As seasons come
Ànd as they go
Within my heart
Within my Soul
There is secrets to be known
And truths told to be own
As seasons come
And as they go

When answers fall
Like withered leaves
When all you keep
Is memories
Like days forgotten
Distant dreams
You'll hear me call
When answers fall
Like withered leaves

If what you seek
And what you need
Like blossoms bloom
On willow trees
Brings you to
Upon your knees
I'll raise you up
If what you seek
And what you need

Remember me
Surrender thee
I will thy keep
And set thine free
Remember me

As seasons come
And as they go
When answers fall
Like withered leaves
If what you seek
And what you need
Remember me
I will thy keep
And set thine free
Together
For
All
Eternity.

Sparrows are coming from nowhere
I thought they had all disappeared
They've been gone for such a long time
We haven't seen them for many years.
All of a sudden they all reappear
There sound is rather unique
Such a pleasant bird indeed
When they wake you up from sleep.
I wonder why they have returned
It seems like a mystery to me
One day we'll find the answer
Untill then just let it be.
Maybe things run in cycles
In a sky that's governed by wings
We may have gained much knowledge
But we don't know everything.
This world is full of confusion
We will never quite understand
It's the same with all the sea life
We are simply mortal man.
I remember when I was a child
Sparrows were not all that rare
Then they started dwindling
I was totally unaware
Then it was brought to my notice
Where have all the sparrows gone ?
I looked and could not find them
Then suddenly I found only one.
So the moral of this story
They left but no one knew where
Now sparrows all flock together
And we see them everywhere .

The wind chimes are melting,
The ponds are sweltering,
The roads run like black tea;
The flags aren't waving,
Sheets aren't sailing,
The grass looks like gold wheat.
The beaches have more bodies
Than Juno did in June;
The dogs aren't barking,
But the kids are laughing,
Their joy's not lost on me.

I should go to the banks
Of the St. Clair River,
Where the current cools
Beneath the bridges;
Read the names on the Huron freighters
Carrying coal and oil;
Eat tasty dogs and greasy fries,
The  northern breeze there never dies.

I should hover like a dragonfly,
Applaud the divers hot ******* chances,
In the dog days of their youth.

When I was too young to stand against the world,
I ambled its sempiternal floors and overheard clear minds
Blustery through the stark decor of man’s marbled winter.
I was too young to huddle in banners for warmth,
to follow festive the dizzy denizens to their
lightheaded classicisms, their sandal-freedoms upon desolation.
I was left word by regency, word alone.
I was a child at the base of dark thrones.
And too often sneaking looks to steal a seat,
Sneaking seats though no one was to come.

I am a child in a place of dark thrones,
Too restless to settle when no one will come.
Lying just to lie across the worldly floors,
As my clear mind blows the torches to sputter,
And the hallways, one by one,
Are wordless and long-heard.

love, you sensed the rain
before it fell
like another easy beast
into the arms of sleep
and i half-believed
that bleeding was a virtue
at the lake of mirrors

i tried, i tried
to forget the murky colours
of your waning moon
dancing freely on the water
as if i had a reason
to sleep and lie
in light of all these folded blades
still pacing in the drain

Is it the rows of cold rooms
On the stench of the unit, or the
Thirty eight doors to be open
in addition to the thirtyish mouth to be fed,
Where the exit signs taunts: (leave)?
Untold stories behind each sound of the peg tubes:

Do I really belong in a place like that?
Is that where my poetry ideas come from?
Do my poems arise from there?
Flushing the sour milk, clearing their airway
Start from their stomach and ends with the ****:
On a stinky unit, where thirtyish mouth to fed
And fortyish beds to be made in a sense of three hours top

The cure for a hardened heart is to keep,
a total commitment to keep your MIND state on the Lord!
Lord, why me? I shall never smile with the living
Or weep for the dead: why me?
why the poet from Proute Street..?

we were poor
but not deluded

and when
van morrisson's
"brown eyed girl"
comes on the radio on
that worn
old
brown rug
my brother and I
started tapping our feet
shaking our heads
to the music and
our sisters are smiling
at us and
our mother is laughing
at us

and all we needed was
laughter and love
a prayer and a song

turn up the radio