It wasn't tan, it wasn't white, sort of orange in the sun's light.
As I walked there it stayed, like a ball, stopped in mid-flight,
It wasn't up and it wasn't down, but fully round and in my sight.

As I walked the dog she had no interest in this ball,
Out of reach and it did not roll anywhere at all,
There were no strings, I was waiting for it to fall.

I tried to enjoy the quiet morning, with city sleeping, a peaceful commune,
the dog had done her business, and the brisk walk was over way too soon,  
The ball never got closer,
or further but, played peek from behind the trees and branches, yes, it was a full moon.

Age, who needs it,
Rage, who feeds it,
Sage, wisdom or
seasoning which is it,
Cage, who has the key?

My mind is still sharp, have we met,
I'm blind, can you agree with me yet,
I am so far behind, I think; you bet,
I am leading the pack.
Life is a grind, espresso or coarsest?

I drink coffee, started when I was thirty-nine,
I don't smoke, I guess I'll (hack)be mighty fine
I starting working out again, to slow the decline,
I would stand up for what's right, if'n I had a spine,
At the end of the day, I will lay and read as I recline...zzzz

The table cluttered and crowded with stuff, in the now empty home,
Each item had a story and together, made enough pages to fill a tome,
But on the floor all by itself was a lock of hair in her tarnished pewter comb.

The fine dust coated all, as no one was left to brush the dirt under the rug now stolen,
The wall-paper curled down from the ceiling, in disrepair, "oh how the mighty had fallen",
Was scripted in red lipstick, on a mirror faded and cracked and aged, not gilded but sullen.

Emptiness filled and all that was left,
No treasure, the present was bereft,
Four decades of waste and theft,
Then a grey hand reached and caressed,
The tarnished pewter comb, the lock of hair left,
While a voice saying quietly, "it was for the best."

Elusive elephant elegantly eating.
Lioness learning landlocked locales.
Limber leopard leaping lightly.
Intimidating irate iridescent iguana.
Exercising eel elongating effortlessly

Why do they wail so, these Sirens, with the demands that I turn my eyes.
Their sound is a warning and a call, to strengthen my resolve or fail.
Were I near the body of water each day through, I would cry out too.
But no one, for ages past could resist neither, the ocean nor their call.

Their sound, is a warning and a call, to strengthen my resolve or fail!
Is it a weakness, why do I doubt my own confidence, trembling?
But no one for ages past could resist, neither the ocean nor, their call!
Take me to the water so I can better hear, that they, not sound my name.

Is it a weakness, why do I doubt my own confidence, trembling?
Troubled like a boat with out a rudder, let me go, like I have no anchor!
Take me to the water so I can better hear, that they not sound my name.
As wind bites the sail and carry's the ship away, I have heard the bait and bit in deep.

Troubled like a boat with out a rudder, let me go, like I have no anchor!
Yet my feet are on solid ground and I feel as if I have drowned without the Cry.
As wind bites the sail and carry's the ship away, I have heard the bait and bit in deep.
I will wade in to my knees to be sure, better my waist or chest so I can swim the crawl.

Yet my feet are on solid ground and I feel as if I have drowned without the Cry.
It is better I who can withstand their drag and pull, just get me to the ocean, I need no craft.
I will wade in to my knees to be sure, better my waist or chest so I can swim the crawl.
Why do they, wail so, these Sirens, with the demands that I, turn my eyes.

The heaviness of my head, my eye-lids too, push me to nap,
The heaviness of my heart, drives my mind to do a recap
The heaviness of my heart, catches me daily in a rusted trap.

I put my head down on a pillow soft, needing peace and quiet,
My eyes close, I get none or less, I say "ringmaster stop the 3 ring riot!"
My eyes close, I get none or less, but heart pumps and pounds in private.

I do not have a positive thought, as everyday is, a battle fought.
Captured, imprisoned by my choice,  wheezing, throat tied in a knot
Captured, imprisoned by my choice, so this body; my cell, my lot?

Find some good, something right, don't be lukewarm in this fight,
For fresh air, for fresh thoughts, 'tis better to run away, choose flight?
For fresh air, for fresh thoughts, for my life - hit erase and then rewrite...

The pool of sweat I lie in, soaks my pillow and my hair,
Oh when will the day come that I will not choose to care,
About the wrong stuff, about going against the grain, beware...

Waking,
But wait, it was all a dream, life is fine, nightmarish nap leave me be.  
Eyes open once again.

The bounce or bounces
                                             off the floor, do not go as high any more,
the enthusiasm is not
                                          diminished though, all the way to the door.
All that was said was
                                       "Car ride" and she spun, turning herself inside out,
She was delighted and
                                            excited, if I said "no"; have you seen a dog pout?
Once we are moving
                                         she heads for a window to be opened for her black nose,
With her fur flying all
                                         around her face, she is on the armrest, with paws and toes.
Capture that moment, if you dare
                                                                 half close your eyes make a car ride of life, the rapture.

Blossoms, beaten down and stems broken,
Signs of a colourful spring taken lightly, a token,
It is like winter got hands and feet, shredded,
the only symbol of its' leaving, the dreaded
first flowers of Spring.

Dark clouds on every horizon, selfish discoloured ground, that thirsts
for only water from snow and rain, all the water, even tears, that burst
from eyes won't be enough to quench or thaw the frozen earth,
which grapples with the promise of every year, each season will re-birth,
in its' place and Time.

This year or next year the weather may not be as we all expect,
frankly the weather outside, already has been wrecked,
life has internal storms too, that rip and pull, that demand more,
stand tall, face into the wind, brace yourself against the roar,
you are stronger Now.

If your own shadow can't stop your heart, surely you, they will bind,
They will make it, so you cover your windows with bullet proof blinds.

Take courage you are not alone, here or anywhere.

They want your thoughts to become theirs, to say what is on their minds,
When the reflection in a pane of glass makes you do a check behind.

Have faith hold on to the rocky cleft, with both hands and heart.

They hunger to monger your fear, it is food for them to feed, like a crispy pork rind,
If you are losing hope and all seems lost, they have done the job and off to a to find,
the next victim.

If peace is your shield you will not yield, to the Spirit of Fear.

They will put in words, what your heart and eyes should never see, else you go blind,
The common doubt is everywhere, to make a stir they take a poll and see where each is aligned.

Cover your ears, close your eyes, watch who you make friends with, the world cries!  

It is late and morning comes and I fear I might sleep late,
too late for me did you see me say... but alas
I will get up and fight again tomorrow, have no fear, I'm the bait!

Lazy mornings filled
with warmth, I, house-coated beside
the fireplace while the sun rises.
The rapid flit of birds
through a slowly warming sky, bunnies
hop hoping for no surprises.

Across the green grassy
expanse, the mist creeps and hangs on,
to every blade, branch and bush.
The horizon's edge gets
more defined as the blind is pulled up on
the night, and daylight hints at the rush.

I stop reading, to see
and listen, to all that the world has to show, knowing
I must leave this quiet place to labour.
I will step in the steps,
baggage with me on my shoulder, the real burden, I
know, is how to to love my neighbour.

The curled up grey bristle could be called a beard,
His loud vociferous dialogue with a light pole. Weird.
His clothes had holes and ***** coat was smeared.

I think he twitched more than he talked,
I could not help myself as I gawked,
then just as suddenly, away he walked.

I walked around to the road side windows,
there he stamped his feet, doing the flamenco?
Never mind you weren't there, this is innuendo!

Once again he weaved his way away. There he was gone.

No one leaves, by choice, without heart,
It is difficult, so, it is easier if you don't start,

Trial by fire is better than trial and error,
Prepare your spine for another day of terror,

Life is religiously, each day, taken like a pill,
Swallow with water or you might get ill,

This not about me but about you, I lie,
For with out you in my life, I might die.

Leaving no one.

The more I read, the more I remember I have forgotten,
More is as more does, more or less.

The more I eat, the more I gain what I shouldn't have,
More is the cost, better an unhealthy appetite lost.

The more I sleep, the more I slumber till I am too tired,
More is a sleepless state, where I move sluggish, the eyes have it.

The more I think, the more I think too much,
More is the process which is less lost in thought.

It might have  been the cold, that as the mercury dropped, so did the new spring grass,
It could have been the wind that blew forcefully and bent the golden long grass down,
It could have been the rain that fell and weighed the tan wheat grass to the ground,
It might have been the sun that burnt the roots turned the poor grass brown with drought,

It was not the cold, it was not the wind, it was not the rain, nor the drought it was a black bear sleeping, no doubt!

Sky so clear and as blue as I had ever seen and gently held the sun, while I went over a log,
I awoke it on a walk, as I was listening less and talking more with my dog,
The bear looked at us and without any fuss stood up, snorted and walked away,
My dog pulled tight on the leash, grumbled, growled that the bear would not play,

So, if you go out in the woods today, you better not go alone, they, the bears, are waking from their winter fog.

Uncluttered hours with unbroken,
open windows and sunshine, Space!,
not just in the room, but the Space which
is Outer, out there, up there to be filled
with enough words to describe, at least, Love.

Objectivity to stand back and view
the turmoil Inside, waiting;
for The Voice, a voice in writing
that compels a Reader, to enjoy listening,
to the spoken word, as their tongue
wrestles with the sounds which pitch
and yaw during the flight, the journey,
to find what is beyond their equilibrium.

The spoken word which can, bring light to
the darkness, quiet an uneasy child,
contentment to the one who can not sleep
until they write, and rewrite and write some
more.  Only brief Peace is found on this
Earth, by a writer purging his grey matter by
weaving thoughts on a white blank page.

It is not a dare to dream, nay, a dare to
let some One other than your self, experience
a dream that was once yours, alone.

The Trail Creek,
could not hold
the flow of
a million million
drops of rain.

The bank let loose and a Gulch became a river,
basements of homes and stores became indoor pools but
not one resident was close to foolish enough to go in and swim.

The streets became
a river of
a muddy coffee
coloured toxic feared
enemy, that had
no weakness but
time.

An apartment building fell as the Columbia River swelled,
eroded and took the ransom till it flowed down stream and
was rumoured to have crashed into a transom of the old bridge.

So many memories swept away down stream, many more, could
not resist to power of the water to remove and ruin, words and images,
by force, and in time, dirt and sediment remained everywhere, after the flood.

Tears replaced rain,
in time water,
all of it,
was drained away,
peoples lives strained.

To a ten
year old boy
this was big!
And as the
Columbia was growing
larger each day
parks disappeared as
the danger neared
I sang, "rain,
rain, go away
we have had
enough, there is
no where to play.


The flood of
nineteen sixty-nine,
was a vivid a
disaster you will,
ever find, but still
the City survives.

A portion of
truth,
A bucket of
tears,
to dilute.

You say, "Time erases all to dust,
                 Water turns all to rust."
"You are wrong" I say.
You say, "Time will one day dissipate
                   even the sun, bacteria in the
                  water turns all to rust."
"You are wrong today and always," I say.

You say, "What are you going on about?"
I notice your lip tremble as you weaken
with doubt.
"I am not going to riddle or ridicule you, "I say.
You say," Then what is your arguing about?"
"Water can rust only metal or wash away stuff,
there is no rust on plastic or glass or wood," I say.

You say, "Okay, you may have a point, but ...", you
pause in thought, then go on, " more than rust,
oxidization happens to all!"
"Generalizations are weak with holes," I say and then
"God will end it all when He calls all home."
I say as well.
You say nothing, thinking looking up at the sky.
"He is time, He is love, He is near more than above,
He cleanses with water and turns it into wine, He is
the Divine." I say.
You say," Fine, I know this too, but everything."
"In the beginning God,.." I say.

With that we say no more but run off to grab our hockey
sticks, "I'll be Parent, you'll be Orr," I say.
You say, "He shoots, he scores."
"Let's play some more," I say, "we will be called in for dinner soon,
we don't have much time left before the sun sets and leaves us in
shadow with the lights on the street."
You say, "We would play till dawn, if they let us."
"You are right as always, " I say to make sure I get in the last word.

©DWE032013

She walked along the wet side walk, looking steady enough,
Her dark coat, became red in the early morning and street lights,
Pocketed hands, hood up, hiding all but a tuft of,
her brown black hair, walking toward me, with a vacant stare.

The leash in my hand went slack as the beast, as we call her, stopped,
To nose around in the rain-wet grass,  I looked toward that girl again,
Red coat, hands stuffed still in her pockets, red hood, pointed top,
Was that a stumble or a wobble, as she got closer to us.

She spoke with a slur and struggled slightly with, "Isz this how I get to MainStreet?"
"I am rEally drunk rIGht now! I am trying to GET there isz thisz, how? "
I said "sure keep going up the hill and on the Skytrain to go downtown."
She headed north while it seemed like her choices went south.

As she walked away, I wondered after Red, if she had already met the wolf or was
she on her way to Grandma's house and that encounter hadn't happened yet, because.

Alone I sit in this chair, it creaks from everywhere, I sit and stare,
At what is staring back at me, a white bright screen that,  
It is not your face, I love your face, your eyes your hair
We are not in the same room, or on the same couch or chair
My computer is black like doom,
To me, with out you,
Why can't I take it and go there?
With out you, to me, I might despair,
Doom is like my black computer,
The same room we are not in, you and I
Face it I love you, face it is not you, it is my reflection,
What is staring back at me, not the thing I want to see
I stare, as in this creaking chair, I sit alone everywhere
I can't take it! There to you, I go, wait!

Where are you now, where do you live?
What do you value, what can you give,
or take and learn, absorb you sieve!

Look out a window, any window at all,
watch in silence the rainfall,
close your eyes and listen to the call.

What do you hear?
Does it generate fear,
Or a sympathetic tear?

Open that window for sounds and more,
of wind and the not so distant traffics' roar,
close your eyes, listen to the waves rush the shore.

Breathe in slow and deep,
Hold that breath, take a leap,
exhale, with control the air you keep.

Touch and taste with good sense,
your life does not end at the fence,
be a kid, or a wild child, no offense.

Wear boots then jump and step in puddles,
It may leave you a lot less muddled,
There will be those who walk away befuddled.

Live your life do no harm,
Wear experiences like charms,
Hugged, closely held in your arms.

Simplify, do one thing alright,
Start the day early and pray, at night,
too, give thanks and express any plight.

I know you not, yet, I but want to do,
About Him, who am I to say to you,
With an tender heart, pursue, pursue.

Chicken Little looked up at me and said, "The sky is broken and is falling down."
I looked at chicken little and said, "you keep stopping and we may drown!"

Chicken Little heard a thunderous report and looked at me and then the sky.
I looked at chicken little, shaking so and said, "its just a garbage can moved by a guy."

Chicken Little looked at the dark, dark clouds hanging nigh.  Then once again at me.
I glanced her way and said "well, you are the one that said you had to ***."

Chicken Little walked quickly, nose to the wet grassy ground, stopped to ***, hurried.
I saw her heading for the door leash in my hand, her bladder empty, she almost ran, worried.

There was no thunder this night, the clay does not let the water drain, so fast, puddles
muddle, where to step without a splash, but Chicken Little the dog can rest at last.

We came in and closed the door, leash hung in place and coats left to dry,
with a shake, from the fur covered head to her tail, loosing water every where,
'why, she was total dog again,' I quietly mused, 'more than Chicken Little ever were.'

I lay on my back as a bird, wings spread, flew over head,
wide wing span, I was an eagle above the bedspread,
I did not know if I was dreaming or adrift,
Was music playing and off the bed did I lift?
Tired but restless unable to move or wake,
It was an eagle, flying high for my sake,  
there was music that was playing in the conscious
world, a song that drove me deep to dream.

I knew now what it took to be alive,
Let loose the lyrics, propel me to drive,
My flight over the Earth's trees, rocks and all,
Gliding, there was no thought that I would fall,
As I had become, the hawk, that was carried aloft,
As I glided on the wind, which felt oh so soft,
There was confidence now that made me strong,
It would stay with me forever, the eagle and the hawk.

Age, ages, what ages you?
Time, times, what troubles you?

Space, spaces on a blank page.
Face, faces, from rapture to rage.

If you can throw words like dark looks,
Put on paper and fill notebooks, emotion filled and colourful!

Writing is sorting your thoughts, like psychotherapy,
Without the couch or the cost, can you afford a puppy?

Fifty-two poems in fifty-two weeks, mostly direct,
a few tongue and cheek, through the life I trekked.

Look, looks at a mirrored image fractured,
Distance, distances, relationships manufactured.

Dimension, dimensions, superficial to beyond 3-D,
Life, lives, filled please until full, honest vulnerability?

She leaves her walker parked right by the white car door, wheels locked
so it does not wander off.  It gives her the support when she might
suddenly need it when she is all alone, a castoff.

Her home is small and all is in it's place, prim and proper.  She
would not have it any other way.  As she has gotten older and
given charity much, even her tea set and tray.

Her spouse had left her, wasn't his fault, his heart, simply got
tired, with no insurance, without family alone she faced fears,
could not keep the home, there were tears.

That was the not so distant past.

She had all she needed now, she was good at keeping neat
and clean, her clothes and a few belongings always within
reach, hung in place, nothing really new.

She slept little these days, noisy traffic driving by, even
rearranged, her bed was not as comfortable as she once
had.  Times had changed.

She started her day with a wash and a walk.  Brush her
white hair. There were the usual neighbours, who didn't
stop to talk to her, inexcusable!

Recent blunt reality.

Though she could not hide in plain sight,
parking her car in an empty parking lot,
every two hours she must move.

Her home a car, her closet a back seat,
the steering wheel a towel rack,
sleeping more upright helped
her breathing but not her
aging back.

Her possessions and food little
are in the trunk; one in a box
and the other on a chunk
of ice, she does not eat
much and pleasant
memories are
less and less.

Alas, make up takes time,
when the light is fine,
her friends don't
know, she does
not know if
she gets
calls or
letters,

Anymore
in these
declining
times.

I did not run away from home or family or my present past,
I knew I had to leave, stagnating me was where I once and remained at last,
So I left, my home town, an acting out clown, needing to find maturity.

I joined the service of Queen and Country, only to learn that I was a failure,
To my dreams of absurdity, made decisions and choices hoping to find a saviour.
Only as an immature man can do, yet moving forward, aging as we all do, each day.

That changed and with more, than care that I became self-aware, not of my limits,
but there were others, differences too that I did learn and experience hints of fitness
possibilities, alone I would fester in my own skin, it was because I had wanted to win.

A career of eleven long years traded in for love and a 3 year marriage, in fact,
A Saviour found by the lost, faith found, He covered the cost, a propitiatory act.
Leaving a Gain, moving with a repeat Nomadic cycle, chasing work to find a Home.

Three hundred thirty nine months later, almost a year of months, we have been wed,
The memories are many and not the same but we grow much closer together instead,
You bring colour, and vital vibrancy to our life, do I bring you reason or rhyme?

I will keep this short and sweet and cut to the chase,  next to you I see life
differently, even when I look in a mirror at my face, through trials and strife,
and purpose, I am His to serve, my rough edges are highlighted by lasting joy.

I walked up to the door,
I had not been here in years,
In my bags included fears and woe,
How long I stood I did not know,
I raised my hand and knocked
Once and
With impatience
rang the bell.

The superficial greeting went both ways
Neither of us knew what to say, shoes off
She took my coat and he took my bags,
Weighed down with guilt for sure,
As I had taken too long to arrive,
Not months
But years had
passed, oh well.

We sat at the kitchen table,
I told stories and my fables,
They listened and looked at me,
She ran the water warm and he,
Got a towel and bent to his knee,
socks discarded, feet
bathed and massaged, saying
"Welcome weary traveller"

With that done and my feet towelled dry
I felt relieved, I knew I was forgiven,
Dans mes faiblesses, the water poured out
took my stress, a new page was turned,
Nothing I had done had earned,
the humility, gratefully I
had received that
humbled me.

Trapped in a rectangle of glass,
Get out while you can, but you say,
All of this would have to be left behind.

Caught up in a butterscotch coloured liquid in a half-empty glass,
Escape while you can, but you say nothing, as a drowning person moves
their lips and only bubbles, of air escape, not words are left behind.

Encased in flesh, shaped with bone and muscle reflected in the mirrored glass, there
is no leaving until all your sand has run out of the timer, but you say, your days
are numbered, when the last grain has dropped, you don't want to be left behind.

Transparent as glass,
He has seen it all,
But you say,
A Life misspent,
Oh but it is now left behind,
A Stand-In died, freely,
Now your Heaven bound.
.

Slightly sweet cinnamon to tempt my taste buds,
Warm comfort found in breaded swirls, fresh,
from the oven to my plate, my lonely appetite to sate,
I won't eat them, those dozen all...at once,
It is too late at night and no time for stunts.

I remember the cold air, salted from the Bay,
The large sea lions, both young and old yell
at each other as they stand on each others ground,
Slippery wharves, their islands holding heavy harems.

I can still feel wind and see the bridge so large, it was
called Golden, Gate to the setting sun and ocean
beyond, I can still see kites colouring the gusting wind.
All dancing as men women and boys held onto each kite
like it meant harnessing the force that pulled taut their twine.

I smell and taste the food, the wine too, where the heat
rises with the land, walking among the vineyards, how
each grape tastes differently, weak brown grass blowing while
lush colours are reserved for the grapes below a wrathful sun.
  
One day I will, we will go back to see much more,
experiences and travel will be measured by senses,
teased and explored till sated, memories will be
added to the life journey, but my heart is mine,
and His, more memories will pour in and be absorbed.

Thank you San Francisco.

The throb of my head is a pain,
The pulse beats and strains,
my will to read, to stay awake.

My nerve down my right arm,
Tingles like a silent alarm,
no jolt, just feeling out of control.

Not a good day to lift over my head,
I might lie down instead but with dread,
that live wire, inside, will not settle down.

Age shows at the strangest times and places,
You remember the names forgetting the faces,
Or is it the other way around, you tell me.

I have built bridges, with many hands and mine,
I have had sleepless nights, but now I must rest, FINE,
over time good days will replace bad, downs by ups.

Who will replace me, as mad as Hatter or in me cups?
Driven downward, not to disbelief but, on my knees,
Sour now my lips move in a prayer, "Remove this disease"

I am not ill, misguided maybe or forgot about hope,
I whine and complain, sure is a poor way to cope,
eyes grow weary, need to rest, this day is done, ...

... did I pass the test?  I will  know,
when the sky lightens, eyes open,
on their own to find the alarm,
next morning, with my right arm.

Earth to
the rain drops,
"STOP!
Or else..
Friend Sun!"

Vague recollections,
Of curio collections,
Salt and pepper shakers, unused
crystal ashtrays, reflecting rainbows
of northern prairie light on days bright.

A prairie girl, did you miss the place near the Arctic Circle,
your home?  Did Odin and Freya call you away from here to
there, or was Thor, or Loki the thunder in your angry voice
that I feared and may have hid under the steep basement
stairs, quietly in the dark hoping you were unaware.

Some of your children, and
your spouse, left before you did,
I know that was tough, and a shame.
You were tougher, though, you did
suffer in you aging frame.

I know you loved us all, I know you knew me too,
very early you said of me "he is a sensitive child", which
I have found to be all too true, many years after you have
gone I miss you, grandpa and dad, Audrey and Vic too.
Did you all find Valhalla at Heaven's Gate?

So I will not stir up the past, nor
will I hurry, through each day, for
I will remember, and smile at those
memories that brought me joy, prose
and rhyme not of a child, but a Viking man.

©DWE032013

They shuffle their feet outside the Labour Ready place,
insulated and tattered plaid work coats, to keep them warm.
The smoke from their cigarettes curls up into their faces,
Their heavy boots and hardhats will keep them from harm.

They sound wise in the cold, as the six AM hour begins to give shape,
to their words, their breath that smells of last nights' alcohol and now, tobacco.
They need the job, they want the job more, it really is just an escape,
Sleeping on the good graces, couches and floors of others, hiding from who they owe.

Life is about choices, not judgment calls or a bunch guilt-ridden thought,
Most of us are where we are, because, we think we did good, even all right.
These guys here, in Whalley, struggles with doubt which their actions have wrought,
How can they end the day, without having said to someone, anyone, good night?

I have muddied the waters,
I stirred sentiment and sediment,
The words rushed from my mouth.

The dirt was from the past,
If I was a better man, let it pass...,
I made her cry and long for home.

The tears cleaned lines  down her face,
then mascara followed, more proof of my disgrace,
In her anguish she left my side, her place.

Selfish victories, being right was never so wrong,
I watched her walk and then run away,
I sat frozen and fixed, a broken man without care.

I knew where she was going to go, if she could see,
through the tears, I could hear her raging over the
pounding rain, I was responsible for both of our pain,
I hurt her.

The bus drove up and through the humid widows,
people stared, as the driver said to me, "getting on?"
I just sat and stared too dumb to speak, now numb.

The bus doors closed and with a hiss, drove away,
I turned and looked as the bus sped away,
I saw her in the distance, turn to see if I was still there,
hope in her despair?

The next moments were the worst of my life, she jumped off the curb,
Into the path of the bus, she had timed it so well, she didn't yell,
as she landed with both feet, in the lane,  as the bus safely passed.

Threw her arm and finger in the air,  her despair was now anger, I
could no longer hear her as she continued her rant and crossed the road,
turning her back and leaving me for good, severed ties, it was goodbye.

Butterflies and dragonflies,
Weaving trails on unseen paths,
Bees that bumble, buzzing beautifully,
In the light and heat of the humid day.

Flowers' centres are a delightful repast,
To the insect kingdom that wants summers' bounty
to last, spiders hold it all together with the webs they spin,
The acrobats and airborne members leave mere morsels
for those below.

Those whose many legs, walk and only,
leave a microscopic footprint,
Devour, carry to store these remnants of
the phylum's failures and death,
They eat to live for the moment, they store
not for themselves but for the next generation,
For in their lives of living for the moment,
they too want to know if the next bite ............
will be enjoyed by them or will be them......

Wave your arms above your head
singing
sha na na  nana  na, I see the joy
when others are fit to be tied,
they can't keep their anger inside
controlled
yelling and waving their arms
madly
shouting at the top of their lungs
till hoarse scratching
sounds
are all they have left, they are spent.

Sha na na  na na  na na na
Wearied men and women wander the street,
Some are too, behind a steering wheel, pedals at
their feet, their hands lead busy lives,
texting,
talking,
dialing at will, cornering while drinking coffee,
phone by their ear and cigarette in their mouth,
who's driving the car?

Sha na na  na na  na na na clap clap
I can't carry a tune, hit or miss each note,
Given up on memorizing anything by rote,
Be a bringer and giver of peace,
Don't distracted drive for there are police,
Sing with me, drown me out, when I go flat,
You are the best,
You are the king or queen
of your domain,
and I yes, just tell me and I will make it so,
Make it so, make it so, don't let it pass,
make it so.

But, please do not hurt me, I cry easily,
I will hide my face, the streaks of dirt,
will be the remains of my pain,
marking me sad.

Sha na na na...  enough na.

Where my heart should be, there is an ache or a pain,
Yes that physical geography, I shrug with vague disdain,
I thought that had turned to stone oh so long ago.

My eyes well with tears, I feel emotions and I am glad,
But it is my fears, that want to stop the drumbeat so bad,
I had hoped for longer to get it right, or left, of centre.

Years became months and they turned to weeks, then days,
For excitement a walk amongst the freaks but the mundane won't go away,
Finally realizing I was the main attraction, the reason they showed up.

Busking my talent, to take risks, to make it rich, to feel alive,
What they threw was pennies, and insults, I barely survived,
But no one threw the one thing I needed most, something real.

An honest healthy heart, that beats a steady sound,
That is strong and fair and built to sincerely care, pound-pound,
Wires are getting crossed, on emotional waves I am tossed.

A short circuit in a bilge pump, thump sputter thump,
Water instead of blood finds a way through my rooted stump,
of a body full of remorse for the course my life has run.

There is no race for which I am fit, I plead no contest,
I would not pass any test, if I was allowed to write my best,
Down so low, found in the bottom of a heel print in the snow.

Yet, I have hope, I have a yearning to throw words down, and
with my voice lift their sounds to echo 'round, breathing air,
forcing sound to get my blood to break past clogs.

Yet, I will write, and live to write another day,
Whether it is by resuscitation, or heart-healthy habits stay
the course, spew the filth, to find a measure of peaceful treasure.

Writing in the moment.


©DWE022013