If I had an addiction it would be to chocolate dark,
What a laugh, what a lark.
I cannot be out of my mind, in any state!

If I had an addiction it would be to wine red,
What a joy, tannin's tasted, straight to my head,
I cannot say my life like a bottle emptied, was a waste!

If I had an addiction it would be to the written word,
Not what I have inked, typed, read or heard,
I cannot put on paper, with what the Bible fills me, till I am sate!

The air was fresh and still,
unless you get moved by the sound of the waves of traffic,
going by.

The hue of the blue sky,
not dusk or or sunset,
twilight isn't quite right as the moon hung
like a broken vessel, with traffic in waves underneath,
going by.

I stood, with my dog pulling at the leash in my hand,
boy could she demand to be let go
where ever her nose would take her,
oblivious to the noisy wash from the street,
going by.

I knew in that moment joy and sadness;
for the awe I felt in that moment and aware that
I would not finish my writing for that contest tonight,
another opportunity and time, noisily,
going by.

The deadline was like the air to me,
a chill reality, my dog exploded after a rabbit heading to escape us by,
going by.

My arm was jolted to full reach,
the leash bit into my hand as the dogs paws bit into the the mossy
ground, legs and moss flying to gain momentum to chase the prey,
yet I held her still no further than six feet away,
her heart racing while my life was staying pace
marking time,
going by.

Eyes that mirror broken trust,
Nothing to move through your heart of rust,
Speak not with a tone, other that to atone,
Say not, a word to break a spirit or a bone,
Say not. “Sorry” won’t do it alone.

Raise not your fist, foot or voice,
STOP you have a choice, whether it is a
child or a loved one or even a dog in the street,
they all see you and your violence, together complete.

Is that who you are? Is that how you will be known?
Not by the seeds sown,
but by the darkest of your insides shown?

If you were on the receiving end would it break you or would you bend?
If you have been there in the painful black corner of a memory past,
why not make your experience the last??!

Then, Nothing will fill your hand but warmth, compassionate tears will be
the drops of oil to lubricate and prime the pump, your heart!
Blood will flow through you once again, that icy season, your winter, will be over.

Then, changed you will be ready to give and in time receive…

There are dried up splashes of juicy orange wedges,
randomly splattered across my key board, no void in
the pattern, no victim.

Careless way to eat anything near an electronic thing,
citric acid bleeding into fine circuitry do not abide side by side,
with out someone losing interest.

Carelessness is a choice like loading a gun rather
than buying a Rolls Royce.  Putting a knife out of
sight, "just in case someone starts a fight" said
in the shadows of a fearful heart.

Guns and knives, guns and knives were only meant to
end lives, no self-defence, no, "sorry I won't let it happen,
again.", said by a teen with blood red-rimmed eyes but no
emotion.

Violence is a choice, poor man rich man matter naught,
you live and die in the lifestyle you sought, maybe got
more than you bargained for.

Cats have nine lives and I, like you, have only one before
the Great Hereafter, so I would rather spend it not crying
tears of grief and fill my ears with the sounds of my children' s
children laughter.  

Echoes of which, resound so, even the Heavens rejoice.

Every journal I own is filled with invisible ink, waiting.
Waiting like Chuck Norris, for the action of writing!

The words are all there, written with care,
no shadows or mirrors, neither does Chuck
Norris need shadows OR mirrors.

He and the inked pages, are invisible , to the naked
eye, waiting for action.  The action of putting a pen
to those words is like Chuck Norris springing across
the room or words spilling across the blank page!

Inevitable and exciting, but first a disclaimer,
so if you continue to read, as the author or poet,
I, cannot guarantee that your senses will not be
assaulted, though your imagination will be tested.

In the end who will be left standing, who will be bested
Chuck Norris or you?

Words spill from me somewhat out of control,
I say what is on my mind and never mind the toll.

I can't sing, don't watch me dance, it will appear, as
a left-footed ballet times two in right-footed shoes, and fear.

Movement not fluid, words that flow, sounds grate,
worse than when you stub your toe, was that fate?

If I told you what I believed would you still read or be relieved?,
Of your senses, in my words imagine, flights of birds!

They move en masse, like planes rushing, oh so fast,
Laying on your bed, daydreaming your future is in my past.

I once was white bread small town always acting like a clown,
Growing, leaving, finding love from both sides now, down, down.

I have never hit rock bottom, into the rabbit, whole I go,
I am all in, this is not for show, I write to make you pause,
cause for thought, are you living or not?

There is so much more to embrace, maybe you can't save the
human race, just one other by a smile on your face.

I am not telling you how to live, you know how to do that best,
than any advice I could give, but, sometimes, I know it is too much.

Slow it down, look in the mirror or glass, take one drink, one bite, at a time
Do not pity, give grace instead, live life, neither large nor small nor pantomime.

Move!, look up to see a blue sky, or clouds with rain, or stroll in the snow,
Lethargy and desks jobs can ****, how quickly do you want to meet the god or God,
you know?

Don't make eye contact as she motors on her way
with her hands on her stroller through another bad day.
Her hair is clean and flies in the boulevard breeze of
vehicles that speed by with hardly a care, an indifferent disease.

She tastes the cigarette smoked, she doesn't want another
as she looks down at her children, sister and brother.
If they only knew they were all on their own,
he finally left after the love she had shown.

Her jaw was set against the cold, she was 32 and just felt old,
She leaned into the trek she had along way to go,
Two kids in front and a back pack as cargo and away she went,
Walking is all she had and no where to go, he didn't pay the rent.

I stand because I cannot sit by.
I cannot stand to watch what I look at.
I watch and cannot see what is really there.
See?
I stare at my fantasy without reality.  Events unfold and stories told, through
characters merely imagined, to keep that part of me from wintering through everyday
of my life, like a single dried-up and curled-in leaf still attached to a nearly empty tree.
Feel?
That cold creeping closer and in as age frosts my rough-hewn surface, an exterior not
even my mother could love, anymore, anymore.  The veins and arteries act as they have
been treated, neglected and broken down, they leak and it is more than, just slightly salty water,
drip, drip...drip.
Hear?
Am I listening to life around me, those voices are more than noises and sounds, they are filled with
words, which echo and rebound that taste of meanings that I must really take care to understand.  It is
not all about me, as I am not talking about the voices, the all-important voices, in my head.
Taste? Smell?
Oh Comfort, to find comfort from with-in rather than with-out, when none other will, fill that palate we all share and the air we all share, that I  breathe.  My blindness has a cure, my insensitivity can be repaired, and my hearing could pass any test, but I must get past the stench of my selfish failures and the textured memories of the stale-dated repast.

Firsts are important, if you make them
We didn't, well we did but we didn't.
No regrets though.

Like young birds trying out their wings.

There was sometimes no camera or film,
some times little cash or a lost roll of film,
to mark a moment or a special day,
so we didn't.

Oh we did, make happy and we smiled
and laughed as firsts were, the first time
after all.

There was walking and talking which then became
running and now they have wings and fly.

I did not take pen and paper and write down the moment
with colourful description and names of all who were there,
I did not make the time, to be fair.

We still have no regrets that would be a first
if, we did.

They all grew up fine and they will now
know I am proud of who they have become
(if they did not know before, that would also be a first)
and how they got to where they are and did so by being
who God meant them to be, with some help
and guidance from her and me.

Oh how they soar!

And love, they know love, I hope that it would not
be a first, to know that they are loved, from first
time we found womb for them and for all time.

As they grew from younger to older, sometimes
every day it seemed that there was some first or other,
and now it is I who have firsts, my first daughter in law,
married to one son, and a first grandchild from our daughter
in the middle, and as for son number two, everyday is a first
and for him some things have not changed,
still no regrets,
even though the nest echoes from time to time to time.

It is what good friends do,
Their actions say "I love You",
While with their words
Come with comfort too.

Good friends can be human or
animal, old and young from
curb-side philosopher to a "Carl Jung",
they feel pain too when you are stung.

There is nothing better when some stranger,
saves you from danger or some youngster
has blessed you with a gift of a sweet song, or
a dog or cat takes a moment to rescue you.

They are a good friend, to you and to those who
love you, so model what they do, for all the
community around you, need a good friend too.

Remember life bites all of us in our turn, it is
not the teeth marks or tissues scarred, we see
while together, but how well you live life until, even
your wrinkles
have smiles.

Chick peas et al Garbonzo beans'
a machine with blades, the means.

Tahini, lemon juice and a red pepper flakes,
A chipolte in abodo, smoked paprika, is what it takes.

Roasted red pepper, garlic too, touches on the button,
The roar, whirr and with the sounds blending till done.

Salt and pepper to taste,
Not too much or it is a waste,  
Not to little or, well, you know,
A hint of red just shows.

With your crusty bread, dig in like you hold a shovel,
Two handed flavour, taste and bite into that crusty bread,
Flavour moves and sends a smoky heat sensation to a new level,
Hope this is the best tasting poem that you have  read!

Few words
Count the cost
of the loss.

Just tears.

Every day I move from my bed,
Stretch my body and shake my sleepy head,
I find it harder to be alert once November,
passes winter to December.

"Really?" you ask, "why is that?"

Dark is as dark does, clouds absorb the sun,
I find rain a constant companion, walk or run,
It is a journey every day I leave my home,
Wetting my appetite is easy to do, pick a puddle
to splash through.

Too may walkers and runners get hit,
Drivers drive too fast, in their prescribed induced states,
Pedestrians take their chances, do you believe in fate?
or more??

Watch out for the other guy or we might find you
victim of a drive by hit and run, the carnage and dismay,
lack of compassion or skill I'd say.

"Since when is one life worth more than any other?"

The hits we hear about, the near misses are many more,
silence does not keep score.
Wear something bright, brighter than an idea,
Do not rely on those behind the wheel.
So wear white
or something brighter
like the morning sun
on your walk or your run or ride
Be as white as reflected light, so you are seen,
as plain as day, run/walk,ride seriously injury free,
I pray.

Wanting not to be,
worried, fearful,
crowded out
wallflower,
trapped.

Get out and away from,
the reality of unreal TV.
Get out of that ****** spot,
where you always rest.

Use less and leave more, by
taking action with care.
Re-defined purpose of all that
you possess, outside and in.

Give away and choose need, over
waste and want.
Think twice of what you buy or
buy into, be sure.

Cycle and cycle again, until it is gone
more or less.
Plant seeds of visible hope, beyond
your horizon.

Out and down, is garbage out from garbage within...
get moving!
Out-of-doors invest time, b r e a t h e
be inspired.

Inspire others, most of all, learn
to give, accepting self, in and of community,
their love too.

Sophisticated,
Complex solutions to impossible problems
Artfully thrown on my daily canvas.
A montage
A collage
Of choices, of failures confused with, Right or Wrong,
For me, when
Layers upon
Layers, of
Life experiences coloured by my desire to communicate,
Who I am, in the Safety, in the Mystery, Out Loud


D W Elverum   June 2012

Part I
Bullets
Of Death,
Target innocents,
Lost Lives, emptied
Last breath,
Expired.

Part II
Drops
Of Dew,
Morning fresh,
Overnight, air
Renewed
Again.


D W Elverum April 2012

It snowed overnight,
Falling flakes, white, with cold,
The ground was covered.
The sky was falling,
apart and not losing its'
place high above us.
The ground was lighter,
with flakes and whiter too,
yet stayed beneath,
our feet; only laughter,
left our lips and returned,
to the sky. It then
fell lightly on us
again.... softly falling flakes
of snow, winter's white.


D W Elverum March 2012