It wouldn’t matter
should you not have any,
for the Canadian police force
has four legs too many.
Galloping in fields,
but in alleyways long,
the arm of the law
Has no legs to stand on.

You being mine, and I
yours; is being sewn to each
in only three words.

A life that is giving, is giving...
all the right people and their advise,
if you should heed it.

A life that is giving, is giving...
time enough for the restart button,
when you need it.

A life that is giving, is giving...
the chance to love after the loss,
so you can seek it.

A life that is giving, is giving...
opportunity to find the one;
so when you find the love you're looking for,
you can keep it...

Life long.

I belong to those who'd be longing
to belong to someone,
but not if belonging
means I must change to belong;
and it'd be a long time before
I could ever belong to that.

Real eyes
realize real greatness
lies not in sight
but inside.

Mourning and its endless blue,
ends in a journey that
makes us value and love again;
mornings in endless blue.

When we were joyfulness,
we were secret fireworks.
and when we were bitterness,
we were wolves in plain sight.

All the leaves are leaving,
they fall when in fall,
seasoning our season
before the winter's call.

Grounds littered with orange,
ready for the red
mellowed with yellow,
before a white winter is fed.

Vulnerability is true strength
that makes honest connections
an ability.

The mountain of rock
it sat in the lake,
asking the waters
around it to make
no movements too vast
nor tremble or quake.
The stillness is all we'd need.

The mountain of rock
it sat by the grass,
asking the pastures
around it to clasp
falling souvenirs
that Autumn lets pass.
The moment is all we'll have.

The mountain of rock
leaned tall in the clouds,
asking the heavens
if it could allow
an audience with
the moonlight that prowls.
Your presence is all I want.

The Luna white disc
patrolling the sky,
gazed down at the rock face
catching it's eye,
waxing a beam
and waning goodbye.
Your great but it's not meant to be.

Your nice but it's not meant to be.

For all your frustration,
go bellow into the ear of the wind.

For all your unrest,
go whisper into the crush of the sea.

For all your aches,
Go sigh into the sheets of your slumber.

For all thoughts shouting in the night,
Go Find an ear
that gives you the time of day.

My love. Everything
that you see is imported
from everywhere else;
but you and I, here and now
must know; love comes from within.

As salt on the senses
as water the heart,
bad hand of cards delta you,
watching mer-sea depart.

On seas better left to curl like mountains,
maintains that only hell hails here;
hearing a call however, the ***** your ship steers by,
binds that you must flow where your heart knows
no guarantee of binding affection is assured;
shorelines from where home once felt like it sat on the map.

Good luck noble voyager.
God speed.

If you pass on compassion,
compassion won't encompass you
but pass you by.

In a field
School kids
go to war,
In the field
Soldiers
go to work.

The caged bird
you won't let sing,
croons the loudest
when it forgets how to.

A song that should've been haunting and beautiful
becomes only haunting.

Fire moves your feet
water soothes your face,
the Earth rocks your body
and the wind gives you chase.

Our words weighing heavy
their sentiments resting soft,
they can pummle your little heart
or brush against it, like cloth.

freedom doesn't lie
in the collectives cages,
but stands with the choices
individuals make,
to avoid being caught in them.

Fear of boundless freedoms
paints invisible cages for us
to stand in our own way.
Fear of unknown peoples
paints invisible cages for us
to protect our loved ones.

Legacy is;
knowing where to hang your hat
and then knowing when to grab your coat.

There's nothing to gather
from an empty gaze,
but the battleground
of words and pictures
we can assume are unravelling
within.

If you can convince people to want dirt,
you can muddy the waters
between right and wrong.

What is the plight of art and poetry;
if not the human endeavour for grace,
to meet the sense of an ending?

Where did the last leaves go?
when the winter crept;
weren't they blanketed by the snow
or were they feasted upon by frost?
Either way I've lost track of them.

If I turn over a new leaf,
am I neglecting the ground work
i laid the past ones out on?
Would I be dishonouring those
that have fallen?
will everything up to this point
now lose its relevance, because
time permits its time to drop old
blueprints for fresh leaves?

What if i'm not ready?
What if I still value the progression
of the elder ones?
What if despite seeing those
old designs bleed amber and red
I can still see green?

Times, seasons and things may change
but even from the beginning
of a calendar year;
What is old can be new again,
Those old leaves becoming new ones,
every time I remember to grow
my ambitions with the ideas
ingrained and well rooted within
old desires.
Those are I hope; the last new leaves
I'll ever have to turn.

And, when you wake up
you shall only see
an imprint in the pillow and covers.
long gone i will be,
from this mess, and the loose
webs that reveal your other lovers.

If you would
sit down at my table,
to be savouring
the feast of our little fable,
sharing the dishes
of dreams and of thoughts
seasoned with promises,
of both mine and of yours.

How do we as one vehicle
get to something we all want?
We carpool our specialisms
to drive ourselves forward.

Some people...

If all they know is how to be broken
despite all efforts;
they are not the fix for you
nor yours to keep on fixing.

The Sun asked the Moon
"What are you looking for?"
The Moon replied
"I'm trying to find something I can gravitate towards.
Every night I search oceans to find companionship,
until at last I can feel whole again"

The sand asked the sea
"How is it you can love me?"
The sea replied
"As simple the stones that you are,
You are my rock my loyal friend
and when I waver.
you give me much needed assurance.