my vocabulary is not small
nor my imagination weak
but every time you seem to call
I find no words to speak

my heart thumps louder

as death appears
unspoken words hang in the trees
listen for my voice whispering in the wind

death draws nearer
unspoken sentiments in a simple glance
unattained goals and unmet dreams

death reaches out his hand
unspoken love in the things I did
a smile broaches my face

death touches me in that final moment
a world speaks of the love I gave
the love I gave with actions. not words

unspoken love, in the end,
is the most powerful of all

pine trees are an amazing thing
to watch in a strong wind storm
they bend and they bend
they never seem to break

until they do

then in an instant they shatter
with a thunderous crash
far and wide their debris
leaving only a stump

a mere shadow of their long past

I wonder if this is like me
will I suddenly break?
shattering life all around?
what inspires that moment?
and what will be left behind?

these are all matters between
a pine tree
a strong wind
and me

its cold outside
     downright bleak
need something warm
     so you I seek

find you in bed
     under the quilt
cuddle up there
     i begin to melt

a touch of your skin
    thaws me to the bone
its then I remember
    this is my home

she grounds me
like a heavy stone holding me down
stuck to the dirt and kept from flying high
held back, reduced, prevented from greatness
dreams crushed, beyond reach
she grounds me
like a great Red Oak, my roots are deep
in touch with myself and capable of anything
focused, determined, unshakable in all I do
my dreams a reality, nothing impossible
she grounds me

I lay down beside your stone cold corpse
Your heart still gently beating
I close my eyes and pray for peace
Then hear your constant breathing
You’re long gone now, yet still you’re here
The truth of relationship retreating

a writer in secret
a secret I couldn’t keep
she found the words I’d written
that night I fell asleep

notebook in hand
pen by my side
she discovered emotions
I tried hard to hide

but writing is sacred
this much she knew
she put back my notebook
a deep love so true

pretend you have something profound to offer
fake it till you make it, they say
then you will find you are truly the author
with a firm grasp of what to portray

then you’ll write all day and you’ll write all night
the words will pop forth and flow out
the things you say, they will be just right

until they’re not
then you’ll struggle
you’ll feel lost
like right now

so I’m done




wait - what?

not really, not even close
but that’s the fear that I have,
even though it’s morose

for who would I be
without a pen and some paper?
nothing at all
so I’ll continue to labour

we laugh and we cry
we so often fight
if I’m being honest
you’re most often right

when I flew to Monterey
I noticed my heart was weak
every now and then you see
it would skip a                         beat

doctors ran tests, talked it through
they found no problem in sight
so I went home and told my love
but then I felt just                   right

maybe that’s what happens now
whenever I go away
maybe next time I need to leave
instead I will just                    stay