I realised I couldn't make change,
So I stopped trying to make it,
Now I walk past outstretched hands,
Born to make mistakes.

To take the time to discover the world before we lived in today,
That exists before us,
There so much more,
But have those ancestors ever mattered less.
The history lesson
Feels like detention,
People careless now than they ever did before

And that's no metaphor,
For peace or freedom,
Emancipated in the dawn of mind
But will my generation make more change than the one before.

We heard Cassius clay,
Make that change - from his slave name to rounding an army -
Followers Muhammad Ali.

We heard Malcolm X,
Make that change,
People looking at him strange when he took aim at the oppressors.

We heard Marcus Garvey,
Make that change,
Force thoughts through a better day,
To escape that pain.

We all heard Snowden,
Make that change,
Expose the corrupt,
But he's the one they want to put it in to chains.

We heard Bob Marley,
Trying making that change,
Emancipate from mental slavery,
Of the mistakes our ancestors made.

Now it's time for you and I,
To make that change,
Follow in the footsteps that were left to guide the way.

Port Lake sunshine , a beam of pure serendipity
Ushering Noon hour topwater magic to all fortunate enough
to bear witness ...
River dancers swirl about felled timber , painted turtles
tred the surface endlessly , broom sage waves from
the curious creek fed beginning ...
Leaf boats ride the wind churned waters , a prisoner
to her casual whims ..Talking hardwoods , sash-shaying
hillside Pines , ferns and wild berry shrubs loom large
at the southern periphery , tall tree reflections soothe my weary
eyes , a daytime Moon rides the True blue impassioned sky ..

The midnight fires of early April
Fueled with Chinook winds , tended
on the hour ..
Oak smoke canopies obliterating
my vernal stars , choking visible breath ,
rushing into Camp creek lowlands ..
Shadow spirits growing taller with
each feeding , trudging lit furrows ..
" Heat your row , learn you garden ,
toil in Spring , reap at harvest .."

Eastern grays and I are much alike .. We forever forage with a preference for the sunny side of the yard ..
Our world is in constant motion , forever planning for another place and time ..
Entertaining the green meadow by the forest edge , with one eye on the foreboding skyline ..
Tucked away quiet at Dusk and a wee bit leery about the coming Dawn ..

I am
A whirlwind
Of wandering thoughts,
A cyclone
Of spiraling dreams
A tempest
Of trepidation
A world
Fraying at the seams.

I planted flowers
At your feet
But they soon
Grew too tall,
And tangled 'round
Your face until
You were not
There at all.

You are like
Smoke between
My fingers,
Like drops of
Liquid gold,
A love that my mind
Knows so well
But my hands
Can never hold.

I want to feel
These miles of
Icy distance
Fade into the
Warmth
Of your skin,
The ache
Of time
Spent apart
Dimmed
As you
Pull me in.

It's alright
If you decide
To be in love
With someone else
Or that you were
Mistaken in the notion
That you somehow
Needed me

I know that my heart
Is heavy to hold,
So if your fingers
Have gone numb
Please just
Let me go
As gently as
You can.