They fall like leaves,
and drift away, bouncing,
on curled crisp corners,
aged by the season,
the wind blows them,
not caring, no reason
where they land.

But they are not leaves,
nor are they believers,
they are in touch, not
with the Earth,
not with second birth,
some still think, they
need to earn their worth.

They are blood and flesh,
a thread knotted enmeshed,
in a society they don't want,
they are the uprising,
setting upon action
as there is a sunrising,
they have hopes, dreams, and mirth.

They want their day Canada,
they are willing to work smarter to prove it,
don't feed them the Desiderata,
say they have the heart and a future,
                                                                                         can you do that?

While he slept,
   I wept,
He laid behind an
  electrical box,
above ground encased in
a wooden frame,
he covered his face,
with a hood, in shame?
No, just to keep the bugs away,
he had his hand in the waist band of
his pants,
was he twisted,
no he may haps had a gun or
wanted those who saw, think he had one,
his back pack was up against him,
he looked exhausted from the spectres
that haunted him,
sleeping twenty feet from where cars
and trucks accelerated by,
all oblivious to his unconscious eyes,
should I call 911, would that have ruined
this end to his all-night fun,
was he dead,

or just dead to the world,
what altered state, made him pick this bed,
of dirt and weeds, wait, what sort of life has he led,
thoughts of "that could be me," fill my head,

He slept, and
that is all that mattered.

******* on dark chocolate,
letting, the lack of sweetness,
liquify across my tastebuds,
I get inspired.

Sipping on red wine,
letting, the lack of sweetness,
pour flavour into a tasteless,
existence,
I get inspired.

There is no such thing as writer's block.

Dog walking, watching her stalking,
with her nose, the fragrant scent of her own kind,
brings it to my attention, the sensitive and mind-
ful, habits of a writer.

Observe it all and let life, go across your tastebuds,
like dark chocolate or red wine, neither of which you
may have a taste for...then write, and live, and live and write.

I didn't call you an author, why would I raise the bar and and unfair
expectations, and frustrations, I named you Writer, so write from
your heart, your vessels your guts, no one can write the way you do,
there may be formulas, but it does not take, magic white or voodoo.

My inspiration.
All that I touch or recoil from,
All that I taste or avoid touching my tongue.
All that I scent or plug my nose. Even all in the Between.
All that I see, that gets in my head see?
All that I hear, other poetry read aloud,
music that makes my heart beat slower or faster,
admiring one who is a lyrical master or even bears
a brand in burnt flesh BARD.

Get inspired it isn't hard, and I am in your face.

There is a God, He loves me and puts me in my place,
He has finesse and as for me and my house...

stars that blink, those that flash,
do they wink, do they dash,

on steeled wings, secreted cache,
where they bring, people stashed,

to far away places, water goes splash,
sunburnt faces, no credit, pay cash,

save each week, don't spend on trash,
don't dip or sneak, the trip will crash,

before you get on the plane,
let alone, run across the hot
and sandy of the beaches of Maui

the pool, of still water,
you have become,
distresses less,
as rocks are tossed to form rings,
that echo silently across the pool you have become,
winsome waves, echo in not so perfect circles
but even the rocks,
settle
to the bottom,
you no longer ask "who tosses these rocks at me?"
the answer would always be "Life"
bringing strife and stinging tears,
but that is the past,
moments upon moments,
the water droplets in you,
the pool are pulled skyward,
like the daydreams you hold dear and
release,
with out fear,
as clouds roll gently in,
the wind parks them and
soon the rain falls, like healing tears
find their way down to
fill you, the pool again
for another peaceful day,
the wind skims the surface,
dancing across open water,
featherlight
in the moonlight, I
sit staring,
smiling, questions without
answers,
wanting to throw myself,
clothes and all and in the fall,
make a splash then,
soak in that pool, that you have
become,
where I have never been before.
The pool that you, have become

a body speaks a foreign language,
never taught, seldom misread,
till you grow up, up and away,
go to places of higher learning,
Hope to increase the dollars earning,
they reteach you to read, a person,
Like a book, ****** expression,
a sign of misdirection?,
hat and sunglasses, ******* jewellery,
orchestrated instrumental,
body parts, don't like the stuff,
dreams are made of, then bluff,
You can't choose the cards dealt,
all to get a big name and wealth,
with somebody else's dime,
credentials?,
oversized ego in stretch fabrics,
tailored to fit in while, I
Attended the U of P,
first in my class,
to go I all in,
on a hope and a prayer,
that have nothing to do
with the chips that slip,
not roll, through not across,
these worn out knuckles,
audience chuckles as they
would love to sit where I am at,
one bluff away from heaven, and
one raise away from hell.