This piece is dedicated to the great Gil Scott Heron and his poem “The Revolution will not be Televised”

Again, just an Idea I had 

I have writer's block, so I just wrote this to work through all those pent up angry emotions thinking of all the evil twisted people in this world.

One day I was gazing outside the window as a big storm was about to hit the city (New York).   I actually saw the dust floating in the wind, as if some invisible force gave wings to the dust and that is basically the genesis of the poem. I have also observed how after every rain the earth seems to rejuvinate almost like being cleansed in the process.  Well basically the poet observes a torrential rain from his window which resulted in the poem.

I entered a poetry contest, only two months after the second surgery on my left temporal lobe. The contest was on one of the main United States Epilepsy web sites, so I did not think I had a chance of my poem being chosen as the winner. That was mainly due to the number of poems I suspected submitted, and the fact I am Canadian. When the newsletter came out in the fall, I was shocked to see the following...
And the Winner is…
After a month of poring through all of the incredible poems submitted for our summer poetry contest we are pleased to announce our winner (drum roll please)... And the winner is Greg Van De Moortele from Nova Scotia! Here is his winning poem:

Do you have an enemy or someone you loathe so much, you wish he/she died in a terrible accident? Well then, this poem well satisfy your thoughts of death to your enemy. This is not to be taken for granted. This poem is based on thought of death to your enemy and by the end of this poem, you'll learn that what's worst than life with your enemy is life without.

You should not look at yourself in the mirror for too long.

This week, folklore between the bars of prison

Social standing, all but accurate precision

This is my sexy, fun experiment. I read a very sexy book that inspired this poem. Sometimes I just want to write about passion without the tragedy.

Waxing romantically about trains.

I don't believe in summaries of my poems.  I occasionally will tell the story behind a poem, but you can spend too much time introducing your poems, longer than even the poem lasts and as Robert Frost said "I have already said it the best way I know how."  To tell any more would detract from the poem.

excerpt from train times, identity, london, the ghetto and the pastoral

A walk after rain, perhaps

Short poem, written about an hour ago, before going gym, inspiration to write hits me at any time. This one => I looked out the window at the weather I was shortly going out into! Give it a read, hope you like.

using oulipo constraint n-27, s+12