. My hands can grip yet with no provision of tools. Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not at war from within. Look at us and defend your notions of freedom and justice for all. Show us your mercy, compassion and understanding that cannot be denied to all who live and breathe. Look at the faces of the ones who must abide. Live among them as one of them and feel their pain. Show me one not haunted in their dreams and I will show one who has no conscience. Now break these chains and allow me to present productive.

Whenever people of good conscience remain silent there is no evil that shall not prevail. Wrongful deeds find safe haven in silence and the tendency often defined as collective. There is much confusion between rights and privileges as one is a gift and the other a guarantee. And both are to be earned. There is a promise that should never be broken but when it is, it makes lesser each man, woman and child. There are no singular victims in this collateral world as separation is now old and archaic. We have become blended to the fate of cause and effect as there is never only one domino that topples. Our freedoms specified cannot ever be just a philosophy intended rather, it must be inherent with every breathe we take. Any less is ambiguous and more a wavering of a conscious for convenience. It cannot present as easy as sacrifice is the greater good and is always self-explanatory. Whatever is worth having is worth persevering for and we define it in each of our defining moments and more so, in defence of those who are defenceless. Be cautious of the slippery slope. It can turn situational even when on level and solid ground. Obfuscation is an improper tool often employed to seem sand taste like water. Before any collective may reap rewards, the rights of the one must present front and centre as inviolable. One voice silenced is an offence to us all as the loudest are most often the minority and with agenda. As we gain strength by embracing those weaker, we accept knowledge from those with more wisdom. The two hands we use for pushing are the same hands that can just as easily be pulling. A time of pause and reflection may expedite a solution just as the winner is not always the first to the finish line.

Together we could remember these times as we justify each breath we take. That sound of singular voices blending to harmony is when the ones who follow begin leading the way. With our hands holding tight to one another, no one slips through any cracks as hands holding on tight and everyone will see their dreams sighted. The resistance is inevitable. The changing will be inevitable too. Lines in the sand can always be erased. Yet there are no lines ever needed for those always willing stand their ground. There is still a flicker of hope for those already made faithless. There is still a light that shines on those who feel faceless. We are on that verge and the numbers are growing. Continually pushed to the edge and now the masses are massing. There is a line of sight and those sights are now coming into focus. When a conscious remains reminding, everything will shine out the clearer. The foundation will crumble one brick at a time as it is always the little victories that win the war. We cannot yet celebrate those times to come and forever mindful of those who will find no comfort in the wrongs being righted. There will come the day when these times will catch us remembering what too many wish they could forget. Arriving just in time to find it too late for some, for the rebuilding of a foundation once toppled.

Life In Transition

Copyrighted@RobMason2012

On an ordinary morning I found myself caught in a magical moment of hope and inspiration. It was as if in a transitory phase and elevated to a state of serenity while time held me motionless yet, never with any forced bindings. I felt the gentle breeze nudge gently as if cuing my attention towards the blatant, yet that which I had always ignored. Suddenly, were the sounds of birds singing and the songs of no purpose for the love of just singing. The leaves heard rustling letting all know that it was once again time for parts to be played. In the air, an aroma of freshly cut grass peaked the senses and awoke curiosity. The sun was already in motion passing effortlessly between clouds and radiating warmth that felt soothing to an otherwise, lost soul. Bright colours now blending into focus as a life once deemed chaotic avails in perfect balance. It is a collusion of good intentions and most welcomed as innocent thoughts become reminding and romantic dreams now deemed to be within grasp and tangible. This intake of ingredients is a recipe for a spirit renewed as I exhale a world of stress and of crowding calamities. Happy to be baited by the chorus of nature’s performers, I am the audience appreciative and adorning.

Never wanting to interrupt perfection, the evening sky allowed the day it’s time in the sun. As one would relent, the other availed and neither upsetting the balance of a process perfected with time. A once bright horizon now allows itself to be shrouded and then overshadowed by the mystique of a moonlight never quite understood, yet always embraced. Clouds dissipate and are blown away as stars light the night sky like a Peacock proud and displaying. Coolness soothes the skin once heated as my eyes refocus and I immerse pleasurable in the simplest of addicting lights. The colours combine and are sorted to form my dreams amicable. The world, like my dreams, seems wide open and with room to grow. This great and endless expanse expands my mind as visions become sighted and imagination is reported as possibilities. The restrictions of the body are not felt now. My curiosity shows me a glimpse and trace of knowledge and wisdom that can only be found when a heart is wide open to the discovery of timeless and boundless. Like settling dust my worries are put in their proper place and that void allows for space to be filled with what nourishes. My time here is brief as I must give way to the priorities of the night. Through sleep and dreams I drift to foreign lands with no regard for the balance that will see a night gifting and claiming.

Tomorrow will be today’s lesson learned when learning that life's opportunities only presents to those who wish to live life fully. There is always clarity amid the ambiguity if we are willing to embrace that there are some mysteries that we are never intended to solve. And it is that limitation presented to us all that can define the differences of being idle or being still. If we can believe that this journey does not end rather, that it prepares us for another phase of existence, then curiosity is not restlessness and wisdom is not knowledge. Whether by choice, chance or circumstance, we play our part. When the clues are never ending, when the answers only lead to more questions and when a wrong turn can find you at the right place, who am I to ever refuse such a quest?

Father's Wish

From the book, Land Of Dying Dreams

Copyrighted@RobMason2012

Show bravery in the face of fear

If lost know my spirit is always near
When forsaken you have my grace
I am gone but I still left you a trace
When confused then follow your heart
An ending can always be a new start
If alone know that you never are
My love you didn't know is never far
You have two hands one is for helping
And only one heart always for loving
If you feel hate find its proper place
Time hating is a time you will waste
Think freely and let known your voice
It will be your life it will be your choice
Let alone what you cannot change
Yet never turn away from those in pain
Do what you do well and do what you love
At the end of the day know it is enough
Let those who steal take what is free
Know who you are and not what they see
Crave to be restless and learn to be still
Embrace that balance and you always will
I can leave you nothing but a Father's wish
And fading memories on a night like this

Looking The Other Way

As I was going through a list I had made about topics I wanted to explore, I came across some "chicken scratch" written down about the topic of Breast Cancer. Immediately, I knew that posting anything negative about such a topic would have me being scorned by a multitude of misguided women (and men) citing that I was an angry, insensitive women hater. In fact, writing anything negative about women at all seems to get me in trouble. I guess women are perfect! And write something negative about an issue such as Breast Cancer and many peoples' sense of reason and logic go right out the window as the automatic programming from society takes over.

In July of 2011, the CBC released an article regarding the spending habits of the Canadian Cancer Society wanting to know why the Society spend more of it's donated funds on fund raising and administration than on researching a cure. CBC's Marketplace analyzed the Canadian Cancer Society’s financial reports dating back a dozen years. It discovered that each year, as the society raised more dollars, the proportion of money it spent on research dropped dramatically — from 40.3 per cent in 2000 to under 22 per cent in 2011.

Marketplace asked the Canadian Cancer Society for an on-camera interview, but it declined, instead responding by email:
"While funding cancer research is a crucial part of the society’s work, we also have profound responsibilities to do everything we can to reduce the risk of Canadians ever developing cancer and to provide meaningful support to people living with cancer."
But when Marketplace scrutinized the financial reports, it found that a greater percentage of funds was not being directed toward support, information and advocacy.
Instead, the reports reveal that the area that’s getting the greatest portion of donor dollars is fund raising, up from 26 per cent of all monies raised in 2000, to 42.7 per cent in 2011.

There are many who have been sounding the alarm for years about these questionable practises but few Canadians seem interested in knowing that their donations are not being directed where they thought. And Breast Cancer fund raising seems to be under even more scrutiny as the facts about this financial CASH COW becomes more the focus of research and investigation.

From a CBC news article...
"Research on some of the deadliest cancers in Canada is under-funded relative to their toll in lives taken, according to a new report.

Charity Intelligence Canada, an Ontario-based non-profit that analyzes charities, released its report, Cancer in Canada, on Tuesday, to highlight four cancers it says most desperately need donor support:

• Pancreatic.
• Stomach.
• Lung.
• Colorectal.

The four cancers have low five-year survival rates that collectively represent 46 per cent of potential years of life lost to cancer in Canada, the group said. Yet together these four cancers receive only 15 per cent of cancer-specific research funding and 1.6 per cent of cancer-specific charity funding.

In contrast, breast cancer's 89 per cent five-year survival rate is a success story built on a survivor network to mobilize funds, drive improvements in screening to diagnose the disease at early, more treatable stages, and lobby for more effective treatments.

"Breast cancer receives three times the average of the other nine top killers: more than $10,000 per breast cancer death," the report's authors said.

"With 45 charities focused on breast cancer and high support from general cancer charities -- and the resulting high survival rates -- breast cancer has a low funding need relative to other cancers," it said.

Charity Intelligence believes people should think strategically about their donations, aiming to transform these often terminal cancers into something that can be prevented or lived with as a chronic condition."

This information, although known by many for several years, should be an "EYE OPENER" for Canadians who continue to fund these charities. As well, Canadians should be very cautious when corporations get in on the ACTION of fund raising for breast cancer. Many companies are making tens of millions of dollars per year by aligning themselves with breast cancer awareness. Companies are in business to make money! It is not any more complicated than that. And many companies are selling "PINK" products that have nothing to do with cancer awareness and have ingredients in these products which may even be linked to cancer.

And if anyone has been following the news lately, the Susan B Komen foundation has come under fire for removing funding to the Planned Parenthood organization. It did so because of the multitude of investigations into this organization regarding their practises and methods. But after an outcry from the feminist movement, the funding was restored. My question is ..Why is a breast cancer fund raising organization giving some of the money raised for breast cancer research and awareness to an organization that funds abortions?? Perhaps it is time for the average Canadian to stop blindly following the status quo and start asking some questions of the cancer society as well as other charities fund raising for cancer.

And at the risk of being insensitive, I have to ask another question..How does a person die from Breast Cancer? We need many parts of our body to stay alive but are breasts one of those body parts we need to live? Yes it does appear insensitive on my part, but then again, the question is still out there. Of course we need our vital organs to live. That is why they are called VITAL ORGANS. But how does one die from Breast Cancer.

In 2011, I self published a book of poetry titled, What Comes And Goes. I dedicated the book to my sister who died from cancer and any profits earned go to the cancer society (for any and all cancer research). I'm told she died of breast cancer. But she was originally diagnosed with stomach cancer. It spread. It spread so much that eventually her body died. Should we not say she died from stomach cancer? Should we not say she died from cancer ( whatever name that is) that attacked the parts of her body that she needed to live? Why label it as breast cancer? The answer is obvious....To keep that financial train of breast cancer funding racing full steam ahead.

What is it going to take before people start paying attention to where their donations go? What will it take before people open their eyes and start asking questions that a grade 5 student would automatically ask? Why do we say and do nothing when we see fraud and corruption? And more than that, why do we keep sending in the $$$$$$ without asking any questions?? And what does that say about our society when we knowingly allow registered charities to prey on the sadness of family members who have lost loved ones? What does it say about us when we collectively look the other way when we know that funds are being misused and that people are dying because of it?

It is another ugly truth that describes everyone of us. And perhaps that is why we look the other way. The mirror is intended to show our true reflection. Yet we only use it to make ourselves up as we want to be seen and as we want to see ourselves....

Letter From Baboo To His Brother In The African Republic Of Goonigoogo

Dear Brother:

I hope this letter finds you well. I must apologize for not corresponding sooner but my adventures here in Sarnia continue to task me as I endeavour to learn their customs and rituals. They are a strange people indeed and yet, I find that I am beginning to understand their ways and at times, find that they are growing on me.

I must make a few corrections as to my previous letter to you about what I know recognize to be my error as to their ways of expression. When last writing to you, I told of men living in small dog houses that were normally reserved for house hold pets. Apparently, these men do not reside in dog houses at all. In fact, this reference to any dog house actually means that men will sleep on the couch or in the garage where they store their vehicles. This is usually after they have displayed behaviour or conduct that displeases their wife. The sleeping arrangement can last anywhere from one to five days depending on their financial income, and as well, to the amount of flowers they are able to purchase. Apparently, flowers are a form of apology here. But instead of picking the natural flowers growing in the fields, these men go to specific stores to purchase flowers that have already been picked from fields by other people. It is quite perplexing as I have found that these men are usually in trouble because they present as too lazy to do everyday tasks around the home or spend too much money at the local drinking establishment. Yet they seem to be able to get get forgiveness from the wife by being too lazy to pick their own flowers and spending even more money on the purchasing of these flowers. In spite of this nonsensical approach to forgiveness, it usually results in the man being allowed back in the bedroom.

I also remember writing you about road repairs on East Street near my apartment. In your reply you raised some very interesting question of which I have yet to secure all of the answers for. Yes, East Street is in the south end of Sarnia and runs north and south. I thought perhaps that there would be a reference to this in old writings about Sarnia but I have not been able to find any. And no, East Street is not in the eastern half of the city. It is in the western half. In the picture I sent you there are 7 road workers dressed in orange clothing. I am told that this is to ensure that those driving by in vehicles will be able to see the workers clearly and not run them over. Yes, I know the road is closed to vehicles and impassable but apparently, these are the rules. The reason why the road has to be redone every year is because these road workers are apparently so well like by all in the neighbourhood that they wish to see these workers everyday. And repairing roads here is far more complex that you can imagine and there are very few who have the expertise. That is why only one person in the picture is working. The other six are watching so they too can learn how to repair roads. I hope this helps clear up some of your confusion. I did pass on your suggestion to the Mayor that Sarnia be renamed Sarnhole, due to all of the potholes that are present on many of the streets. Within two weeks I received acknowledgement from the Mayor informing me that he had received my letter and that he would discuss the matter with his city councillors as soon as he returned from a Bruce Springsteen concert. I will update you in my next letter as to their final decision.

I hope that little Akeem likes the presents I sent him with this correspondences. The black and white circular ball covered with squares is called a Soccer Ball. You kick it with your feet. The brown, oval shaped object is called a Football. You toss it with your hands. I know that sounds confusing but keep in mind that these people drive on the right side of the road. I hope you like the pins, flags, and coffee mugs which bear the Canadian flag and as well, the pictures of scenic places in and around Sarnia that I sent. These items are all made in China. The people here are so generous that they give away work to other countries as a gesture of good will.

Even though these Sarnians seem relaxed and easy going, I have noticed at times, a splash of pride and competitiveness about them. When any of their local sports teams win any competition, they pump their fists, shout as loud as they can and point their index finger up in the air to symbolize that they are number one. Yet it seems to be more common from those not involved in the competition. I have noticed that they also do this when driving their vehicles. Whenever I am driving my e-bike about town, many of them seem threatened by my excellent driving skills as they pump their fists, yell and point a finger in the air in my direction. However, when it comes to driving skills, it is not their index finger they point in the air to symbolize being number one. Instead they point their middle finger at me. I have yet to comprehend the difference in these two symbols but will endeavour to find out. And I have become quite taken with the terms "Soccer Mom" and "Hockey Mom". I'm not sure what it means exactly but I do know it has something to do with driving a multi-passenger vehicle commonly referred to as a "Mini Van". Perhaps I will have more answers with my next correspondence.

I almost forgot to tell that I closed down the knife sharpening business. I only had one customer who wanted a Lawn Mower blade sharpened. A Lawn Mower is a motorized means of cutting wild grass. Yes I know, you are wondering if they have goats and other wildlife that eats the wild grass. Yes they do. But they seem intent on eating these animals instead of letting them graze on wild greens that over grow. Oddly enough, they water and fertilize this wild grass to make it grow only to have to cut it every week. They seem to receive enjoyment over this exercise. These Sarnians spend much time and resources to make their yards beautiful and then build fences around the property so know one can see it. I have been thinking about raising goats to rent out as "Lawn Mowers" since many people pay others to cut their wild grass after watering it to make it grow.. I sincerely believe that there is a market for this type of service

Brother, I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. Than you for sending the one million Rubles. After much confusion at one of their monetary establishment, I was able to transfer it to Canadian funds which totalled $4,397,00. After paying my monthly rent, I bought a "Smart Phone", which I haven't been able to understand yet. I bought a television made out of plasma which only shows me the same shows over and over again. I bought a credit card from Tim Horton's ( it's a coffee and food place of business) and it only cost me $2,000.00, and I get to meet and talk with law enforcement officers whenever I go there. With the rest of the money I invested in a company that sells property on the moon. I really do believe that I am on to something with this latest venture. Please tell mother that I am doing well and that I miss her. I will write you again as soon as I find out if the Possum has seen his shadow.

Your Brother,

Baboo

Empty Vases

Stepping out into the night
You hope to find true love again
Here I am all alone
In need of a loving friend
Still searching for Mr. Right
I'm not him but not that wrong
When you find this world too lonely
Perhaps I could tag along
You could hold my hand if you want to
And maybe I could steal a kiss
Learning to limit our expectations
Every night could be like this
Two lovers or just two friends
Is better than where we've been
Never needing to read between lines
Can loving be a truthful sin
With your caviar and champagne
And all the flowers men are sending
You have no more empty vases
And still no happy ending
Flowers grow in open fields
I could pick your favourite one
Champagne will leave a sour taste
When the lonely morning comes
You could be my lover
I will be your friend
With nothing ever written in stone
Trading back and forth again
I know I am not what you wanted
I had hoped for something more
We could still share our loneliness
Until we find what we're looking for

Pretending

Copyrighted@RobMason2011

This night is filled with a beauty not descriptive with mere words. And none are spoken. The moon shines radiantly akin to a romantic candle on a table set for two. The stars plentiful play the supporting cast of ambiance for the prelude for a night of pleasure. The backdrop of the evening sky presents as a curtain dividing two lovers from the calamity of the outside world. Silence can gives us such beautiful sounds as harmony overshadows distortion. With less to hear, more is heard as unspoken is the language of lovers. It is not the cool breeze which causes my shivers but the anticipation of your touch. It is not in the prospect of earthly pleasure that causes my heart to palpitate but the knowledge that we will find that place yet go farther. As my eyes focus to find you moving towards the light, I am suspended as a dream begins to unfold to reality. A silhouette at first, moving slowly and elegantly and treating each step as precious. Then out of the darkness, I suddenly feel as transparent as the sheer that now covers your body.

With that first touch you breathe in. A second has me sighing. I kiss your lips soft and moist. Begging for more, we shed our garments and then our inhibitions. My impulses pulsing and urges that urge me on. My fingers caress through your hair then with fingertip touches gentle, to more guarded places. You rise to meet me face to face. Whispering in my ear, I take charge obediently. Soon our bodies rhyme to perfect rhythm as two hearts beat in time with one another. Two lost in one moment and lost in a passionate embrace. There is no tomorrow, just the here and now. Time passes with emotions finally spent. We lay drenched in satisfaction as the lusting animal is re-caged. And soon tenderness avails.

The morning nudges me gently as I wake to find you still by my side. Still trapped in our passionate embrace, my thoughts wander as I am aroused. Your essence remains on my skin while the night’s memories become etched in my mind. Our bodies once heated are now tempered with a morning breeze that flows effortlessly through an open window. In the distance I can hear the songs of the Blue Bird excited. It sings of a beautiful morning that should not be wasted.  My thoughts continue to linger until the breeze carries them away. Glancing my way, your lips part a smile as our eyes meet to greet each other and the new day. As my hand retraces curves once discovered and inviting, you stir and two bodies once again become entangled. The morning could not be ignored but for a little longer, it would be made patient.

I can smell the aroma of coffee freshly brewed as we both come alive yet at our own pace. Outside the world has had a head start, but we have our short cut to paradise. The sand on the beach feels warm and inviting and every step feels like a first. The water is frigid yet refreshing as the sand between our toes washes away with the tide. As a morning breeze compliments the warming sun, two lovers revel in these times and friendship. Two hands touch and hold on carefree with an occasional kiss for times made less busy. It is serenity I find in your calming effect as my eyes see beautiful and you are always in focus. These are moments that seem timeless to me as I am in love with a love affair always in need of rekindling. My worries are distant when you are near and so for now, this day belongs to you and I.

We spent the rest of the day exploring the beach and exploring our emotions. For whatever we could not understand of this world or of each other, we just accepted. With no eagerness for the future and no regrets for the past, we embraced who we are in the moments allowing. At the day’s end and the sun now setting, I am alone and my thoughts are still of you. It was the most memorable of days and I wish you could have been here with me. And this heart of mine is still pretending.

Counting On You

Gracious stars I count on you
Along with the moon
Selfless and true
You help me forget the days
This beautiful night sky
Yet no wishes come due
That is okay
You shine on us all
And help us forget our pain
Still reaching for you
Yet not through hands
Shivers that chill me
Yet haunting
When not bridging the gap
As I still remain hopeful
Through sleep and dreams
You stand protecting
For those of us awake
A beacon
As if reminding
Many roads lead us home
I count on you
And your generousity
I count on you
To count on me