how to describe out of control
by using an elephant in a barrel roll,

how to use colour to
explain black and white,

if there is a success story
this is not it, don't worry,

speaks well when he can
be heard, knows how to
use words, to inflict himself
upon others, thank goodness
he only has one brother,

likes fall more than spring
notes fall flat when he sings,

(if this were a real critique
this ain't going too well)

walks with a limp too fast,
hangs on to the past
by a thread,

hears sounds
at night that drive him
from bed, probably all in his
head...sigh...

that is just a snap shot of the
toxic wasteland some go through,

negative self talk will *****
with perception,

make one lose direction,
you want doubt, this way
to the insurrection,

life ends too fast,
it can be gone in an instant
gone in a flash,

be a dreamer no matter how big,
trick is, how to take the little steps,
to reach each one, (feel that... can't
even say the words,* success and joy*,)

by setting out to
do what I intended to
haiku this review

scored a five point five
out of ten, in this life,
if age and numbers matter.

if one day,

I am away,

worry not.

if in two or

three days,

there are

no words,

no write,

I am all right.

if a week

becomes

two and s t r e t c h e s

the ache…

to a month

or two in

you.

I have gone

across

the Rainbow Bridge,

to the Other side,

with no regrets…

save not knowing

you, as one of this

Warriors conquests.

I
thought when
I first wrote

Poetry
it was
the release of

Woe
in me,
but for awhile

I
see my
style and who

I
write for
my audience of

One,

but,

Bullies,
pull the woolies
over eyes that sheepishly
turn away, look away, look away,

I had a teacher once who that
thought by giving me D's and
E's in English and jokingly
add in front of the class...

"Hey Elverum you got one
of your two initials, wanna
hazard a guess?"

When I was in
the Army,
had an MWO,
who was nick
named the Wicked
Witch of the West,
as his features
made you feel
like Dorothy, in
the Land of Oz
and because "there's no place like home"
                       "there's no place like home"
                       "there's no place like home"

So
it is
with sad attention

I
see there
is a bully

Here,
here, said
the judge, jury

So
there should
be, because poetry

Is
not about
the freedom of

Expression,
through speech,
it is about

Grading
and wizardry
and being numero

Uno
a legend
in his own

Mind
my manners
mind my tongue

Words
that are
spit like salvo's

Not
marshmallow's with
hard hearted centres

Poetry
is meant
to be read

If
I ask
for your critique

Would
you send
me a bill

Or
just your
ill will, toxins

Instill
your commanding
presence on the

Young
and the
new, who dare

To
bad mouth
you, your just

One,
how does
it feel to

be
so alone
like the sound

of
one hand
clapping as you

dashed
another soul
to the rocks

below
the belt
with svelte wit

But
alas, I
only write for

An
audience of
one, you ain't

IT.

Across
the sky
cloud smears remain

Gauze
in bunches
white and bright

Winged
ones broken
no flying dared

Spirits
strong births
and weddings still

People
parked lives
in garages safe...

other
places need
earth shaking change

from
flightless broken
wings ill repaired

1968
turns out
a 2015 sequel

Cities
both, streets
filled, with rubble.

One
an Earthquake,
other Equality troubles.

there is good in all,
woman and man to a fault,
(the only bad came the result of a fall from grace)
being a woman does
not disqualify you from
a man's work,
men take note,
say with me by rote,
'I must stop being a ****."
(chauvinisima)

take my love to the next level
measure it against the bevel of the Platonic
lust is a bust, then there is love, gimme agape
every time after a time,
and after a while you might under-
stand beauty...real beauty...really understand,
take as much time as you need,
you need this time...to understand the sublime.

Twain with his wit, to some, was an ear pain
Mark, a pen name, his words to heed, no disdain
Samuel Clemens, the humorist man was a gifted teller of story
Penned, Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, innocent boyhood glory.

Add to me what time takes away,

Subtract my ills, my will, my liver
Divide my brain, conquer the divide,

multiply my woes, let me use my
ugly toes, multiply to calculate,

where in the sky, the Heaven's we

will meet, but not collide.

I would like to watch you wrestle,
with your sheets so white.
I would like to watch you
wrestle. I would like to wrestle
with you, stand above
as a train trestle, noisy tracks
above your bed

pick you up and throw you, show
you my classic move on white
sheets in the dark, full moon casting
doubt that you will resist my
sleeper hold, afraid that
I might leave forgetting, my mask
and championship belt with notches,
for you to remember me; bye, bye,
but then in your delirium
you insult my mum and
I return to the fray, tangling
you in the sheets and warming
all the pillows coldest sides
as I do my
spinning
whirling dervish move
at the head of your bed, I strip
the bed of all its dressing,
so if and when I go you will
have to make it on your own
you are standing there breathing heavy
as I turn to gloat away you simply fall
upon the naked bed breathless

I take one last leap into the air
your eyes open wide and we connect
in that moment, I know you know
I am about to land a hammer elbow &
painfully direct.

Wires criss cross,
electricity enclosed,
never touch, fencing in,
the sky, the clouds, and where birds alight and touch,
Branches interweave and lace, oxygenation exposed,
roots bury deep,
as the shallow earth is
a deep canvas,
always waiting on the painter of the Light.


From the sky to the dirt tinted ground,
winged fowl to the rodents who bound,
or scurry, as coyotes celebrate a ****, calling
the moon to break the clouds like bread,
with two unseen hands that reach down.



The oceans sounds are the cars that roll
by and the air crests and curls landing
against the beaches made of trees and
hedges, and sitting listening still is the wind
wanting a turn to play coyote and howl, showing teeth
wanting a turn to play rodent tossing bushes about,
wanting to play birds that dance and dance aloft below the clouds while diving to feed off of the heat of the Day, to rise way above to see the pastoral patchwork, Earth below.

echoes
land                                 moving
           somewhere
tied                                  to
              ­                                     morning mist.

morning,
                         she's
string


             that
  

                    nothing
is          two
                   bottles

of linen

               But, whiskey-----

I know where womb
became breath of air
and I was born
in a hospital there,
place was north of flat,
with wind erosion,
Growing up was not easy I know
with glasses I was an
easy target, until I had single eye
surgery, muscle band
sutured, wore a patch for my pirate
eye, no sword in a hand,
I know what tetanus is and why I
had to get a shot,
Rusty nail through and through a
sneaker, hurt a lot,
I know first love and know too well
rejection, spread like
an infection through my life at that
time, unless I biked,
then the only ones faster than me were cars
and planes and trains
and birds, some dogs, other bigger kids
on bikes, this I know.

I know this is about to get repetitive.
I know how important a good goalie is in two sports.

I know what bullying was and bullying is,
I know that negative self talk is a disease, still looking for the cure.
I know I was once good, no GREAT at the Pursuit of Trivial things.
I know I have a short term photographic memory, what did I just say?

I know there is a difference between jokes and humour,
I know some-one who has cancer and tumours,
I know what it is to watch my child-ren be born, and
admit there is beauty in my part of creation.

I know
many things. I know what fitness is and what it isn't.  I know friends who have had eating disorders, and how it becomes their personality.

I know what it is to be an adult child when parents divorce,
I know what alcoholics behave like to live to drink another day and another and...

I know I graduated high school,
I know how to drive different vehicles,
I know how to operate from a motorcycle to heavy machinery
I know Cadets and I know Canadian Reserves.

I know what it is like to receive a dear Darrell letter, when many miles
are between, and young love, ends.

I know safety rules with weapons, I know how to properly salute,
I know I once knew how to build bridges in the company of many
men, we will call them Field Engineers, UBIQUE, and a unique lot
they were, I knew I was a jack of all trades there and master of none,
save one, I was a soldier first and an engineer second, now are we
ready for the explosives...

I know how to coach volleyball

I know marriage, I know that relationships are really all us humans
have of value, of value, I know how to rant a poem, I know communication and the frustration of speaking in the wrong tone,
I know to look for awe, I know that my house is cluttered, I know my dog is old, and though she is not spent yet, that day will come sooner,
and tears, those ******* tears will flow, it is just a **** dog, don't you know?

I know love.   I know respect is earned.

I know when a black cloud moves in and hangs around the head and heart of the one you love, it breaks the little bones in your ears, it pulls
hairs from your nose, it gives you aches and pains and drains the living
energy despite how much you pray it away or pray to be strong, or pray to accept it, or pray for her every waking hour, and too even if you just go along for the roller coaster ride of your lives.

I know Christ Jesus and Him Crucified,
not by anything I have done but by
the love of God for me.

Now you know what
I know and what I am
willing to share, there
is much more, for each of us, didn't you know?

Earth moves on an arc through, space while a spinning,
Grass shorn short, fertilized, lush dry for prize winning,

Ball colours vary, same guts to carry far afield,
Brutal weaponry, club warheads whip and yield,

Swinging flawed on an axis of rotation,
Aging arms, eyes connect one intersection,

Transformed flight path, set in motion, rocketed,
Small enough to be picked up and pocketed,

After you have holed out of course, on the links,
Cooler minds prevail peaceful approach me thinks!

twenty four hours
in a day,
seven on sleep,
just wastes away

and three on
making and eating
food,
good work day done
chunks by eating at
least seven point five

warning warning not
enough time!!!!!!!

ninety minutes leashed
to dog walks
                               and walks too work plus from
clean up, chores,
put away, chores,
dust bunnies  come
from some miles
around, another hour down

warning warning second level, time is at lowest levels

shaving, showering and sitting silently contemplating
personal time appreciation, if you know what I mean,
is at least an hour

before i start my day i read some and do the same before
bed when my pillow hits my head
another hour has slipped through my fingers
and my hand taps
my chest to find the rhythm of my heart beat,  

Time's a running out!  Time is!


there are three hours
every day that
i don't know
how they are
spent, maybe working,
maybe in pleasure,
could be driving
in traffic not
rushing for an
hour, to my
great displeasure, could
be shopping or
dropping to my
knees, looking for
lost things like
keys, or a
watch or a
dog toy, OR

the hours
of my day dispensed
by chaotic
prescription to give me
fits because
it never all fits
in even
if I rush and
hurry, blush
and worry, crush the
day and
live in a dream
a story
of the perfect day
which is
a poem for another
time as
I have run out......................................................again.

Pairs well with steak, prime rib and spaghetti
bolognese, my cab-sav drank with no regret,

my dog has more likes on my instagram
@elverum51, is where it is at where I am

chances are dark chocolate will stain these lips,
as I slowly enjoy the limited sweetness, tongue trips

on slippery letters that form words bathed in wine,
I don't work tomorrow I will be just just LIKE fine,

same thing different day on wordpress,
I don't twitter enough for a wordsmith

I am sure there is a video on youtube,
for me dude, to solve everything I rue,

do you?

Need some time killers, murderers more LIKE
Can I interest you in Pinterest, Stumbleupon,

and their ilk?

LIKE me so I can love myself,
take my self-esteem off a shelf

freshly pressed and fine
that reminds me....wine!

How is this social, if I cannot prepare a meal at my meagre table,
Days are gone when my humility is thrilled you visit me, a fable

uncommon courtesy can be found by a common man LIKE me,

@iceintheattic mentioned me in a comment: @elverum51
Always too kind to the bones, kinder than the wind to
the trees - thank you @elverum51

I need SMT
for my SMA

don't message, don't check my status, don't even phone
just show up knock on my door, that is all that matters.

Green moss thick and dark, grows slowly
The wild flowers rise and reach, to catch the breeze
Lichen lie low a laclustre collect, on the rock and lee

There are no walls, the barriers and possibilities are natures' ways
The birds sing among the Wisteria, to attract the mysterious
The wild flower petals open sun-wide to receive the bees

The tiniest things of nature, can confound the human mind
Insect, animal, and human are not the only occupants
The birds fly to chase and catch a meal, then return fastidious

E'er so often you may imagine, to see with disbelief, smallish things
Clear blue above, yet does your head not heavy grow, give in
It is not your tired eyes, that fool with faerie sized inhabitants,    

Did you see the Twinkles moving, from the corner of your eye
Breathe, soft and become the meadow grasses long and tall
Clouded vision, any friend of nature, finds a pillow, live long

I have been to this very meadow, seems just recently,                    
Green moss thick and dark, grows slowly
Skin so soft petals enrich all dreams, on waking without the fall
Lichen lie low a lacklustre collect, on the rock and lee




© DWE20150416

Take your bullets, take your dope
and get out of town,
all you represent is crime,
living life large in pantomime
going through the motions
until you get stopped,
by a bullet or a cop,
matters not to me,
and just so you know
and hear it in clear,
bullets do not care
how tough you appear
you can bleed out through
a hole the size of your baby
finger,
a cautionary tale as recent
gun violence where I live
no innocents have been
hurt yet, but none
of you are marksmen
with a pistol!  One miss
is all it will take, wake UP
and smell, the tea, we
don't need you here,
a lot of you seem to need
the hospital facilities,
let see those take tax
dollars.... pay up.

eyes that drink it in,
eyes that glaze, eyes tempted sin,
walk, drive, hear or see,

        scent or feel,
what has this to do with me,
is it all the outside objects of desire for poetry,
is it for a friend,
is it at the end of the day, in a wild free-
verse way, is this a dress rehearsal for after-play,

in love,
of love, gone astray
of self-image, renovation reconstruction,
but you can no longer see the dysfunction,
but,
but;
the broken exploded pieces of your heart,
are lodged in every nerve, you can only writhe
to your pain.  

you have meter, you have mitre, cut the rhythm so
close to perfection, a pentameter of frustration, first
name, iambic.

Will you be content,
with the content,
language sounds
hard and rounds,
soft supple syl-
lables slipping silently,
off your tongue,

the strongest muscle,
a double edged, an implement,
sword for word play too.

Poetry is special, as those who strive
to write it,
they may be life lessons shared
to right their ship,
poetry may be long,
it may be short,
you may
write in
privacy,
and no one will
ever read your poetry,
but if they do, you may know, that their
life has changed, and they may never thank you.

And as I often do and this is not an insult but
sometimes true, though I write poetry from
that awful place of woe in me, I seldom
see myself a poet. But my Muse I believe
and it tells me that I am.

the sky had a case of random cloudiness, the moon,
the stars could still gaze upon the Earth from the
glass shelves, that only rarely let the stars fall and
the moon change shape, like the way your *******
heave when I kiss the nape of your neck
many times

My dog walks are getting crowded,
Drag the main, the girl, she asked,
"I know this is a random question"
as startled I close the gate,
"But do you have any plastic bags?"
"No" said I, and stood to wait
for her to move out of the way,
there was enough time to take in her face,

her life was rough her face said so, but
no language it spoke but two, body and *****,
it made me walk the other way as she turned the
way I normally do,  that face textured, maybe
crack pipe burns from in her youth...

As I walked quickly away large trucks rolled quickly by
I turned to keep an eye them, caught her, in the corner of my eye
following, and not very discreetly.....

Morning smelled like sixteen cups of coffee,
but that is what it took for you to get through the day,
your brother and your sister are doing fine,
as i am still pariah, must be a flaw in my design,

Evening smelled like cigarettes, as the beer you drank smoked,
driving you home late-night was the best part, then it finally became
legal when I got my license, your other brother's ghost stills sits
in the back seat, he didn't have the heart to tell you he died.

Noon on weekends was bottles of beer in a pitcher,
we (you) had to drink them all because it was *****
and waste to pour the beer back.

Not a four letter word,
                                    chase the birds and                           with this
                                                            ­        discover bliss,
Under Heaven, there is time for everything, even this,

Can't be art, or are you nature?
This can reflect your posture.

to smile for all seasons
need not one reason

Vigorous pulse and impulsive
Sleep is wasted, and repulsive,


This is to die for in a fight
It ain't right, war
but it is the way
of the world, and of old men.

you wear a hat, add an e, now you hate,
you tear down, add an r, now you drown in self pity,
you get your nose out of joint, add an i now you just make
noise, add in your passive aggressive *****, silent reading
becomes noisy.

Boulevard paved, cloud runnin' chase, to clear thoughts
Mindfulness, craved pounding in, raining pain sought
Free me! bound points pressing in, thorns? BE GONE! bought
padded Dr. Scholes soles.                 

Trail's bridge truss, wooden way leads to peace climbing
Lean  in shoulder first, dig, dig, pistons legs pump hard
Muscles in tighter bundles demand  enrichment
Slopes up, roll down, pleasure

A wolf prowls amongst the ruins of concrete and glass
An appetite for the elderly, for the easy, for the edible,
Causes his stomach to growl for the emptiness,
of the stomach,
of the wilds overtaken by clumsy men and women,
of the structure, where people matter not,
relentless, needing not to be graceful
but there is poise, and
always something fiercely
poetic in the ****.

Even the weakest
is reason,
for a seasoned
hunter
to howl
after words.

How  do  we  remember ...war,
victorious! or lost... or oh, the cost...
how  do  we  remember ...battles
the call!... the charge, or the silence ... the toll!
how  do  we  remember...soldiers, and when they are...older
scarred but not forgotten, MIA, KIA
after war
after battles
after soldiers
honor,
bravery,
scarred, not scared
loved,
missed,
by wives and mothers and all the others,
this one
battle
"defined
a nation" and at a cost of 10,000 men, who would soldier no more,
but take postings to peoples memories once lives turned from war,
and to war again
and war again and
to peace makers.

Vimy - April 9 - 12, 1917

wispy clouds
on a blue sky
and a blood-
less sunset, lost on all for now
some despised boys in
cowardly mens bodies
have more bul-
lets than teeth,
yet the chickenshit bites
and mark and
grief they leave
behind, spent
casings litter the
halls of learning
peace, pieces, seething, see the thing
is now, lost on all for now  

so how much hate do you have to harbour, to ****** a child?

yet the clouds of
witnesses stay silent;
no, not the common
man, the common
women, who have
in common with you and
I, tears falling from, my eyes
our eyes, there is
horror, there is shock
there is mouths
open and no air is
getting to the lungs,
a silent scream for
justice, as no one
can bring the children back, memories do not cut the loses,
yet the clouds of
witnesses stay silent; those
seats of power
must be real com-
fortable at this hour
eschewing respon-
sibility, for there
is no gain by get-
ting involved,

the ultimate of pre-emptive fear,
how hard can they be to find leaving a yellow streak
wherever they go, crawling on their yellow bellies.

this is not to be read,
out loud for even the
sound and rhythm,
from anywhere in
world, would break hearts, my heart
cannot make rhyme and reason
about this crime,  see there is
an evil scaramouch, no credit
the pantywaist
deserves, takes on flesh and
payment is required.

What is lost on all for now..
What is lost on all for now..
What is lost on all Africa for now..
The value, the energy,
the beauty, the potential,
the future, there were
musicians, there were
geniuses, there philan-
thropists, there were
artists, * there were poets,*
they were children and
grandchildren, they
were going to be parents,
they were going have
children and that is
lost on all for now and forever.

some talk of destiny,
like they have met before,
so much unrest in me,
going back to the times of yore,

needing quiet and above core of a bustling, busy
sleepless island streets, needing noisy trees and
a West coast breeze, needing some distance
to lend a farm hand a hand, needing times in
a city with not the tower, to refresh my batteries.

call me a dreamer, from where you are
the triathlon, want I to run is reading,
writing,
sleeping
so I can digest, express and dream of
kinder times where imaginings touch
is never enough.

Refresh not the force field, but the power
of the yield ... knowing when to stop
and when to go is more power than
you know, and if the veil and the
mail made of chain should brush
as they fall to the floor...
worry not for I will have already closed the door...

I stir in the soft glow, in the room, and traffic is a slight ocean's wave, in sound,

I put my hand upon my chest, this ceiling isn't mine, the fixture here is round?

When I roll over, you are there, face hidden by your hair,

Pillow grasped with hands still bunched, have a hunch

We loved last night under, the moonlight, cloud light , no light

If I remember anything, ... umm I must get dressed and take my things

I must leave without saying goodbye, or get the stare from sleepy eyes,

That could **** even me, with the air thick with thrill, from the eve before,

No, I must leave sleep and you, to walk the dog who is scratching at the door,

for sure before I leave, this early early morn.

To make, a

p r a i r i e,

it takes

a clover

and

one

bee, one

clover and,

a bee

and revery,

the revery -- alone

will do if bees,

are few…

Emily Dickinson

you rubbed the
grey worry stones
over and over,
that were found in the Chest,

                                        treasured or pandora's box, what else was inside?

patiently losing
kind parts
of your fingers,
massaging

                                     with printless tips, losing all identity, such sacrifice!

the still stones
hard with worry,
until the worry
fell away,
           landing and curling
           like shavings a
            Carpenter's work
           would leave  behind,

and the stones
began to look
like red and
soften up some

you took it in stride, no pride or boasting, no scolding no holding it over my head,

                                                          ­                    
you never faltered,
you went and
stood silently,
watching me
tire each day
from my new
and advent-
urous ways,

behind me to
remind me
there was safe-
ty in your arms,

                                                          ­                        tall tales told of night time fictional conquests, lies about lying with strangers!

the pink flesh
you wore, never
turned green
knowing we would
find each
other
every
night

                                              
till dawn
              and morning
                                   light glinted
                                                       of your hair,
                                                                ­           your smile,
adding colour to the design?

hands break pieces dark uneven
fingers squeeze the bottle red, into a freshly picked glass
plate holds ceremonial a desert dry

be careful what you read into what I write
and I will be careful into what I bite,
this was not an exchange of ideals

dark chocolate, pieces three, late with a plate with
two ginger bread soft snaps, my momma
makes, two together, microwave whether
you trust that machine, till a lift soft and a little warm

no harm to drink the wine with each sweet, spicy soft bite,
hold
for
a moment
in your mouth and taste, the Syrah deep inside the cookie,
as the dark chocolate melts in your mouth, coating teeth,
beneath a moon the clouds want to hide, and all to me
is perfectly clear, just for now. Oh ginger SNAP! softly and quietly
it is late...

she sat with her back to the brick column
holding up a vestibule, she found useful
as a public sorting place for the private
contents, of her camel coloured purse, remarkably ****-
tered as her "****** life", her short term
fix, IT, took a carefully cared for, crack pipe.

Running late was I, and eye contact was made
and I quietly but firmly said to the seated glazed eyes look-
ing up at me, "might be best if you leave."

next day kilometres away, early morning bank
deposit, and a coffee run, me and the dog, out
for fun "car rides" bring her much delight, a voice
from behind said "mister, mister you gotta help me!,
I'm, not an addict, and last night I could not get home,
rode transit for free out to here from Kitsilano but,"
she breathed, "in the it cost me a ticket for one
hundred and seventy five dollars, when I got caught"

I looked at her, seeing her hair dishevelled and a face full
of what, despair...? "so what do you want from me?"  
She
ran on with her mouth, playing with her top, the sentence was
run on and wouldn't stop.  "I made some bad choices, came here to meet my EX, found him with a girl having ***, and I need ten or twenty,
bucks to get me home, the transit cop said he would not let me back on and would still be working until three A.M., stranding me, until this morning see?!"

We
went back and forth, verbally,
"transit does not cost that
much, stop asking me for
money!", and she fired
back,
"my math is bad,
the money would be
nice and do your Karma
good, I am a big  believer
in that", finally I left her
with a small handful of
small change and watched her walk
away, got in my car, got my coffee, got  going home...

but as I drove by her, she was standing back to the hedge,
calm had returned as she waited, her hair was in place,
I saw something I failed to observe during our dialogue....

under her arm was
that camel coloured
purse...two women
suddenly became one

Glasses with frames now used to see
Lines on faces not far away, beyond me
And my capability, under fluorescent,
Lights.

These glasses gather spots of rain, doctor
Doctor, there are spots before my sockets
Containing real steel slate blue eyes, go ahead
Whistle if you must.

I will get used to it.

Six foot five in a five foot nine inch frame,
Coached volleyball well without any shame,
Calm demeanor was not required, I was
Tame, not the chair kicking kind.

Did not need glasses then, when oh when is this
Going to end, when either you or the referee,
Whistles.

Hear the rain
fall, here the rains
drop, where there
was once grass and
clay soil dry, yet now

the pools of rainwater protest,
with all the little droplet hostages,
the collective have not the resources to,
from here escape!

To true though grounded too, due to weather, any possible help the unfriendly breeze, has wind-instrumented away.

After you read this, I drought there will be
a dry eye in the house, and you'll all pool your
resources, to make me Maui's most wanted poet for
awhile.