Poetry

Consume Until There Is No More Room

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We start with nothing, just a Whimper and a cry
We take a living journey and accumulate shit until we die, die, die, die, die.
Mommy and Daddy they shared what they had
All that unnecessary stuff it made me so mad
I wanted – NO needed some attention, some compassion not just Calvin and Tommy and Coco all that fashion.

It could have made me sad
It could have made me sick
It could have turned me into to a fucking princess
A living, wanting, breathing
hard-core bitch
But that wasn’t my shtick
Oh no.. it turned me into a rebel, an anarchist, an artist

The parents thought their time and love wasn’t enough
“We can’t live on love we need,
NO we want more and more consumer stuff.”
Working all the time
living in the suburb
it may have been rough
But we can afford to keep up
with Mr. and Mrs. Jonesssss
without taking out those nasty bank loansssss.
But there is never ever enough, enough, enough, enough, enough.

We consume We consume until there is no more room, room, room, room, room,
More and more and more
I’ve got to go to the store
More and more and more
Shits filling up in my drawer
More and more and more
I can’t close the door

My worth is NOT measured on Who I am and What I Say
or  My Morals  and   My Values,   What I Share
I Despair …… WHAT do they compare?
But the money I make each Year
This is a cultural mistake I Fear
Does My Job Define Me?
Am…..  I …  Judged
And  Sought
because of what I Bought …What WE think WE  Need
The greed

I will not buy into this myth
And that makes my government pissed
a rebel, an anarchist, an artist.

Do we need more? Do we need more? Do we need more? Do we need more? Do we need more?

I married what I knew
A consumer through and through
When we first got together
I had one or two things
a few things, to bring ……before I put on that ring
But there was an enormous hole
A place empty in the soul
It needed to filled, it was so very very very very very big.

To find anything in that house I now… need to do a dig
Fuck, fuck , Frig      ….       Oh me oh my
I hang my head in the middle of a pile and cry.
We accumulate more
and mask what we need to hide
Damn pride

We consume We consume until there is no more room, room, room, room, room,
More and more and more
I’ve got to go to the store
More and more and more
Shits filling up in my drawer
More and more and more
I can’t close the door

At first we would drive around and Shop Until We Drop
Hop from One Store and Off to the Next

Alone… one night
On tv
Barry White
Whispered to me
Sexy and sultry songs he sang
He talked about what he would do
Bang…Bang…Bang…
I picked up the phone and it rang rang rang

That was the hook
While my husband bought every single book

The Internet opened a door
Which         NO-one      Can Close Any More
The books kept coming Everyday
Edward the Postman would say
“By the way these books are very heavy”.

Boys want toys and tools toooooooo
Hammers and anvils, pliers
he turned into a liar
An ipad, a phone,
some music so everywhere would be home
There’s jewellery and cloths and shoes shoes shoes shoes
One buys more when they bozze bozze bozze bozze
a rebel, an anarchist, an artist
Falling on my head… Falling on my head…
Falling on my head… Falling on my head…
Falling on my head…

Shopping Any time Day or Night
Baby it feels so Right
Kijiji sounds like magic
Amazon is soooo big
Craig’s my friend… and loyal to the end
Pay pal Pay pal Pay pal pal pal

We consume  We consume until there is no more room, room, room, room, room,
More and more and more
I’ve got to go to the store
More and more and more
Shits filling up in my drawer
More and more and more
I can’t close the door

Finding ourselves in sooo much debt
I sobbed
Un-Till     my   handkerchief   was soaking wet
And I fret and I fret and I fret
A new year’s resolution
And start a revolution
a rebelled, an anarchist, an artist

I will resist . I insist . the ads and images that bombard me
Everyone will see
I will not be weak
I will turn the other cheek
a rebel, an anarchist, an artist
Purge …… instead of splurge
Consume, the right way
And do it every single day
I will watch what I spend
And my finances in the end
will be on the mend

I will meditate and masturbate

And be in a quite place

And make space
In my mind
And be gentle and kind

But as I look around
what I found
Is many bags and envelopes too, some even unopened
The     temp-ta-tion     for more
the behavior is nuts and unspoken
I know what I must do
“Stop it” I say

“NO NO… not now
there’s a sale on EVERYthing
It’s BOXing day hooray hooray!”

And alas we will
PASS PASs PAss Pass pass
And someone will clear out all that stuff
and for them … that will be tough
And a pain in the
ASS ASS ASs ASs Ass
a rebel, an anarchist, an artist

We consume We consume until there is no more room, room, room, room, room,
More and more and more
I’ve got to go to the store
More and more and more
Shits filling up in my drawer
More and more and more
I can’t close the door

and for them … that will be tough
And a pain in the
ASS ASS ASs ASs Ass
a rebel, an anarchist, an artist

We consume We consume until there is no more room, room, room, room, room,
More and more and more
I’ve got to go to the store
More and more and more
Shits filling up in my drawer
More and more and more
I can’t close the door

© Dee Fontans 2012

 

“It’s about Calgary”

I came to Calgary in 1988
With the rest of the world
It was an Olympic date
I fell in love right away and decided to stay
My new friends, all the volunteers here

This Canadian city made it clear
I wanted to be helpful too, enjoy and share the laughter
For then and ever after
Be a part
Of the Heart of the New West
My life here turned into the best

Over the years as I look around what I found is growth and harmony
Celebrating yesterday, excited about today, planning for tomorrow
There are the fine arts and performance arts and a place to experiment
Open and free as we can see
With music and festivals and a multicultural landscape

We are home to the Greatest Show on Earth
Even the Royals know that
We gave them a White Hat!
And now awarded the nations 2012 Year of Cultural we will birth a place
For the people to have a space
To grow
And get to know
Just how special it is where we live.

© Dee Fontans 2012

I have a phone and its charged…

I have a phone and its charged…
My phone is
My friend
My companion
My connection
The world at
My desire
My beck
My call

I have a phone and its charged…
My phone lies nestled deep in my pocket up against my thigh
Held in my hand, fingers wrapped firm, tight
Zipped in the pouch of my purse where it is hidden over night
Pressed up against my breast next to my beating heart
My heart beats to the rhythm and vibration of my phone
My phone is so very smart

I have a phone and its charged…
My phone is petite
Shiny and black
The screen holds a picture of
My pussy
My kitty
My cat
I open my phone
I hold my phone up against my face
I whisper
I giggle
I smile
I text
I ease
There is no trace
On my phone

I have a phone and its charged…
I know just where, when and how to push the buttons
The letters
The numbers
My favorites
My friends
The picture to treasure
The memory of the past
Hold it and make it last
Speed dial
Its dope, its dope

I have a phone and its charged…
My phone has many apps
I play my games, my games, more games, my games
My music plays on my phone too
I move
I groove
I bump to
The rap
The jazz
The oldies the goodies
I remember the moments
”This magic moment”
The rock the roll
The ring tone
It tickles, it tickles, it jiggles, it wiggles
In my pants

I have a phone and its charged…

© Dee Fontans 2012

The Nest

The Nest is a place
I needed to rest
I gave the idea a whirled
And created Sky Girl
She sees
She believes
She will perch
She will fly
Over the land
Across the sky
And the beauty, oh oh my

Over looking the city
It is soo very pretty
Over the valleys
Over the foothills
She stops and sits on the window sills
Along the Bow
Looking high
Looking low
Beyond to a Rockies
The mountaintops covered with snow
The western sky bright, light, blue
The biggest you know

She is looking in the distance for something to pursue
Something exciting, fresh, alive
Something new
So she can thrive
And not just survive

© Dee Fontans 2012

35High

35 is a number so high
One looks out over the balcony
On the birds underneath them as they fly
The wind whistles in a high
Pitch tone
One sees the vast land skape
and knows they are not alone

The moon floats overhead
Night has fallen and
The cars roll on like ants
Into the city
I watch yonder the train on the tracks
Clickity clack Clickity clack
The train whistles blows
So that everyone knows
They are moving, moving on
Beyond to the farmer, to the fields and their yields
Moving food, moving crud
To the oil and
To the gas
A living, a life line to all the mass

I look down below and there is snow
Falling on pedestrians
As they walk
As they talk
They stop and stand wait for the light to change
Whoosh a bike
That gave the man a fright
As he stepped off the curb on to the street
The bike guy should have ring a bell, gave a beep.

© Dee Fontans 2012

The Artist’s Model

I what to learn – as he speaks
I share the Artists vision  – as he speaks
I listen so carefully, – as he speaks
I interpreter the Artist’s concept – as he speaks
I watch the gesture and animation in the Artist’s body – as he speaks
I glance at the Artist’s mouth opening and closing, grinning, laughing
- as he speaks
I smell the Artist’s breath; the scent of cigarettes and coffee – as he speaks
The Artist’s eyes are bright with passion – as he speaks
The Artist’s is anxious – as he speaks

I know the Artist
I know what the Artist wants of me,
What to do
Who to be
The fantasy

Be Delicious
Be Delightful
Be Delux
Be Dynamite
The Bomb
Blow his mind
Be me – He speaks

He marks my body with a fine line
I am his star
A sharp point
A light in his life
A muse
The Artist is amused

My look
My smell
My voice fills the Artists head  – As I speak

He knows me
He know my body
He caresses my form with his pencil
My curves
My clothes
My hair
My lips
My hips
The little bumps that raise off my skin as the coool air move across
My arm; my breast;
My breast; my arm
The sharp point of his tool moves along the outside
and the inside of my body.
- The work speaks

I feel the tenderness
Of a mark,
A dot,
Some shading,
Erase, Erase, Erase
The force
In the stroke of a strong line.
- It speaks

The Artist is my director
The Artist sees my beauty
The Artist makes me beautiful.
The Artist and the Model make Art
-And we speak

© Dee Fontans 2012

 

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