I'd turn myself inside out if it would make me happier,
but that might hurt.
I'd walk 800 kilometres if I thought it would bring me peace,
but it would only bring me blisters.
I'd write words on a keyboard,
for you only to keep and hoard,
not because they maybe pretty,
please find me not that petty,
I just wanted to say the things,
to make you smile like joy brings,
You see we really have not met yet
And when we do, and we will, I'll bet,
I won't take back what I gave,
We'll have tea and then wave,

Goodbye,  ; - }
each of us stronger,
I could go on longer,
if you did not guess,
I have to,
own what I don't possess.

sky heavy laden with cloud,
earthhour approaches, the
dark may get darker, dark
like eighty-five percent
cocoa, the tastebuds rave,
there is no clear sky save,
above the clouds, no night
        sky can be seen,
weather wet enough
            to be obscene,
symbolism is not lost
except on the sea, waves
of *******, find shores
and beaches, satellites pickup
the pieces from space,

Nightmares and

Of the dreams,
neon blue water,
grass roof huts and
white, hot, hot, hot,
                                  sand.
Promissory notes on the
future, ancestors and generations
did not speak of what we see,
in a language we discern as plain,
be a steward,
of the planet,
of the place we all call home,
here is a thought,
what if we have been renting,
this place all this time,
and the Land Title Holder,
has a case, to keep,
The Damage Deposit,
while giving us notice,
to leave...

tear at your skin
until you get in
and fix the thin
excuse for being
human.

Self loath if you must,
but how can you trust,
the thoughts and ******,
that what you guess
to be real.

all humans have flesh,
daily life is a test,
and how you pass,
is sleeping and waking
then opening your eyes
take your next breath.

Be ******* yourself
sure, but let no one
else concur, remember
though, curing concrete
only gets harder with
water, even tears.

So maybe just maybe learn
from life and dance, be limber
to absorb the punches,
the mockery of your artistry,
light a fire to your life,
as there is no match to you.

Other than the passion you always knew
you had.  Confident not sentimental,
beautiful and experimental, your picture
in the dictionary under GENIUS.


©DWE092013

She has her head on the stuffed bear on the bed.
It is a cushion or a prop for her curly crop head.
She snuffles she snorts, on guard and in bed.

She may be game, and she may not have grace.
The blanket she lies on is the softest place.
Oh she falls so heavily into that dreamy space.

Oh to dream,

Take me, with you I will run too, we will catch those
rabbits and jump those fences landing on our toes,
side by each, with the other, and who knows?

I may wake and know you well, You...
You may wake and know me better, I will...
I will know, what it is to have you as a best friend.

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!

a peaceful beach full,
colour matters naught,
reflects sunlight,
no matter how slight,
sticks together when wet,
sticks to skin you bet,
count the grains in the palm
of your hand
if you lose that number,
start over, ****!
what does sand have
that we can graph,
GRIT!




©DWE032014

metal plastic, matters not,
moving rolling, engine hot,
pushing ahead,
mass of air,
goes by me,
changes my hair,
in a new direction,
takes my hat,
without discretion,
seeing eye blurs,
rush even at, an early hour,
foot plus gas pedal equals power,
and for some, that is all they will
ever have,
but walk I will by the boulevard,
dog on leash scenting hard,
for a place to go out of the blast,
that never ends as they all go fast,
while I must look slow, walking beside the boulevard.

There is no poetry,
                                that does not taste, sweet as the human spirit.
There is no poetry,
                                that does not dig and root at life, as if fearless.

There is no poetry,
                                that can move me, to not like music.
There is no poetry,
                                that can move me, to not want to dance.
There is no poetry,
                                that stops me, from the music I dance to,
there is no poetry,
                                that silences the music in me, that makes
                                me move in my seat at a
                                local coffee shop (okay, it may be the caffeine),
there is no poetry,
                               in plain view as when I skip down the
                               grocery store aisles.

There is no poetry,
                               only shared human kindness that restores a shaken soul.
There is no poetry,
                               that can say love better than an act of unconditional love.

There is no poetry,
                               that has not already been said,
                               that has not already been lived,
                               that has already been lost,
                                                                           like the one, you are about to create and write and share.
                                                                                                    So that others may live your experiences.



©DWE092013

it is late,
find something to sate,
your thirst, your hunger,
that greed you call a need,
when you
are haunted
by want for
things you may
not find,
for a dollar,
FOOD,
no F.O.O.D.
Found Objects Of Desire,
play with that fire,
come visit the quagmire,
watch that first step it is a sticky one,
but it is late,
your watch is covered in much muck.
oh phoque, your cell phone is roaming,
in the gloaming of the horizon,
your fate is sealed,
kiss your paycheque goodbye,
hear, here is a hand,
an offer not a command,
take hold, for help is fleeting,
just like love.

But love is unconditional,
and help is propositional,
it has to be accepted,
to work.

Coming and going,
never stand still,
                           except to smell the roses,
                          or flowers, or the light waft
                          of shampoo in that special somone's hair,
leaving and arriving,
n'er you rest your weary head,
                                                 yet wrest yourself
                                                  from the test that is life,
                                                 are you in tune with the
                                                   call of the loon,
entering and exiting
through doors (of opportunity)
and windows (of more opportunity),
                                                   ­       our lives are lived in transit,
                                                        ­                        that's what it is,
                                                             ­         oh to be able to visit,
                                                        
i­f only a handful of you,
break bread together,
laugh at the awkward silences,
make friendships out of strangers,
while being a stranger in strange lands,
because,
anyone of us,
could no longer
post powerful prose,
spin a rhyme on a dime,
love somone other than ourselves, for the thousandth poem,
leave lines of self-loathing, cutting
into the darkness of a dark room,
with the white computer light of
a forgivenss, friendship and a family
of poets and writers,
all in transit, here is to crossing paths, or pens
                         and let the ink fall where it may,
                         if I was close enough ...to offer an open hand.

the way the teeth get out of the way of the tongue,
the sounds come from the throat and below,
maybe it starts at a big toe?

the sinus chamber is more plus than
minus, adding to the echo that only
you hear, no fear built in reverb!

read the long and the small,
stories, poetry and all aloud,
hear that voice, it is yours,

BE PROUD!

play with your voice, become a vocal
acrobat by choice, assembled a vocal
ensemble with your chords,
all the poems and words, you horde,

for reading
when with
your light
alone at night
you read a million words
to learn to love the sound
of your voice, shaping
words, adding emotion
to a two dimensional framework
and making it a verbal ballet!

fields of dollars,
make someone rich,
                       that subject is taboo, write of sunshine and fluffy clouds,
  at the gas pump,
    cell phone providers,
                                      whoa, smell any conspiracy in the air,
     stinks of family lineage,
       where even the skeletons are well dressed,
                                                        ­            especially those in the closet,
          who never did come out,
           even after they retired from politics,
                                                                ­    don't water down your investments, invest in water rights, and oil rights, and undermining other's rights, you'll make a killing and be rich,

there is an killing, in killing
there takes a will to consider money above all things,
there are those that give back,
there are those who attack,
the vulnerable for their money,

losing all can **** dreams,
losing all can change retirement plans,

wander in the killing fields of the greedy,
                               will leave you needy,
protect your heart,
protect your mind,
don't be blind,
or when you sleep you will grind your teeth,
in a personal rebuke,
protect what little you have,
lest you become a fool and become separated,
in the chaos as life churns you up and spits you
to the streets, because
of liars and cheats.

They sing too lightly to be heard,
their fingers pick pockets that
are wired today, they **** softly,
with your hard earned currency,
your green streams away
from your corpse in the copse
of electric trees.

take the time,
don't look at a watch
make the time
get creative
save the time
memorize it all
shave the time
on personal bests

tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock
and lest we forget the digital age
hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

time has treated me well
time for the freak show
time is on my side
time to go
timeless
time
less than
was had before
less than needed to explore
islands of possibilities beyond

these
borders

why do roots of problems
dig into my skin like it is dirt,
like it is soil,
so there is toil and trouble,
pop my bubble, pinprick my dreams,
my hopes, my l o n g i n g s, my fears,
(when you ***** a fear it gets angry and larger)
oh this, this is the Merlot talking,
oh this isn't supposed to be about me at all,

dusty roads with yellow ribbons,
running by the foot on the shoulder,
worn out combat boots like the soldier,
for those at war, on a distant shore,
when they come home, they will
not leave it behind, like a minefield
in their mind, exploding again, again, and again, again,
somethings refuse to defuse like
emotions they can't deal with,
oceans away, so poignant, that
the movie plays over and over
again, despite the reviews, the
unwelcome news, that their life here
                                       do you hear,
is now meaningless, for the fear,
                                 for the tears,
for the tears in their vessel that
lead to their heart, that sadly does
not take orders, but feels the heat of hell,
denied that there is a problem
in the post traumatic effects of war,
let a politician, disarm and IED,
let a politician, tell a family that
their child will not becoming home,
and his thirty, sixty or one hundred and
twenty fellow soldiers send their respects,
and the work he was doing overthere
has not been completed yet, so pray for
the troops who...
                          oh wait that mission has now ended.
So is this poem.

Tank is full,
am I thank full,
or giving thanks?


"Turkey", I heard,
thought she talked
to me, but we....



Roof
      Food
             Dog
                  God
                        Drink
         ­                       Knees
                                    ­    She
                                             Eternity
                                                        ­ You
                                                             Unicorns



Other things to be thankful for, not necessarily in the order of priority,
Thanks Given

trust, not used for so long, long coated in rust,
gatekeeper opens what squeals then shrieks,
sound like it is from inside of me,
I sit up from being prone on the concrete,
eyes closed afraid of who I'll meet, eye to eye
probably open twin pools to stare straight in to a mirror,

slab of concrete,
is my bed cold,
flat with no give,
may as well not
wake up, to the rot,
I smell, from my
own flesh, but
where was I oh,
yes
never trust a rusty gate,
or its keeper.

©DWE072013

I enjoy light as it streams
through the trees.
I stand when I can,  in the light
as it streams
through the trees.
Spider webs turn, jewel
like, high up in the branches
They have their own dance
to even the slightest breeze!

There is something about the warmth
in the light,
I stand in, as it streams
through the trees.
The boughs wave not to me,
like I would like to think,
but in praise to their Creator.
The wind is their conductor.

I am comforted in His Presence
by the warmth
in the light as it streams,
through the trees.
My hands come together,
open as my ladle, to hold all
the joy, the warmth I experience,
in that moment as it streams.
through the trees,

I find more than peace,
there is fresh life,
in His presence,
from the warmth,
of the light,
as it streams,
through the trees.

Dip your ladle into the
coolness of the shade,
from your place in the light.
There is fresh life
in the light,
as it streams,
through the trees.

Take and share, with others,
leave behind, what you don't need,
go on child...it is there,
through the trees.

Lie down and stay she does,
where you want, is where she was,
if it wasn't for her fur you might
              call her a cur.

Say the word bedtime and turn off a light, go to walk away,
she will beat you to your bed, your pillow, for a back-scratch, say,
didn't you just launder those as she make happy noises with her
          mouth open wide, looking up at you from her back.

You know you love her she is your dog at that,
loyal and duty bound to defend you in combat,
so surprise her with a kitten who will become a cat.


©DWE092013

You draw near,
you draw me in,
it is first with your eyes,
then with your lies.

you stare me down,
you persist and I drop
all else and then my head.

Not into my hands to
cup my shame, as it pours
from my eyes, I believe your
lies and begin to move
to the music you beat into me.

I am so weak, please,
"Like" me, you, social media,
Without you might I be... nothing?
Without you I might not hang out,
with...anyone.

I got up,
at five ninteen,
the day was mean,
it was wet,
the puddles had
      puddles,
I was befuddled,
if it was worth the walk,
then I looked down at my
feet, and she looked up at
me, and I could see, she
did not care for rain,
but staying home
              was insane,
and would not do,
she had to do number one
              and number two,
boots,
with hooded jacket,
umbrella,
leash,
me in my hat,
her in her reflective vest,
out we went to test,
not only our resolve,
but with water,
        did we disolve,
the pace was quick,
the rain was wet,
so was the road,
make me croak,
     call me toad,
as we went past the
hospital, three
paramedics walk quick
to the senior mental
health unit,
it was not unique,
I had seen that before,
looked at the door,
nothing to be seen,
walked on until,
I heard a yell, like a scream,
turned over my shoulder,
what did I spy,
an older guy,
barefeet, hospital pants,
no shirt to speak of,
doing an angry dance,
pointing in my direction,
I turned and walked away,
muttering, I was heard
to say,
"where are those hospital
staff, when you need them"
rounded the corner with haste,
if he chased after me and
we came face to face,
I wandered through the scenarios,
as I did frequent shoulder,
like passing traffic in a car you know,
but he was a no show,
                                    so this was not
what in could have been, it was an unevent,
kept my morning wet and pristine,
and the tip of my umbrella,
                             would only stay, water wet.

shake the key prints from fingers at the end of the day,
walk on the sidewalk leaving a trail of all the alphabet used
to get through the day,
rinse and spit, rinse and spit,
wash out the mouth, that said words, combining letters and sounds,
to get a message across,
can't close the eyes for the walk home,
traffic would honk, as I wandered on the road, or the only vehicle that is dangerous is the one you            
                                                 ­                     don't hear.

Breathe breathe, congested inverted air now gone, except at each stop light,
it may seem fresh, it may seem clear, for the dozen minutes to home,
the lungs comb air from the building and air from the pollution,
what is the solution sought?

Leave it all behind, don't let infect, reject, misdirect, what needs to be said.
This is a free read, as well as a freewrite, in spite of all the bureaucracy
that waded beyond knees, so if books are published with poems or prose or
a mother's memoir or a monstrous surreal pieces of fiction, buy them all please,
and send the message needed to be heard... go home, and write so much more.



©DWE012014

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.

beauty rests, regardless
after all day, standing
plain for all to see beyond
the pain, beauty,
on the wing that flutters, as
a young child stutters with new words
awash in excitement,
beauty rests not bored,
beauty rests not lazy,
she rests so that the haze of your
world, your eyes, fades away,
so you finally see her
she is not selfish,
she is everywhere you do not see,
                when you are too busy.



©DWE022014

Traffic in the streets,
like the city has a cold,
that has made to the lungs,
you are much more, than that
sinkhole on one fifty-two, to me,
this won't stop me or get me down,
cars surround mine, four wheels drowning in
plastic up to the roofline,
my nerves, are no longer elastic,
they call it the rush hour,
should be the crush hour,
for all the fender benders,
and drivers in my face,
laying on their horns,
saying, "pay attention",
and their intention is
to take your place in line,
if I could be anywhere it,
would be with you but here
am I, in the heart of one five two,
main artery blocked by grid lock,
and my thoughts turn east,
away from the feast that waits
for me up the road,
there is something about the mysterious
unknown, that has grown on me,
but if I don't focus on the locusts
overhead, and those behind the wheel
                     of their automobile,
my life
maybe
summed
up by an accident.

Uh huh, Uh huh

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.

I could write about many things, imagined or real,
I could tell you of a Dear Darrell letter, not a big deal,
But that was ages ago and much time has and is in the past

I would describe a sunset or sunrise and if I did it right, it might bring tears to our eyes,
I could tell you of my granddaughter and the joy she is in all of our lives, eh?,  no surprise,
But that would be assuming many things about our hearts and my writing, in the least or last.

All I really want to do is inspire you to do what you do best,
Recognize that you are talented and a gift, loved and blessed,
Put down in words, get out and from under the load,  the ugly, you have surpassed!

The gift you are, open
With your hand, Pen
words forever and ever, and then...
Young poet write
or slam
the world needs to hear what has
been put on your heart, so share,
and when your spent, recharge,
gather peace...repose.

Sometimes the silly things, the little things, get my attention,
get my wonder, no it is not, the big things that, only build tension,
it may be a break in the weather, which has not happened yet.

Sometimes the random things, natural things, that let me rest,
that do not matter, no it is not, the hard things of life that only test,
it may be a black squirrel, taunting another, "go ahead jump, make it!"

Sometimes the things people do, or what they share carefully,
show that love, no not just for me but for all, who only dare vulnerability,
it may be honest expression or an emotional trigger or time spent.

It is you I want
to spend time with, no clock hands,
Only you, only.

Twogether.

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?

Some times are hard
Some times are chaotic
Some times are missed
Times are summed up
by events and people
measured by some ticktocks.

Sometimes hello leads
to tearful goodbyes
Sometimes hello is never
answered but by an echo
This is neither goodbye or
hello, really it is a wash.

Tears streaming,
sink full of soapy hot water,
Day dreaming,
...
Facebook, email, news, takes
me away from what I oughta
decide to do.

This not a goodbye to poetry,
this a hello to all things,
especially only writings.

So to stay true to me,
I will be writing free,
followed by edit-ting,
stories in my veins,
will be pumped from my
heart, life is easily wasted,
the bottle of red tasted,
spirit of distraction,
let me go.

You don't need me to change
your world, take those reins
but be aware writers, strange
as it seems, are targets of any
and all who are within range
to silence many.

This will always be a place
where words fill my small
space in the cloud, or word
spoken out loud.

I will write.
I will share.
I will wrestle on the spur of the
moment or transfer
my words from paper that cuts
till I bleed black,
sometimes
sometimes I read
sometimes I write
sometimes I find
the self.

Concrete curbs,
the blunt reality,
almost metal car parts,
softer than some hearts,
inside bodies that beat,
to stereo rhythms till
torn apart, when worlds
collide, outside and
inside,
ridding the peace that
passes all understanding,
that passes the test,
                   a quest, endure
to be at peace when
emotional chaos rules,
afternoon naps end in drool,
give me the lush underbrush,
of a wild forest,
no wait that is too easy,
I will struggle,
I will fight to find,
green spaces parked so,
my peace in the green stretch that
only can be found, endear,
in the place it was first born,
the heart of my imagination.
Ends here.

Today
such sadness got in the way,
                        of a blue cloudless day,
                                       spotless.

She quit, she said she has had enough,
she is done,
the black clouds
of poison and
thunder have... Won

They coil around
without constriction,
pressure and a little restriction
to prove they ARE real
and her life
is in
       complete
                     disrepair.

My eyes saw the tears
fall and my ears heard the sobs
and heard them
land through earpiece of the
phone, our hearts broke
together, but only I heard it
and only she felt it.

The air became still.  As more clouds
moved in and began to leak out of
my phone.

Today sadness won, she has
no spoons left with to defend
herself, I hope that sleep will
put in new ones overnight or
some one will find the ones
and give them back with all
that tarnish gone.

Would she get out of bed,
be able to lift her head
off of the pillow, if she
started the day already
with no spoons?

I have searched and searched,
crawled on my brittle knees,
I must be blind after all or maybe
the spoons are all deaf, they
don't hear my call or my prayer,
God,
         please
                    forgive my
                                      weakest moments
                           when
                 I am
        not
able
to be
the
cushion
the
shock absorber
the
comforter
the
teddy bear
the
blanket
the
listener
the
finder of the spoons.

So let it rain so it hides
my tears, please rain,
wash it away, wash the black
clouds, take them away.

I must go she needs me...

clouded sky, clouded mind
painful knees, route to find,
went to the store
in the car before
                              the run
                              the rain
one idea followed me
run the route I drove, see?
eight kilometres

less or more, I would find out
with my Garmin Forerunner 305, GPS and heart rate monitor
to prove that I am still alive,

each one point six kilometre
was faster than the one before,
oppressive clouds closing
dark and heavy

city scents gust around me
each vehicle had a different taste
as I pushed the pace,
sweat ran down my face,

faster and faster, I could not master
any speed, just quick enough to plaster
my hair against my head

hamstring want to cramp me
left one, bonus in the last stretch, I could feel the growing twinge
the right one knew better to behave,

in the end
it did end
before the rain came
before the night fell,

tomorrow, I will walk to work and back,
I will do stairs, but go ahead and as
you think of me, I give you permission
to laugh in my difficulty, as I make it
through the day, walking funny and taking stares
                                             from every one who passes my way.

a few minutes ago,
I wrote a poem like I have not before,
On my tablet with touch screen, touched
the wrong part now never to be seen, titled
A Lifetime,
no rock is small enough to crawl under,
no lightening bright enough to dull the thunder,
of You Fool!

Here is what I remember:

There were drops of tears,
like a waterfall, suddenly appeared,
decades to here,
wading it is clear, through Canadian geese crap,
may as well been typing with my ugly toes,
my fingers just deleted another rant,
with my failures, to just walk away,
from hope - less criticism equals math formulae,
matters not, the words would not win your time,
it would be better, a picture in pantomime,
on your doorstep, for what remains of A Lifetime.

Now sleep falls, please lightly,
take me deep, and not politely,
wrest from me, my will,
to stay far away, i beg, i pray,
meet me as i am.

The sounds that tumble and pour over,
are refreshing,
until remembering they came from people's mouth's,
bus engines,
heels crunching salt crystals strewn on the sidewalk,
first sound heard, a morning alarm,
last sound heard, is of soMEone falling, asleep,
but it is all those sounds in between, combined with
what was seen,
that is an inspiration...
the first
and
last,

A Remembrance,
Of a Day,
Quand Je Me Souviens.

Vitality spent,
Courage displayed,
           Fear allayed,
               dismay, at the lives                                        lost.

There were scholars,
                                there were youth,
                                                          ­  there were the uncouth,
                                                        ­                                           there were aged,
but never mind all that,
                                       as a matter of fact,
                                                           ­          any one of them,
                                                           ­                                     deserves my respect,
For an eternity.
On this Eve,
I learned, my freedom, is not of my doing,
I learned, I can choose, because they did lose,
                                                           ­             their freedom, their lives, their dreams,
I learned, what sacrifice, what SACRIFICE,
                                                      ­               more than sufficed, to provide hope,
                                                           ­                                                  to cope,
with wars and rumours of wars
                  and rumours of wars, that breach my peace of mind
                                                            ­                 that I am blind
                                                           ­                                          to the peace that passes all understanding,
for I will never understand war,
but I thankfully understand
what was given away by choice,
                              not to rejoice, in what I have received,
but They are, the reasons, at least eighty six million four hundred thousand reasons,
I do not huddle
in my bed waiting for
the bombs to stop falling,
to start calling for my loved ones,
I do not clench my teeth as
I grip my rifle to call out
"All Clear"
until the next time I am gripped by
the fear it may be me or someone I
know, who will need to be
let go. Thank Them, Catch Courage, Found Freedom, Love Life, Pray Peacefully
There are more but these are the learned Lessons on this Eve.





©DWEfor11112013

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.

You meet need
         not greed,
You meet
shameless want,
You see eyes
that haunt,
Stand clear of
the purpose driven,
You barely notice
the ones given up on livin'
Then there are the innocent,
                                to feed.

where oh where
Don't go there

without me,
                      the piercings
we gave each other and the
frail chain between
                                   all the links (www....)

showing strain,
we have not travelled the world
together, or entwined,
                              but why is it you fill my mind

sad things are, we may get to know each other,
                                      but we might never meet,
if bytes of information travelling at light speed,
                                    are all we have, take a seat,
FREEdom of speech includes the internet,
              somebody ewants to echarge me by the ebyte,
thinking they own it cuz they never owned
                      up to the world of hurt they caused,

they don't own the internet,
so if they love it  and let it live free....


me like a dog chained to a six foot
post in some forgotten back yard,
overgrown weeds, Glory, you
walking by looking over the
fence, knowing I didn't get
to choose  my owner,
chalk it up to these
paws always being
muddy and ugly
like toes...

where oh where, you go
don't go there without me.

the tangle of lines or wires or web,
tangible visibility matters not,
a thought, a typeset, a thread,
a voice, a tweet, a time,
all of these spent,
in one place
from the heart from the mind,
and all the space that is just
beyond fingertips,
and a keyboard.

Must move, running too hard,
driving among the insane traffic,
is just wrong,
So...I will walk among the almost naked trees
and those leaves,
most of which are dried and crumble, under
my clumsy feet, pick them up by the bunches,
in the hope that some sense will land on me
as I toss them into the air, and stand under
their falling, with my arms and hands wide open,
catching them at random, fragile twisted has-beens of
a three season display, the ones I catch having
meaning while the others are dead and not just
to me, for they will fertilize the new growth in Spring,
But let me look at my leaves discover what they bring,
I am struck in wonder
I am in a state of awe,
I begin to laugh and guffaw,
Maybe this is how I write poetry,
throwing words around like dead leaves,
as I wander among naked resting trees,
and the ones I miss this time will
be my fertilizer in the Spring,
and the ones that land and leave
my hands, are submitted into,
The Fray, the battle,
The Day, and rattle,
a sound to warn me
of danger, if I don't play
by                                  by
writing.             ­    loving
each                             all
day.                      His way .



©DWE112013

Feel like the soldier boy who went away,
left his mom and dad and the family dog,
in the drive way,

left his friends, left his school, hair cut real
short, when long hair was cool, left his girl,
you all, know how that went

got a letter but it was to Dear John...
even though lips held kisses and promises
after she finished grade twelve too.

he left the mountains, he left the river,
if he was lazy, now, he would have to giver!
get his heels together,
and learn that respect was earned,

but
always
respect the
rank and uniform,
the man
needs to earn
the respect of the
troops,

he knew no quit, and he came home
when he could and sometimes he
travelled far,

sometimes when getting home
was not possible he lay on his bed,
and left the room and in his head,
he made it home,
for the weekend.

the dog died, his dad left,
chaos turned a world upside down,
but he still made it home,

much water has flowed down the Columbia since that day,

my life is still busy, left the army
not enough years to build a pension,
but I will rattle of verses from the
sublime to the perverse,

I will poke with words, to let you
know I feel, and some pieces I write
the tears will fill my eyes and
the sounds won't be right,
and my heart will pound,

I will walk down these all too
familiar roads, the 'sunsets' and
'love' verses all look familiar,
maybe each time I go away I
will try to stay longer, and
maybe one day, I will retire here
among the poems done and
antiquated, among the ones
rolling raucously in my mind,
waiting for those birth pangs.

waiting for their turn to be read aloud,
waiting to make my mom real proud,
waiting to publish

waiting for someone to say...Hello.

me to tears
people and their belongings
unheeded longings
away from fears

moving

interstellar orbs
doing this for the sum of all hobbies
in the darkness naked bodies
all the space two could absorb

moving

fast running in circles
age rejects the skin wrapped tight around the bones
the mind keeps ticking like a bomb that nobody owns
chasing own tails and squirrels

moving

digging up forgotten nuggets
helping them find a nut!
they stole your marbles, but
you have a gun and no bullets.

you moved.

found in shells, if found at all
hide in shells, waiting for the call,
yeah
spring,
nay
winter weeping into the ground
last icy chill, to stave off the warmth
from the sun, that the ground absorbs,
and warms the whole globe in the
season.

The seeds are the ideas,
the shell or pods are what my
mind figures are the odds
of failure,
the deeper they are hidden,
or the harder the pod shell,
less than a hair's width of fruition,
season matters not,
any cold tears,
fall caught with
rest of the marks
of failure,
why is there no warmth,
even when standing
in full sun,
... feel none.

Dead so dead, so scatter me,
like seeds, scatter me
like chaffed wheat,
all on the wind of change.

The wind will toss its head howling and run fingers
through your uncovered, hair
              you'll discover, there will never be a pulling
but that want, won't go,
until the wind winds down to slow, bringing,
chaos somewhere else,
the whistling through the cracks in your doors and windows,
are catcalls to get you outside,
where the wind will ride you until you are out of breath,
chase the leaves, chase the wind, it will chase you and
                           always win,
but leave you unscathed for the most part unless,
your body, your vessel has cracks which it will fill
then the wind will get inside of you,
and break you down too, or leave you be,
but it is better to fight, the wind than to fight me,
for the winds give up eventually.



©DWE022014