Yoho
Diamonds of patience at the silent feet of stone. Silver shadows grow. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Gaspereau Press Wayzgoose Writers’ Salon, 2016
Gaspereau Press describes itself as one of Canada’s ‘most innovative and tenacious literary publishers.’ Just shy of twenty years old, it has been voted Best Small Press Publisher in Canada three times, and its books have won the Giller Prize and the Governor General’s Award. Since 2000, Gaspereau has been hosting an annual Wayzgoose,…
The Stone Collector
About a year after flooding in Southern Alberta became Canada’s most expensive natural disaster to date, I started to notice some interesting things cropping up along the Bow River in Calgary. Cairns and designs of stones began dotting islands and small parcels of land under bridges. Intrigued by who was behind it and what they…
The Ripple Effect
This post marks a new chapter for curiaudio. After a 12-year hiatus from radio (aside from the occasional cameo appearance), I am returning to my roots in community radio and have embarked on a series of documentaries for Voice of Bonne Bay (95.9FM, 98.1FM in beautiful Gros Morne National Park), and worldwide on www.vobb.org. The…
Canada Day
The earth is an Indian thing said Kerouac, in Mexico, full of desert and staring eyes. And it is. In the way this island has been danced upon from before time. We are all but visitors here. Feel the earth tremble. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Riley Park
No poetry today. Perhaps the sounds of my girls is poetry enough. In lieu of poetry, though, a comment: this is my 100th post on what began as a gift to an audiophile friend when our daughters were born. Ale had challenged me to use my microphone to listen deeply to the world; eight years…
Old Woman Song
The song he sang: the woman who rocks her child, and then her man. Who will rock the woman? CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Waiting for the Plane
The paint on her toes, curled against the cold, unearths me. How it begins. This winter light. She has: a dish to sell, and red soil ground into the fold of a letter. Her toes, curled against the cold. She gives me her name. Two bags that hold a spoon for bread, her smile, wide…
Helicopter
This peak that keeps drifting in and out of the clouds. Each flake that lands stays, layers into history. Freeze, thaw. The constant motion of things. Wilderness, and this life we carve into it. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING