Friday, 16 December 2016

Friday, 1 July 2016

Fundraiser without the Fun.

Jogging. My galloping enemy. Not that I hate the act of jogging so much as the knowing better alternatives out there who, if present, warrant much better benefits. I guess one could argue that there is the health benefit or that some joggers get a potential high from this. Which I can believe. One would have to be high to say you know what I feel like doing right now?  Running. Yes. Going out into the frigid cold or the summer’s heat in clothing not meant for the public’s eye just...because. Clothing still designed by some 80's factory for the sheer purpose of blinding my windshield as I drive past with their bright neon hues like giant reflective fish lures, baiting my eyes from the road ahead. Now the ones that truly give me whiplash are the lulu lemon/mini skirt/crop top wearing gorgeous bouncing beauties, defying all weather patterns (and bra weight limits)  rain/sleet/snow - these women are real troopers and the real reason for car accidents, fender benders, just crashing things in general , your our true heroes,  god bless you all.


Now the real reason people jog is not for health reasons, no, I believe the true reason jogging was invented for fundraising. The first jogger might have been dying from something like cancer, rabies, or STD's (sorry its STI's now), but what I think they were really dying from was an excuse to run and not be made fun of. Because it's kind of weird...or gay. I haven't decided. Nowadays the first word that pops into your head when you hear the word fundraiser is running. Run for the cure, Moonlight Run, Run for poor Timmy's asthma, the beer run, it’s all a big scam to get you to do something you don't want to do but do anyways. They almost make you feel bad too if you don't join like you’re the bad guy: "What?  You like cancer bro? Don't you wanna stop cancer? My mother died from cancer blah blah blah" Which is a pretty good tactic to pull on the old heart strings. If you have some.  I already donate…to the hard working mothers down at the strip clubs, a good cause I can get behind.  And if me running were to stop any malady permanently, I'd crawl off the couch, dust the boots off, and run till the end where a cure is given to poor Timmy  and we all  can move on with our lives. But I probably wouldn't. Probably because it wouldn't stop there. You can't seem to get away from the monthly guilt train of marathons and thus were bombarded with this in our daily lives so other people can feel good about running for a purpose. Sorry that train left for me a long time ago.   



And don't even get me on the walkers. Something almost anyone can do, and we do, on a regular basis, throughout the day, without thinking, and this for some reason is an Olympic sport minus the sport part. Since the beginning man has walked and ran, until they were able to tame horses, then horses were the main mode of transportation for thousands of years because they were faster and they could carry daily supplies for us and their amazing with cool names like Man O' War, War Admiral, Seabiscuit and Clip Clop. Only until this past century have we been blessed with the technological advancements to travel long distances in minutes and hours vs. days/weeks! Why would I agree to step back to something anyone throughout time has done time and time again? We live in this glorious age of automobiles, be thankful! The day I was old enough to get a driver’s license with a bad teen mustache, was the day I said so long to my bike, and you know why? Because it is better in every sense. I wouldn't put it past people to one day fundraise a walk for those that love to walk for the sake of walking in memorial of all those that have fallen in the line of walking for the walking cause dedicated to the man who invented walking, Mr. Walker III....Because only an idiot with numbers after their name would come up with something like they invented walking what it is today. Probably so he could pick up a woman. Or a Man. Yep. Walking for a cause is a gay one. Yeah I decided.

Saturday, 11 June 2016

Oh No Canada.

    Like all mornings before work, I get up (barely lucid), grab a bowl, and dig into the trough of Mini-Wheats set before me and graze along as I thumb through various emails, videos and posts on my cell phone, sitting there like a big dumb jersey cow, wrapped up in my Chewbacca housecoat, slack jawed in awe.

    Big debate this week, (as in all weeks on Facebook  Canada) should we change the national anthem to be gender neutral?  Casually, my first reply is to douse my phone in gasoline and let my fingers ignite the digital keyboard a glorious fireball of epic proportions of swear words, pronouns and verses that would sent chills upon Hades spine (or skin orgasms as I read this week) listening to my maniacal laughter echoing off the walls of my kitchen. Jumping up and down, Dancing naked around the table like a Zulu warrior, shouting at 6 am, only to have the wife scream at me with threat train of ungodly hostile actions to my body and manhood, not due to what I was shouting at or for, but the fact that I may not live to rue this day if the kids awake. And the fact with the blinds open, the neighbors can see my three amigos awaken from their siesta for the quinceanera, but without the party. Or the music. Or the girls. Just me and my Mariachi band strumming out to desperado on the leftover tequila found in the freezer. Unimpressed at this display, she mutters another equally terrifying death threat that the band is going to be strung up and battered around like a piƱata if I don't get my shit together, comprende? I quickly and quietly wrap myself again in my housecoat and silence bestows upon the Huneault household as the bedroom door closes, she won this round.

    That would be the old Dan. Prenoon Dan. Afternoon Dan has had time to think. To ponder. To reflect. I know now that the morning induced hatred was really just the first stage of denial. I have an entire day to go through all seven stages before I get to: Acceptance. This usually hits around home time and I have had something to eat, and all morning threats have been lifted and forgotten. This Acceptance has not only shed a new light on the subject but inspired me to rewrite our national anthem. I know what you're thinking, "Hey Dan they just want change just one word". And I get that. But next they would want to change the word god too and get rid of that. Then what's next? Might as well just have a non-sexist/non-religious/non-racist, politically correct (pussified) version for today's society. So here it is:

O Canada! Where natives live tax free!
Home of basketball, lacrosse, and ice hockey.
French is our second language, and
We pronounce it Zed not Zee!
From BC to Newfie
O Canada, We love minorities!
Please don't invade our land, We have no army!
O USA, We give our oil for free.
O USA, We'll buy it back for a fee!



P.S. If they do change the word "God" in the anthem, I think it should be the word "Please" It's just the Canadian thing to do.

Friday, 20 November 2015

The Ill-Fated Raven

To she, whom she knows, but I dare not say:
A dreadful morn hath past the hand strike ten,
This present makes haste; and the night turn day,
For this lovers love, and hers? may bloom again.
Try as I may but cannot win this doves
heart. For the fox hath within his grasp; Takes
her life, But not her love - The one she loves;
and closely guards, is the one heart she breaks.
The vain reckoning of this ill-fated
Raven; Is proclaimed by the heavens above,
Restrained by loves shadows, Cursed by cupid,
Cannot be resolved. True: These tales of love
could have ended in a different way,
But crushed that heart of mine to my dismay.

The Envious Raven

For what is this love, lest it be my fate?
Sweet Nancy, when I look unto thine eyes,
Vanity, possesses my conscious state:
So I swear on those stars Romeo defies,
By my bosom's lord, I'll lay hold of her,
'Cause to live a life without her is but
to live a life without love - a tender,
If be denied, cannot heal this heart cut.
Soft! A winged messenger of heaven
hath stumblest upon my secret vow -
O fair dove, Kill this envious raven,
Doth let love's heralds cry my love for thou,
Thy beauty is too dear for deja vu,
A mirror couldn't cast such a swan as you!


***My first Shakespearean sonnet 1998***

A letter to Leo...

To you, who makes haste at the softest glow,
need not run a leopards pace, or buckle under
the point of seizure, which, being pressed and
smitten with animosity changes his spots.
Lay low he, so not it be ensnared swiftly -
is victimized, suspended off all fours, is
unwillingly trapped, merited by its design,
situated in her favor, camouflages loves
hemmed barrier, snags an unsuspecting cub.

Lend your attention and heed this call, be
that of the jungle or not, for she be of the
female kind, wild and untamed, cannot yet be
domesticated until the scent of you is
becoming of her, then, if be allowed,
nurture and protect her under Mother Natures
wing, with a steady paw and watchful eye.

P.S. Not to worry, if trouble is amiss, a
tainted tail cannot control the body
attached to it, you command the direction
and thus, its followings....

My Dream Chameleon

I cannot explain the image of which
my eyes have not yet seen,
A woman that bears no name to me,
But awaits me in my dream.
I wish I could say her eyes were sky blue,
green, brown, or even grey,
But her hair colour too seems to change
every night to my dismay.
Twenty three years later she's still of age,
A perfect wife for me,
But the years go on, and so do I,
The less likely she will be.

Who is this woman, this chameleon?
Were we meant to be?
Is this some sort of practical joke?
A false hope of reality?
Even so, when she speaks: It's not my ears,
But my heart, nameless one,
That carries your tune - my one true love,
my soulmate, my dream chameleon.

A Widows Wake

Dawn.
Another lonely awakening to the mornings dew,
Another breakfast for but one, not two,
Another sleepless night and restless morn,
Another one less suit with tie not worn:
For one suit that still remains on he,
Is on my love who sleeps eternally,
Swallowed by the hand they call the sea,
Off the coast of Dead Mans Plea.

The birds hath not sung a brighter tune,
The dogs hath not howled under the half lit moon,
The trees hath not sway to natures song,
The road hath not taken seems but twice as long:
The laying of flower petals off the misty shore,
A step off the bow, sank to the ocean floor,
I find myself a knocking on heavens door,
To join my husband, my love, forevermore.

Acrylic Archangel

All was in Darkness...
Then, within the midst of blackness -
a perpetual light deprives the hollow spawns
kingdoms of Depression and Loathsome envy.
Buried amongst sleeping pictures,
A noble renaissance figure arises in valor,
only to finish that, what has already begun.

Etched in sandscript, an Angel,
Branded by Edens beauty and Cupids good fortune,
Opens up her apocalyptic wings, spread-eagle,
And love unleashes upon Berlins barriers,
Destroying the lost realms beyond all conscious comprehension.
As silence bestows over the parted debris,
Tranquility infills the cup with satisfying deliverance.

Ai, my heart, misshapen in petrified wax,
molded by the color spectrum of time,
separating Zodiacs signs with those stars of the heavens
that encircle the Earth, belongs to she,
whose painted fingers grasp, and brought to purse lips,drinks to our eternity.

A Feathered Image (The Imaginary Eagle)

As upon this page,
I can think of a cliff on a mountain top,
The fluttering of wings takes to flight,
As the cold chill of the wind's air
Breezes past the feathered body
That coasts along the ocean floor.
It soars into the heat of the sun on top of the clouds above
Watching the ocean seas as they drift along
In small easy waves.
Is that the eyes of an eagle
Watching through those clouds above?
Then within a flap of a wing
The eagle disappears into the clouds of imagination
Never to be seen again,
Unless this poem has been read once more.



***This was the very first poem I had ever written back when poetry was first introduced to me by my english teacher in grade 7 back in 1992/1993***