Toronto The Good Read online

The Good

  Poems by

  Jeff Roulston

  Toronto, Ontario, Canada

  ISBN: 978-0-9920678-1-6

  Cover Art: Dion Fitzgerald (www.dvyneart.com)

  Copyright 2013 by Jeff Roulston:

  Dedication

  For Diego

  For Noah

  For Brooklynn

 

  I pray that Toronto is good to you and your generation,

  better than it has been to me and mine

 

 

  Thank you for the inspiration:

 

  Slay, Fitz, the whole T.C. crue

  L, Ekko, Newz

  Shanna

  R.I.S.E. Poetry

  Contents

  The World Outside My Two Windows

  The Hallway

  Life Is...

  Fighting To Be...

  Please Move Back

  Last Stop

  Train Of Thought

  Shoot For The Moon

  As The City Heats Up

  The Heart Of The City

  Scarborough Is Not Surprised

  Red, White And Blue

  Validation

  I Respect You

  Shoes To Fill

  About Me

  Other Books By Jeff Roulston

  Connect With Jeff

  The World Outside My Two Windows

  Bachelor apartment with a view

  Of the drab brick building next door

  And the mould in my own window

  That the superintendent won't clean

  Everyone has a balcony but me

  With alcohol- and drug-fueled joy

  Emanating for me to share in their

  Low-income cut off existence

  Where society has replicated itself

  In this little slum allowing some to

  Escape the stale air I’m breathing

  To taste the rich sunshine

  In the world outside my two windows

  A real job and a living wage allow me to

  Escape, for good one day, while the

  Privileged stay, trapped on their balconies

  Back To Contents

  The Hallway

  This is a bittersweet place

  Where the rent is low

  Enough for the roaches and

  The people stuck on drugs

  The smell of their habits

  Being consumed and cooked

  Mixes with mouth-watering

  Aromas of dinner prepared

  By chefs from several

  Beautiful countries

  Where the rent was lower

  Yet, the hallway cleaner

  Back To Contents

  Life Is...

  Life is the sum of the choices you make,

  say the rich, old white men

  choosing between finely tailored suits

  and shirts and ties and Italian leather shoes

  each day, and their children

  who chose between McGill and U of T, between

  Grand Cayman and Turks and

  Caicos and backpacking across Europe when

  it was over, putting the so-called real world

  off for a few months, and their grandchildren

  who do not choose between XBox and PS3

  and Nintendo Wii 'cause

  they can have all three. When in the real

  real world our parents chose between

  a land with little opportunity for anyone and

  a land with opportunity for everyone but us,

  between eating a little in public housing

  and eating less in a slightly better home,

  and we chose between a desk in the hall and

  standing up for ourselves, detention

  and suspension, the rap game and slinging

  crack and practicing a wicked jumpshot or

  being the black guy in Black History class

  at York University, making something

  of ourselves, making money or

  making more money for some old,

  rich white man, and our kids will choose

  between local, arts, magnet and subway

  schools, academic and practical courses

  of action and over twenty Air Jordan Retro

  releases every year, though the quality of

  the education and craftsmanship will be

  mediocre at best, not to mention their

  chance at a degree, good job, fair paycheck,

  home-ownership and, least of all,

  a meaningful life.

  Back To Contents

  Fighting To Be...

  We're not fighting to be

  Doctors and lawyers

  Pilots and teachers

  Important people

  Those dreams are gone

  We're not fighting to have

  New homes and new cars

  New clothes and new shoes

  More education

  Those are just dreams

  We're not fighting to see

  New places and things

  Faraway wonders

  Our own city's life

  Life's in the way

  We're not fighting to grow

  As communities

  As true families

  As human beings

  There is no room

  We're not fighting to be

  The most talented

  On top of the world

  The best we can be

  We just exist

  We're fighting to be

  High school graduates

  Full-time employees

  No Frills customers

  TTC riders

  Tenement tenants

  Out of the projects

  Feeding our children

  With some left for us

  Eligible for

  E.I. benefits

  Two weekend per month

  Fathers to our kids

  Not convicted of

  Any offense for

  Which a pardon has

  Not yet been granted

  Average people

  Back To Contents

  Please Move Back

  Please move back, Black man, Thank You.

  Thank God you are the ones on the front

  lines (Hell on Earth) of the war

  going on outside. White men are safe

  from behind bulletproof vests

  made of privilege, the police

  state your name (gangster), rank,

  serial (killer) number. In other words,

  rep yo' set, tell me where you stay.

  Why do you stay there? Don't

  you want to do something bigger?

  Be something more? Go

  A little farther (?) back, Black man, Please

  remember that standing

  still is the same as going

  backwards. Going forward,

  try standing up for your-

  self and your comm-

  unity. You have allowed me

  to convince you that your

  selfishness and materialism

  has divided your comm-

  unity even more than

  colonialism and racism and

  capitalism and isms and schisms

  out of (your) control

  and it worked.

  Thank You, Black man, for moving back.

  Back To Contents

  Last Stop

  McCowan is the last stop

  You're on you're own now

  Hopefully you don't have

  Much further to go

  Many people that live

  Past the last stop have

  A harder time getting

  Where they want to go

>   If your dreams aren't too big

  The last stop is good enough

  But if you want to be special

  You'll still have a ways to go

  Back To Contents

  Train Of Thought

  I went to College but nobody else did.

  They were trying to stay forever Yonge,

  looking for that fountain of youth, that

  money tree, chasing that Pape station,

  ending up in front of a Warden at Collins

  Bay, where the Union protected the C.O.'s

  that watered money trees with the inmates

  blood, sweat, tears and addiction. Their

  lawyer was their only friend, but

  the crown attorney went to Osgoode

  Law School too, no wonder they referred to

  each other as "my friend." With friends

  like that, who needs enemies. God save us,

  the Queen is just fine. But we are dying,

  destined for hell for a second time

  instead of the throne where we once were,

  should be and would be King.

  Back To Contents

  Shoot For The Moon

  We are willing to do anything,

  to rob, steal, sell that stuff,

  to kill even, without blinking,

  not because we are bad, but

  because we are desperate.

  Hungry, not just to eat

  or have things, but to be

  something, to make some

  thing of ourselves, out of

  nothing. We are ambitious

  too! We have big dreams

  too! We just aren't allowed

  the same dreams as you.

  So we shoot for the moon,

  miss, and land among the

  stars of the morning news

  headlines, dead, another

  statistic. A life and death

  story written hastily on

  deadline. But at least

  it is written, unlike so

  many that live and die

  and never really live.

  For if a boy is born

  and raised in the ghetto

  and never busts a gat

  at another boy

  in broad daylight,

  does he make a sound?

  Back To Contents

  As The City Heats Up

  The biting cold

  Of winter in the city

  Is made worse by the loneliness

  And the isolation

  The loneliness and isolation

  Are made worse by the throbbing

  Heartbeats and voices of the

  Neighbours, separated

  By only a wall or a stairwell

  Or an elevator or a brown fence

  How is it possible to feel alone

  In an apartment building

  Where a hundred people live

  Or on a subway

  With a thousand people on it

  Or in a city

  Of almost three million?

  As the city freezes

  Do our hearts freeze along with it?

  The first bright, warm day

  Of spring in the city

  Is made better by the harshness

  Of the winter that we've survived again

  But the spring is made bittersweet

  By the light the welcome sun shines

  On the city's problems

  The rich cannot ignore

  The struggles of the poor

  Now in plain view

  And the poor have to look

  At the blinding success of the rich

  Their green lawns, shiny cars

  New fashions and glimmering condos

  Shooting skyward

  How is it possible that

  A stifling, hot, sunny day

  Can make some of us

  So happy and hungry

  For barbecue chicken

  Macaroni pie, potato salad

  And cold beer dripping with sweat

  And others so thirsty and desperate

  For money, survival

  Respect and revenge

  Quenched only by violence?

  As the city heats up

  Will the bodies pile up in it?

  Back To Contents

  The Heart Of The City (June 2, 2012)

  Amid the confusion

  We wait to hear

  Is he okay?

  Is she okay?

  Or another life lost?

  Even more lives lost?

  The subway's closed

  Streetcars sent around

  Traffic clogged in

  The heart of the city

  A broken heart

  Broken again

  The news on TV

  Surely won't let us

  Forget the last time

  Bullets flew through

  The heart of the city

  We don't know yet

  So we speculate

  And hold our breath

  The city’s lifeblood

  And heart stopped

  I hope they didn't die

  I hope they aren't black

  Like they usually are

  Because the news will

  Forget too soon

  I hope they didn't die

  I hope they aren't white

  Like she was last time

  Because the news will

  Never let us forget

  I hope they caught them

  I hope they aren't black

  Like they were last time

  Because the news will

  Never let us forget

  Back To Contents

  Scarborough Is Not Surprised (July 16, 2012)

  The news reporters

  Call it shocking

  The police chief

  Calls it tragic

  The Mayor

  Calls it senseless

  But we are not

  Surprised

  Every summer

  The temperature

  Goes up

  Unemployment

  Goes up

  And desperation

  Goes up too

  In our Toronto

  We watch

  The young men

  Black and brown men

  Poor black and brown men

  With nothing to do

  And lint-filled pockets

  And we feel the tension

  And wipe it from our faces

  Along with the sweat

  And wonder just when

  Something like this

  Will go down

  And then

  It does

  And we are not

  Surprised

  And we are used to

  Tragedy

  And it makes perfect

  Sense

  But the news reporters

  And the police chief

  And the mayor

  Are surprised

  Because this

  Never goes down

  In their Toronto

  Back To Contents

  Red, White & Blue

  Red is for the blood that's spilled again. It drips and drops delicately or runs wild like a chicken with its head cut off. It darkens the grass cryptically, freezes clumsily on the white snow, hardens in a sticky pool on hot concrete in city summers. Unfulfilled lives go with it. It's for the hearts that stop and break at the same damn time. The embarrassed and freezing faces. The logos on expensive sneaker tongues, with the hat to match.

  The blue is for the cold. The stares of the people riding by on the bus, judging. The hands of the police, the steel fingers of their handcuffs on warm skin. The temperature in Maplehurst from October to May. Or Lindsay. Or East Detention. The tone from loved ones on visiting day.

  The white is for the people in power that do nothing to help, the cops, the TV reporters. The blank page that would replace the story if newspapers were only allowed to print the truth. The emptin
ess.

  The now-empty schedule of the accused, his weekend plans preempted for a date with justice. A real ice queen, that bitch. Ugly too, symmetry of facial features being the basic rule of beauty.

  I can see the red, the blue, the white, the lights.

  I can feel them creeping through my window at night.

  Back To Contents

  Validation

  It's like living in an inferiority complex

  With brown fences and metal plaques.

  Trophies, wives don't validate us or

  Stamp out our insecurity, out our fury

  At playing second fiddle. Number one

  Prospects, first round picks, number one singles

  Double, triple, quadruple platinum albums

  Carve out bigger and bigger chips

  On Toronto's cold shoulder. Faces

  Screwed tightly into each others' hearts.

  Bad-mind, small-thinking, measuring the city

  By the success of its rap game, those

  Slinging crack rock and shooting wicked

  Jumpshots in the States. United by our self-

  Hate, the blood of our young dripping

  From our teeth and the stench of our self-

  Fulfilling prophecy. We win big betting

  Against ourselves, and celebrate

  Failure to remain true to ourselves. This

  Poem is dope... you can't even tell it's by a

  Canadian.

  Back To Contents

  I Respect You

  I respect you no matter where you're from

  but I respect you more if you survive my

  city with heart. Even though I've only just

  survived myself. I've only just begun

  to thrive myself, to stand on my own two.

  If you think you're going to stand out

  in this concrete jungle with the biggest,

  tallest dreams, teeming, heat rising, smog

  colouring the sky, you've got another thing

  coming. I came of age in this place,

  running for my life, always playing catch-up.

  Running in place, with the God-given gifts

  to win in a race where my rivals have a head

  start. Finish your rant about how unfair life is

  and get going, you can't afford to be late.

  Your job pays just enough for bus fare

  to and from work, you can't afford to lose it.

  You can't be a chooser, the food bank it is,

  to fill up on secondhand items that weren't

  even your second choice or third but Plan A

  and B didn't work. You said you'd never

  settle for sloppy seconds, kiss your dreams

  goodbye. They are secondary to survival in

  the city with heart, but no respect. Don't

  expect too much too soon, but don't be

  infected by this epidemic of low expectations.

  Decide what you want from this city and

  take it.

  Back To Contents

  Shoes To Fill

  I want my sons

  To walk the same

  Streets and paths

  Where I became

  A man who went

  Against the crowd

  And grew to make

  My father proud

  Among the building

  Balconies

  And not quite

  Inner-city trees

  The duplex houses

  Lawns so lean

  Alternating

  Brown and green

  The sounds of balls

  That bounced upon

  The driveway

  Till the sun was gone

  The highway's hanging

  Yellow haze