Will be leaving soon for Orlando,
Away from the cold in Ontario.
Will I return?
I really don't know.

A wacko may secretly board my plane;
A radicalized lunatic far from sane.

Or Canada geese, heading south,
Might take our fuelled jet engines out.

Some random lightning shot from the sky
Lights up our cockpit,
And the pilots die.

The landing gear is up and stuck...
“I don't think I drank enough!”

There's mad rage on the road
Between
Orlando and St. Augustine.

There’s snub-nosed guns in too many bags,
And the pubs are teeming with cougars and *****.

The Matanzas flows with gators and sharks,
I'll make note of this as my kyak embarks.

A drunken driver could do the job;
Or I get hospitalized
From being robbed.

An Early Bird bone might make me choke,
Or an errant golf ball holes out in my throat.

Perhaps nothing will happen, and I misspoke
On possible perils from Florida folks.

Is it worth the risks. I’ll let you know,
When I get back to the warmth  of Ontario.

Astra memories play forth in my head.
Star showers create endless wishes.
Plasmoid cycle their cosmic colors.
Seraphic tones turn into ethereal melodies.

Celestial trails in the dark wilderness.
Empyrean trees drop their light leaves.
Transcendental visuals of the night heavens.
Diaphanous veils of tranquilly allow my eyes to see.

Sheer emotion alloy.
Paradisiacal vessel of the expanding universe.
Expedition of endless wonder.
Fathomless destinations to reach.

I saw Mammy yesterday,
Sitting, smiling and relaxed.
Idling wasn't her usual way.

Then your Dad walked into view,
Lighting up, talking loud.
He wasn't comfortable in a crowd.

Nana and Bub shine in glorious colours,
As do the constant sisters and brothers.

There's Marlene tucked-in on the couch,
With an infectious smile that leaves no doubt.

Jim's feeling his cups. He's crying out.
But can't explain what his pain's about.

Da's holding Eucheria in his arms,
Pretending to water our dead brown lawn.

Sweet Maura teases with a sharp handled comb,
Sneaks in the side door when returning home.

Sister Sheila in heels gives herself a lift,
For without them she's about four foot six.

And Kevin my older rebellious brother,
Tells biker stories that made us shudder.

Sean has all the talents and skills,
With looks and smiles that really ****.

Gerald too had similar traits,
But dwarfed us all when he'd read and write.

They laugh and cry,
Smile and tear;
It's as if
They're all still here.
I captured each
On video tape;
Healthy, alive,
This side of the Gate.

Yet someone's missing from these scenes,
Someone who's rarely seen.
A Son, Brother, Husband, Da,
Uncle, Nephew,
And Granda.
That someone's Me.
Quietly filming
With my camera.

We met three times
Over fifteen years.
The disagreement paled
In light of his diagnosis.

He unexpectedly appeared
At my door, then stood in my kitchen.
He had a few serious questions
About brotherly affections,
And after spitting into my sink
(the poor man)
He wondered if I thought less of him
For not sending cards at Christmas and birthdays.
Is that what he came to say?

Next was at our last family wedding.
He was still steady on his feet.
We were five Irish lads.
The sisters said he was the handsome one.
He was.
There are six of us posing in this final shot.
He's wearing a Lucille Ball tie,
Losened around his neck,
Yet covering the gill-like scar
Running from lobe to lobe.
His hands are buried deep
In his pants' pockets.
His smile says Good-bye.

I saw him for the last time
A few weeks later,
Standing, bent and coughing
At the intersedtion of the roadway and Nature Trail.
His rib cage raging from contortions.
He waved off an offered ride.
And then he was gone.
It took us years to get here.

I knew It was coming the moment I opened the door.

The sky warned me. A distant, dull voice whispered, "You can't beat It." The sweetest sadness slowly ****** each syllable. I accepted the challenge and began to pedal. For a while, I pedaled without disturbance, except for a distant, dull sky sadly trailing behind. Watching. Waiting. Knowing.

Then It came. It took its time. It was not the one who needed to hurry. I pedaled on and felt It kiss the tip of my forehead, then lick the side of my nose, leaving me cold. I began to count the touches; one, two -pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal - three - pedal, pedal, pedal - four - pedal - five - pedal, pedal - six -pedal - seven - pedal - eight, nine, ten...

And I’m drenched.

After all these many carnivore years
You can call it guilt or you can call it fear
I've made up my mind to decide
I'm going vegan this November time

So I broke down hard and read some books
Heard some tapes on what it took
From veggies steamed to veggies raw
From beans of green to yellow squash

As my nightly dreams were all filled with meat
I pushed back hard with collard greens
But still had no clue of what to do
With a turkey substitute

And that is when a friend came in
Who Tofu's the line at turkey time
So I read more books and heard more tapes
On Tofu fried, boiled, broiled, and baked

Opening up my kitchen to fine cuisine
Minus the best part...that being meat
As I promised myself I can make this work
My Tofurkey would be the finest in edible art

I had bought my Tofu by the pound
Lucky for me it is pliable
As I stretched and pulled and pulled and stretched
Until I had something that looked like a head

With my artistic abilities seriously in doubt
I'm pretty sure what I conjured was the head of a cow
So I pulled and stretched and stretched and pulled
No ones going to call me an abstract fool

As I bring to boil the "Rodin" juices in me
And baste at my skills repeatedly
Where I come up with a turkey, giblets and all
And just for good measure I gobble a turkey call

Of course cooking the thing is another road and
I sadly lost a few in the explosions
When finally scored I invited my friends
Whose friendship with them will take time to mend

Just because a turkey looks like a turkey, don't mean that it is
I'm now learning all this while I clean up the mess
As forks went to the mouths at the very same time
So did the retching along with the crying

But in a month they'll forget this entire sordid ordeal
When they get the invites for my Christmas holiday meal
With my time in the books and tapes I will spend
Looking forward to  Christmas and a delicious soy bean ham

the sun has that certain haze
as if it were the dead of Summer
and heat radiated through the air

but

this is a tease a reminder of those days
because indeed the air is fresh
and sharp as it should be in Winter

at the seaside a roaring song and dance
those distant waves appear as a range
the ridges of a desert mountain top

and

silhouetted at depths with the vibrance
of sunset hues bringing shade to the wild
while preparing for the cool of night

the reflections are shorter now
and I lose sight of that glowing orb
as far off clouds take shape to dip

then

colors shift to violet, navy and maroon
leaving a bruise to bumps in the night
and dream of an August day by the sea

Did you hear that distant murmur of imagination?

The door is open wide to make all the dreams you can possibly dream, a reality

This mustn’t be of surprise because every time you set your mind on a goal it eventually becomes part of the present

Apply your wildest hopes to the checklist and start moving toward those, you shall find them easier to attain than you once thought

Truly it is all within your grasp and the only barrier is of ruminating upon fear

Let there be no distance between you and your imagination

Allow yourself utter freedom to find joy and create space for making it all happen

Now, right now… please

Kathleen Avenue still has houses,
But people left, and trees were felled;
The canopy across the street
Has lost some limbs
And many feet
Of children
Playing hide and seek.

One house, a brown-shingled frame
Is aging there as are our names;
The front yard doesn't boast corn
That Daddy grew
When first we landed;
Not knowing neighbours were offended
With farming behind green picket fences.

      so corn, cabbage and turnip too
      were left to rot. Daddy knew to
      strike when hot.

The locals weren't too much impressed
When Daddy taught them some respect.
The human smell of decaying turnip
Turned noses down that stood straight up. The front was never farmed again.
    
Recently, I passed that yard,
The picket fences gone;
And someone has a garden there,
The new arrivals,
If they care,
Really see the wisdom there.
I give a nod
To my Old Man,
An immigrant
Before his time.

Just picked up my thirtieth pair of glasses
(perhaps you call them eye glasses).
Progressive, photo-chromatic, temples with wrap around cables.
Same round frames since I was sixteen (first saw them in How I Won the War).
I don’t mess with what works. We fit. No need to look further.
Had my eye on the prize.
They give me perfect sight. And I waited years to get perfect sight.
Always needed glasses. Finally got them when I was eleven.
Big family. Immigrants. No health coverage. So, no glasses.
Couldn’t see the forest or the trees. A genetic thing too.
Several sisters and brothers are as myopic as moles.
Mammy and Daddy never wore glasses (which is not to say they didn’t need them).
All granny glasses are wire rims with a golden finish.
All of mine were. These ones are round black wire rims. I’m being so adventurous.
I remove them (singular is a monocle) to shower and go to bed. I never ask to try on someone’s frames, and I never loan mine for a second (Period)
I also have a face that has grown so accustomed to glasses, that my eyes have surely deepened into my skull. I don’t recognize myself on my driver’s license, health card or passport (Why do they insist on that? I’m never asked to remove my glasses upon surrender of any document for visual verification).

I’ve yet to regret the wealth I’ve spent.
Their cost could pay the rent
For a third world family for years.
It would feed and clothe a village, I’m sure.
I'm not blinded by how good I've got it here.

Two ebon crows got drunk last night,
Pecked their way into a fight;
Feathers flew as they clawed and cawed,
Till the losing crow pulled a gun in spite.
The other bird flew off in fright,.
Returning with a murderous flock,
And circled the gunner, a fierce gamecock.
They fluttered and feathered in a spree,
Then flipped before two crows winged off.

They returned with hair from a dead man's chest,
And proposed the two should build their nest.

They fashioned tools from human fingers,
Framed the nest with human femurs;
Used two green eyes to glaze windows;
Make a two car garage from the nose.
Are these not two of the smartest crows.

Next they laid out the toes
As hinges to swing their doors closed.
Each crow brought back an ear,
To hang on hinges, front and rear.
They peeled off lips, once used to talk,
And paved a route as their sidewalk.
They  yanked out teeth like skilled SS,
To tile bathroom and kitchenette.
Lastly, they peeled back the skin,
And wallpapered their nest,
And lived within.

See what's achieved by two drunk crows,
Who settled their scores
After crow blows.

I came to see an alligator, lizard or a toad,
Drove along the waters to the Tamiami Road.
We took our time to see the myths all about the park,
But still I wanted desperately,
To hear the gators bark.

Watched the dawning day arrive
Above the mossy trees,
Watched the night herald morn,
Tasted the salty breeze.
We lived a captive life
Along the shell shod shores;
Traded time for trinkets,
Shopped the main street stores.

We oiled our bodies near
The alligator swamp;
Waited bated near
The large tortoise hole;
We didn't see the turtle,
Didn't see the shell;
So looking for the gators,
Remained our only goal.

We heard one lived in the lake,
Invisible in his lair;
Eating shanked golf *****,
Go on look, if you so dare.
We watched from a distant bank,
With each kerplunk,
Our odyssey sunk.

We searched further down
The TamiamiTrail;
Studied bees in their hives,
Awed by the order we saw there,
Made us more alive.

We wandered lost in orange groves
Perfuming winding trails;
But we never saw a gator,
We never saw a tail.

So, if you want to see some gators,
Skip the Tamiami Trail.