my pal al

fairy island

i felt like

little red riding hood

on an easter egg hunt

with red bull soda

bottles of beer

and live deer

along my path

instead of bunnies

colored eggs

and scary wolves

there was even

haagen daus double

chocolate ice cream

set along the boardwalk

for anyone staying

in this gay ghost town

as summer residents

emptied their fridges

and left goodies

for us stragglers

after the last hurrah

of the halloween hoedown

gay men do

know how to party

i have this 'flashback'

to a gay club in canada

decades earlier

the fervor is still the same

with a huge disco ball orbiting

overhead leaving little

mirror square reflections

on the village people

a pair of vikings

the wicked witch and

her king accomplice

at the sip n 'twirl

on the infamous

fire island this

last weekend

there was also

a frankenstein and his

6 foot something

transgendered bride

whose hair was

marg simpson tall

but with a silver

lightening bolt thru it

and he had to arch

and swoon backward

to get his big hair doo

thru the door and

into the room

the bartender was

a pregnant nun

who wud scream

'photo opp!'

and strike a pose

every time there was

a flash from a camera

there was also a priest

a leather clad cop and

a couple of hard core

s+m partners

with an assortment of

whips chains and collars

and some bare chested devils

and one straight girl angel

and boys dressed scantily

some with colorful wigs

others nearly naked

it was definitely a nite

of festivities

today is a new day

as i walk along

the boardwalk that seems

almost rolled up

postings are all taken down

after this final weekend

there is no money in my pocket

cuz there is nothing to buy

the liquor the hardware

and the grocery store

have all closed up

putting inventory in boxes

as the last of us

still shopped for provisions

almost double in price

here on what i have dubbed

'fairy island'

i walk down

the wooden path

i feel welcome here

all the gay men are friendly

yet i feel like an oddity

this is their sanctuary

yet i am not ostracized

like they have been

for centuries

yet to the seasonal worker

i am this female commodity

as they try to suss out

if i am on the swim team

or not

i walk past

jungle like bamboo reeds

and giant grass that

looks like mutant wheat

but much taller

like a triffid

but furry on top

reaching up to the sky

and bending in the wind

like it is feather

dusting the air

and there are

weeping willows

with branches swaying

like horse tails

and huge holly trees

and naturally

the pines

the sassafrass

crepe myrtle crooked maple

and sour cherry trees

are finally turning gold and crimson

with the fall season upon us

despite men in bikinis

the weekend prior

i stop at turtle pond

and try to spot one

on the lime green algae surface

i havent seen them for days

and i wonder

where do the turtles go

when it gets cold

i head to cherry grove

and walk thru the woods

following the pink paint

on the trees

its appropriately dubbed

'the meat rack'

where gay boys

do the naughty

in the bushes

but you can detour

by the ocean

if you dont fancy

an encounter

but my gender

makes me feel secure

how rare is that

the grove feels more quaint

with a cottagy feel and

apparently more lesbians

many homes have names

like

and

'xanadu' and 'gretel'

but no hansel

and there is even

the home

of 'tweedle dum'

but what of

tweedle dee

i think

and odd lawn ornaments

like mermaids and doll heads

and curious signs

like 'bottoms up'

and

'wrong address

nobody here

by that name'

okay then

flags fly high

lots of proud american

a canadian british

a happy face and

the proudest of all

the rainbow

waving in the wind like

the queen mother

i zig zag

thru all of cherry grove

run into a few year rounders

and a couple vagrants like me

with some strange agenda

but mostly the trades

fixing changing replenishing

then i run into a cop on a bike

and we chit chat like

old acquaintances

probly both lonely

in our own way

and both knowing

that neither one

of us is gay

and we are

a minority here

yet that is ok

i find a

different route back

thru the meat rack

and head to the pines

which is etched into the trees

like bread crumbs home

i never get tired of

the deer and the fawn

just like i always enjoyed

the otters and seals

on my beach on

the sunshine coast

which seems

so long ago

i pet them

and take pictures

of  these beautiful creatures

that perpetually remind me

of my mom who

passed away this summer

and i talk to them

and sometimes feed them

apples or carrots

i am told the males

are neutered but

the females go on a

little rendezvous when the

tide is low enough

to escape the island

for a liason

praps i should follow suit

back in the beautiful pines

which seems more gentrified

with old beach homes

amongst more lavish

and less cottage

i find evidence of

the halloween hedonism

'amsterdam poppers'

in a bottle along the pathway

but oddly 'made in canada'

which is also reminiscent

of the 'flashback' days

that stuff is lethal

'if swallowed

induce in vomitting'

wow yum

here sunsets are spectacular

and i vowed to

see them every nite

they are too good

to be missed

not only is it panoramic

but you can easily walk

from one side of the island

to the other

and it is a whole new

postcard view

i always say

gay men pick the best

spots on the planet

this started out a retreat

a place of refuge

a place to be themselves

without being judged

or condemned

and they turned it into

their own paradise

and they share

and maintain the magic

with kindness acceptance

hospitality and a

sense of unity

as well as playfulness

i am honored to be here

and am blessed by

the magic of this

enchanted island

as i find inspiration

and a place of refuge

for me too

kat kosiancic october 31, 2007

sunset sonata....

the beauty ....

of the sunset....

almost pains me....

i think of mom....

and hear her spirit say....

'this is part of ....

the paradise i see'....

the orange sun....

dips into the ocean....

and right above me....

is clear blue sky looking like ....

it doesnt realize....

it's time to let go ....

and to the east ....

is a cathedral of indigo  ....

mauve and coral ....

with fluffy gray clouds....

lingering like ghosts ....

around the horizon....

and above them ....

are feather like....

monet ballet dancers ....

looking like they are ....

trying to escape ....

this ever changing ....

sunset palette....

the dancers fragment ....

into picasso nudes floating ....

slowly separating....

some disappearing....

forever....

the ocean is ....

an orchestra with ....

the rhythm of the waves....

a staccato pounding on the shore....

and the strong wind blowing....

my tears to my temples ....

as i feel in my heart ....

this beautiful song and ....

this incredible painting ....

yet i want to make images ....

and write a rhapsody....

 ....

make it my art....

my escape my salvation....

this incredible landscape....

feeds me and i want ....

this magical place....

to take me away ....

from my pain ....

but instead it reminds me....

and i remember the line....

'wherever you go there you are'....

your emotions your memory....

and your pain are ....

still with you....

no matter what country....

i feel my moms support now....

her comfort and finally . . .....

her approval....

it was hard ....

being her daughter and ....

i was a hard daughter to have....

but in the end it all comes down....

to love and forgiveness....

and i knew when we said goodbye....

that we had forgiven each other....

for not being who we envisioned....

it is never too late ....

to say i love you....

and she managed that....

just before her death....

and i am incredibly ....

grateful for that....

the ocean orchestra ....

continues with a sonata....

i request a piano solo....

for my mom....

she would like that and ....

please turn one of those clouds....

into a bouquet of roses ....

and give it to her....

and tell her its from me....

because flowers always ....

made her happy....

i leave the shore ....

and walk down ....

the wooden boulevard ....

on this beautiful ....

fairy tale island ....

and i pass a deer and ....

put out my hand....

deer are everywhere here....

and it looks at me ....

with big soulful eyes....

and licks my fingers....

i think about mom ....

every time i see....

when she was young....

and mom had ....

big beautiful eyes too....

i head home ....

to put words to the music ....

that i just heard ....

along the shore....

and describe ....

the impressionist ....

and cubist painting ....

in the dance of colors ....

a stanza for the sky theatrics....

and i am grateful....

for this paradise....

and to know i have found ....

peace and solace ....

with my mom....

though that doesnt erase ....

the sadness and ache....

but it does make it ....

easier to grieve....

i thought this walk....

was a soliloquy....

but instead it was....

a communion between....

daughter and mother....

the dance of life....

the dance of death....

and the sonata....

in the sunset heaven ....

and on this earth....

in between....

thank you mom . . .....

i love you too....

your daughter kat  ....

oct 27^th 2007....

happy birthday....

november 19^th + 20^th
 

all pics by kat

since i wrote this poem
i vowed to see every sunset
from fairy island
while i am here

reading
tuesdays with morrie
beautiful wisdom
about life & death

pic by trent

faeries and fools

like some kinda

gypsy vaudeville act

an array of bohemian elves

and fairy vagabonds

toting rucksacks

and tickle trunks

end up at the gumboot café

as tho they had just

been propelled from

a psychedelic bus and

transported from neverland

rather than the

sunshine coast ferry

and now they are

hitchin up to crystal creek

on mount elphinstone

for the cosmic carnival of

fairies and fools

later in the afternoon

me and my pal me-lissa

which is a weekend extravaganza

but i opt for daytime only

and leave the carnie dance

nite fest for the rest

a tall quirky troll

wearing elf shoes

that curl at the toes

plays a note

on his harmonica

like he is tuning himself

as we pull up and

 he gives a theatrical bow

down to our car

and bellows out

in what i believe

is a mock english accent

and directs our

pot hole jumping car

on down the wayward path

as we drive away

he puts his harmonica

back to his lips

and plays another chord

and we finally park and

pile out like dust bunnies

and head towards the entrance

i spot a silver haired gnome

in a purple velvet ensemble

david the carnie ring master of

the magical festival

of faeries and fools

takes the toll

we hike up the curvy road

in the peaceful woods

and half way up

we spot a pixie

like an apparition

standing on a rock

in the forest

playing a flute

we get to the

main entrance of

the mystical carnival

and gargoyle niko

sporting a dark skirt

is stirring a cauldron

of caffeine beans

like a witch's brew

over a fire

'stimulation for the morning

of the day after'

he tells me

pic by tyson agent of chaos

we are in fairy territory

a milieu of jesters

fairies nymphs pixies and

elves with pointy ears

and many with

fountains of dreads

and faces sparkling

and painted

tattoos and body art

pic by tyson

pic by trent

all disheveled + wrinkled

ending up at the café

like a mock headquarters

exhausted after a

nite of mayhem

some with eyes still aglow

others fatigued and forlorn

i walk to the pier

and strewn upon the beach

at roberts creek

were a bunch of party leftovers

dead to the world

like castaways from

a shipwrecked ship

and all of them half

tucked into their

sleeping bags

still in leather velvet

and layers and one

still wearing

his cat in the hat

and dead to the world

at 3 in the afternoon

and next to them

was a large group

of enthusiastic kayakers

pretending they weren't there

and paddling around the

comatose troubadours

like just another day

in roberts creek

i see a young lass

lost little prairie oyster

she had sparkly dreamy eyes

and a sweet smile

and these green

sloppy slipper boots

on her party feet

she hadnt slept

a wink all nite

i asked what

she liked the best

and she said 'the morning'

and i wondered why

cuz that was really

the end of it

and now she was

looking for a friend anyone

or 'a bathtub full of bubbles

by the ocean'

she said

              pic by trent

kat kosiancic may 2007

thanks to
the photographers
who have a great eye
for a wicked pic
view more of
tyson the agent of chaos
and thanks to david
the sweet spirit behind
faeries and fools
and the others that
manifest the magic

appropo music:
jorane - film I-III
chris rippin - his life, i'm not the only
bjork - frosti, aurora, harm of will
loreena mckennitt - le serenissima, dante's prayer

see kats profile

i wrote this after working and spending a lot of time in vancouver's downtown eastside.  there is this strange  draw that i used to have to that area which is hard to describe and i intentionally moved from vancouver to get away from it and the ghosts that haunt me in that neighbourhood after so many friends from there have perished. 

i walk down

these putrid streets

littered with used needles

condoms the works

strewn with garbage debris

blood and feces

i see addicts shooting up

chasing the dragon

 smoking rock

tweeking nodding

and passing out

on the sidewalk

in doorways

and by dumpsters

in the alleys

they can be

high on down

like a sleepy kitten

or antsy hyper psycho-like

crazy for a fix

or ranting on a coc rampage

dancing like a crack chicken

or flailing their arms

like the wings of

a beheaded rooster

depending on

their drug of use

they get tweeking

poking at dirt and cracks

in the cement incessantly

looking for bits

of delusional drugs

that someone didn't hide

and they will never find

they pick at their skin

obsessively

hallucinatory bugs

crawling underneath

till they have gaping sores

sometimes down to the bone

sometimes they shoot their fix

into these infectious wounds

they get debilitated

can barely stand

barely open their eyes

or function

sometimes they od

and sometimes they die

some get clean

fresh from detox

but back in the hood

back on the beat

they return

like creatures of habit

and i pray that their habit

doesn't turn them

back into creatures

i see beautiful faces

hollowed out skeletal like

haunting looks

from vacant eyes

often their teeth

are rotten or missing

from lack of calcium

side effects

of methadone and heroin

and a sweet junkie diet

and no dental care

they tell me

of uncles dads

and foster fathers

or friends of the family

violating their youth

a childhood of physical

emotional and sexual abuse

being conned

raped and robbed

by exboyfriends

dealers pimps

coc and crack heads

junkies and johns

they tell of friends

disappearing dying od'ing

their faces are gracing

billboards on posters

of missing women

whose lives should

not be disposable

but the list just keeps

growing longer and longer

till finally a pig farmer

is incarcerated

after the list

gets past fifty

drugs are a

means of escape

to camouflage

decades of abuse

scars broken bones hearts

and emotional wounds

drug dealing  panhandling

prostituting and stealing

keep their habits maintained

they tell me of life

before the streets

of their families

and their dreams

to finish school

get a degree a career

maybe be a counselor

so they can help someone else

out of this abysmal hell

be a mother to their daughter

get married have a family

some just dream to stay alive

some wish for good health

and some want to die

mothers sisters

grandmothers daughters nieces

cousins friends and lovers

these women are not faceless

these women are us

they deserve our love

our respect and our trust

these women

still have their dreams

how can we help them

. . . hang onto these

by kat kosiancic

this portrait of  angel
by martin hatfield

the song
'everybody hurts' by rem
goes well with this