Hear the motions of the engines,
Speed South to North,
As well North to South,
Care not they, the sounds they make.

It is a confession.
They speed in the land of ****.
It increases, then decreases,
As they travel past, the open window,
Winterless blast, a confession,
It feels close to spring.

Care not a bit that sounds, rude, to those who tomorrow,
Will wake up to snow, while the blizzard sounds here,
Are the rush of thoughtless trucks and cars,
Which are driven at speeds above the posted limit,
Even if they don't have to travel so far,
To get home in the drizzle, to their green grass.

Maybe snow would slow them down,
Or keep them off the road entirely,
No, no, not them, they are rude,
They have this attitude,
Drive like this, no matter what the weather,
They are better than the conditions, they drive in.

Another confession, they are in it to win, and no one
else knows there is a contest and contestants.

What a surPrize!

Hand him a sextant as he drives at night, after all he has to navigate,
Through Facebook and Likes and texts and bytes of downloads from
YouTube...would not want to be fashionably late in reply otherwise
Your social life, and status,
may die.

Trafficking bad habits,
Instead of "look out for the other guy or gal"
The phone and the life it holds,
can be dropped,
"worse than a dropped call",
is all the sirens wail as they go by,
Life in the balance, ghosts
White knuckling it with one hand,
While eyes are fixed, to a deathly white screen
And fingers dance solo in some sexless act,
The result is the same a distracted fact,
The mind is no longer in the car,
It has left the body already,
Waiting for it to die,
Watching from above and reaching to all
Who have fingers and a phone
Wanting to be ghosts and sticking to the life,
Which will make it happen.....by accident.

Drive defensively,
Leave your phone in the trunk.

Good Night  Poetry
Arc of the moon curves
as an outstretched hand
leads the way
Good Night Poetry
Arc of your back lying still
as a finger traces a line
a sheet falls away
Good Night Poetry
in motion
as two shadows become
one in the moonlit room
Good Night Poetry
no more woe in me
yet this is but a dream
misty shadows, lift as
the moon falls and as
the sun rises...alone.

Nerves pulled taute at an alarming rate,
Sitting on the edge of too many choices, a spate,
Leading to indecision and dizziness, changed
From horizontal, too vertical, too fast, deranged

To be awake at such an hour,
As the body tries to tap into power,
But hears this " take warning early morning"
Ahead, and a head still fuzzy while scorning,

Is there really a reason to get out of bed
at 5:19?

There are chores,
There are meals to prepare,
There is reading and meditation,
There is the routine of a morning constitutional!

There is full time employ...ment.

But all of these wait in line,
As care of a friend o'mine

Comes first,
We burst,

Into the morning,
Despite weather warnings,

And on good days too,
In the early morning,

We walk the same route,
And the same distance,

We have our pace, for instance,
My two legs keep up with her four,

She is never more excited then before
We go out the door, this is not a chore,

She pulls, she stops and drop to ***,
She is content and relaxed beside me,

She repeats as often as is necessary,
It all belongs, it is her territory,

In the early morning, I will, we will
Continue to walk, each and everyday,

We will arrive at three hundred and sixty five,
Morning jaunts
Again this year, it is a joy to move and be so alive,

With her, in the early morning,
We think not on, the mornings past,
               nor, that the mornings won't last
forever,
We only think on the present, the one we share,
In the moments found only in the early morning.

While the world around us revs its engine to a roar,
All we hear are birds,  paws with toenails on pavement or
Raindrops falling and wind calling us to stay longer, and more

Where there are no cares to wear on us,
We have each other, and it is early morning.

he leaned back, like the rail was built just for him,
he had a crew cut, a scar on his chin, he was tall, slim,
his voice was like gravel, rolling in a can
he smoked from, once a boy, to now a man,

he offered his comforts and promises to the one who walked
beside, as there was a deal going down and whole promises talked,
younger man slowed his stride, not to leave his purchasing party
behind, his language was not descriptive, as it was blunt, smartly

he was not dressed, but he wanted money for the goods,
he asked the shorter man to wait there, right where he stood,
"Hand me the money and I will be back, right away,
or you can walk with me, over and back all the way",

the older, shorter man walk steady and slow, not very good
with english, but in a show of good faith, in this neighbourhood,
that was not his, he moving forward, a hand in his pocket,
he looked straight ahead no longer making eye contact,

curious stopping to watch them move toward some homes behind
the school park, the sun was setting it soon would be dark,  finding
his way once the deal was had, might be hard in low light, what if
it went bad, what if it was a set up, what if he got hurt, a scuffle, a tiff,

Buyer beware, there was a deal to be had,
The guy your in business with is angry and mad,
Buyer beware you may be in for trouble,
Your trust may be broken like a bubble,

At the point of a knife blade,
With pointed words of hate,
You look like karma, guides your fate,
Your voice was soft, your eyes kind, what was their bait?

Empty branches, nakedness stark,
Against an undescribable grey dark,

Sky,

Evergreens mockery, of winter's brown,
Mist so heavy the tall grass will surely drown,

Fog

Mixed with rain to the air a heaviness brings,
Here's the deal, there surely will be, Spring!





Bring on the poetry,
Hands not frozen
To an aging keyboard
Unseasonably warm
So why am I so cold?

This too is a season,
Or a trial of reason
It ....appears.