O'er shingle tossed on raggèd shore,
In awe I gaped that vast array
Of gleaming waves, a teeming store
Of natures bounty in the bay,
Reflecting with each crest and trough
Mosaic fragments of the sky
That echoed on the high-flung bluff
'Neath where stood I.

If God e'er laid a dint or breach
For beauty's sake, this land divine
Is refuge when the storm winds preach,
When rains flow like communion wine;
Each pebble strewn, yet seemly placed
In knitted weave, as tho' on high
A seamstress sewed her pattern, traced
To pleaseth I.

Oh any heart but mine rejoice
To taste this salted spray;
The longing of mine own device
Lays far beyond the bay.

To stand beneath the mizzen-mast,
Upon an isle of polished teak,
Surrendered to the winded flax
Wild-dancing round with every creak;
From port to starboard, fore and aft,
No land, nor ship, nor blot on high,
Wouldst dare encroach the mindful craft
That carries I.

What yearning heart has heard her call,
That siren? Oh the sailor's sea,
In beauty does she rise and fall,
Enchanting is her melody;
Too deep her eyes of coral blue
Wherein she takes, as is her wont,
Unwary souls to charters new,
The Lordships and the débutante.

*And unto her, when wearied age
Makes breathless every sigh
And bones become a prison cage,
Will answer I.

In your bleeding cross-section I count
three centuries of wooden wisdom
since that mother cone dropped
on soil no one owned.
Black bears scratched backs
against your young bark. Ohlone
passed peacefully on their path
to the waters of La Honda Creek.

In my lifetime you groaned.
Your bark filled with beetles.
Woodpeckers drilled, feasted.
Needles, whole limbs,
you shed your clothes,
stood naked. I cut your flesh.  

You walloped the earth, creating a trench
two hundred feet long where you lie.
As you fell in your fury
you destroyed my tomatoes,
smashed the daffodils,
snapped a dogwood.

Better you crush my garden than my house
which did not exist nor any of this town
when you first advanced one tender green.
I want to believe the sawtooth less cruel
than another winter of storms.

All good fathers must fall.
Your children surround you,
waving, blocking the light.
My children count rings,
hands sticky with sap.

Addressee:
            Department Head of Creativity,
            HP School Of Rhymes and Poetry

Dear Mr Cole,
                              I write an ernest plea
To crave forgiveness for my little Tryst
For as you know the homework set by thee
Is overdue, the deadline has been missed

He’d done the work, the best I’ve ever seen!
You’d be so proud of all his clever puns
But then we had a visit from the Queen
She’d taken ill and suffered with the runs!

We let her in to use the lavatory
But then we heard her banging on the door
She’d run right out of toilet paper, see?
And ordered us to quickly fetch her more

We did the only thing that could be done
I hope you understand Sir

Signed,

My Mom

No pressure...
What looks to be
right, must be
evaluated.
Is my path
made well?
What achievements
can I confess?
What promises
have been brought
to me by you?
In my satisfaction,
reality faces change.
My path closes
the door-
the door to
freedom and will.
I escape with
a new song.
Living life
like a
dress rehearsal
only delays the
process of
taking paths!
Get going!

I've been so old, locked in line by expectations
I forgot that love is a $20 ticket to a punk rock show

Sweaty bodies pushing forward, slamming hard,
falling to fall in love with the words of some yelping, grown-out teenager

And we're all drinking ****** venue beer just because it's dirt cheap
and suddenly I remember that I'm only free with ***** feet
and I come alive in mosh pits and I die when I live for paycheques

We're all dripping beads of sweat, making necklaces from our youth
Tokens of everything we love and shedding everything we hate
We'll sweat it out onto the ***** bar floor
We'll keep going until our legs give out, I swear to it

I've never been more free than when I'm dancing to these songs
I've been so old, forgetting that I'm just a punk rock kid, with $20 in my pocket and ****** beer in my hand
Singing songs that mean something, demand change, ooze with emotion, celebrate divine & dingy moments, make me feel that transgender dysphoria blues

I forgot that this is euphoria
I'm not jaded quite yet
Not in this moment
How dare I be
How dare I?

Today I met four horsemen, riding on a trail
One looked hungry, one looked ill, and one looked deathly pale
The last one looked so angry, he had war within his eyes
They reigned their steeds, came to a stop, and took me by surprise

"The end is nigh mere mortal" the pale one rasped at me
"Your Lord has come, the Earth is done, there's nowhere you can flee!"
I pondered for a moment, and then a thought occurred
"It’s student rag week, right?" I said, "You all look quite absurd!"

I went on with my journey, and met another stranger
Dressed in a robe, with sandalled feet, he seemed to pose no danger
He raised his hands with palms outstretched, and I observed old scars
Above his head, the oddest thing, a halo bright as stars

"Prepare yourself for Judgment" proclaimed he in a lofty voice
He opened a book, took a quick look, then said "Oh right, you're nice!
First one today" he muttered, "Most go the other way"
"Of course they do!" I forced a smile, and slowly backed away

I bade farewell politely, and he hurriedly wandered on
"It takes all sorts", I mused, feeling glad that he had gone
I resumed my journey eagerly, looking forward to it's end
And all was good, right up until, I went around a bend

The path was blocked with walking dead, flesh hanging from their bones
The younger ones, despite their state, were using mobile phones!
One told me that his name was Elvis, and he used to be a singer
But he stared at me, so hungrily, that I didn't dare to linger

When finally I made it home, I grabbed a bottle of *****
I sat right down, switched on TV, and flicked onto the news
"Breaking Story! The end is here, The Apocalypse has begun!"
The reporter seemed excited, and was waving round a gun

Shots rang out and sirens wailed, not all of them on TV
I heard commotion, in the street, a bit too close for me
I took a glug of whisky, and it tasted mighty fine
"If the world was going to end", I said, *"I'm sure there'd be a sign ..."