Are you for real, or if I wait long enough you will change
your colour,
your spots,
your stripes, or the way you comb your hair?

Will I recognize you,
or will you walk right
by,
not catching my eye.

Will you change your
lipstick,
wear sunglasses,
or start or stop,
smoking cigarettes?

If I hear your name,
or the sound of your
voice,
late,
at night beyond my dreams.
Will I have a choice?

I don't know,
but I will look
for you everywhere.
I will recognize your stare,
you are the chameleon.

Lizard feet, with lizard claws,
give me pause, not on your life,
it don't,
hope I'll quit,
think I will fail?
NO, I won't.

Let me introduce my self,
they, call me the lizard hunter,
fresh, smell that? fresh, off the shelf.
I've been looking for one like you!

Loose clouds, sink dreams of sunny days and sunny ways,
They are the front runners the fore tellers, driven
before the wind of the next wave of water falling
from the sky and from my eye.

It is a SIGN, It is a SIGN, I tell you don't wear a target out
when Scuds are about, It is a sign of bad weather and my doom.
DOOM I say!  Falls fool and Winters wimp, blown in my haggard face!

Seeing Scuds (a loose vapory missile, leading the bad weather)
at my doorsteps, dampening my foot falls, scud after scud,
more bad weather, dark clouds, I bend into the wind
head down so I won't drown and the Scuds can't see my eyes,

That I have given up, hide oh hooded head
and given in, I use my umbrella to hide behind,
will I or it survive the wind?
until spring rings in, with summer.
.

The grit under a shoe on a tile
floor, is heard, an ugly sound,
under duress, of a hardened sole,
                Or is it the soul that has no give,
     No mercy, with which to live,
Scapes of wrath, scratches on the superficial,
Eke and etch an existence, where None, stood a chance,
For None was luckier than most, and a Host of Others it
appears, in relief. None, Other can I trust, None Other do
I have.


©DWE022014

watch words, words watched for,
for watching words, is not a chore,
if your paid to watch, not the shore,
or the land or the sky or a radar screen,
or even reruns of Ben Vereen,
toe tapping, his way across the stage,
but you Need Some Attention paid,
so you watch words to earn a wage,
internet, email, and cell phone ALL
technology to watch what words will work without that wascal wabbit wunning off at the mouth,
where words pop out as fast as
pills
pop in
so No Substance Abuse is noticeable...

this poem has been interrupted beeeep pppppp!  * crackle

I read eulogies from time to time
to pass the time, I find in some rejected newspaper.
The language is foreign, for I am
alive and in two hundred or so words I am to know,
who this person was and that
they were loved or respected or validated in two
dimensions plus words and a
picture, when not so long ago they were three
dimensions that filled voids in
other peoples lives, striving to make the world
around them a better place,
battled hard in a war, and fell its only victim.

Swallow the bitter pill,
there ain't no better place,
than where you are right
now, with words written
as plain as the pain on
your face, so listen and
I will try to take you to
a better place maybe I
will transport you to
a euphoric utopia but
that will take opiates,
for my words will just
make you dizzy, Gillespie,
get off that computer and
go to bed, and then you
will dream dreams of us
meeting instead, where I
will be humble and you
will be dapper unless you
are a girl then you will
be "a beautiful rendition of the Mona Lisa"
pray what is behind that
smile and how do your
whites stay so pearly and
your hair, so light and curly,
like the clouds over head,
with a background of blue
sky that holds that daystar,
and reflects off the water in
the duck pond and blinds
my eyes and makes the tear
oft fall, salty on my sleeve,
as I hold one up to wipe
a tear, I feel your hanky
brush my eye lash and I blush with unabashed charm,
but if we were manly men
walking under the trees,
along a pathway of asphalt,
walking sticks pressed into palms
of hands, not those topical trees,
along side us grass, dotted with Canada geese,
oh do watch your step dear
boy, or you might grease your
soul, which would be a helluva
a way to let this perfect day
slip away and take us from
this better place.

It matters not who I am with, for when I am with you, whom ever you are,
I am away from here, therefore found in a better place.



©DWE122013

Pen and paper,
touching
sensual for some,
words sure,
where were you,
when is what was too
young,
oh words, oh words,
how do you form
the shape of my
unkissed lips,
we have missed
our time
our chance to
embrace,
nakedness of
meeting
face to face,
you are more than;
a muse to me,
a fantasy,
a touch screen away,
but it is a lie,

past due
what are you doing
in 2016?
lips are numb,
must be drunk
writing free,
rhyme or prose,
do it all,
Even with ugly toes,
verse is free, heart
rock solid,
torrid,
turbulent,
life is *****,
when write is wrong.

If flight of fancy brings me near,
to perfect prose, may we meet,,
it is way past due...

hockey fans everywhere,
will spill
their beer, stop and stare,
at two
hockey players who make
plays in layers,
as they find each other
(they are twin brothers)
in the toughest parts of
the ice and the game,
and
still
they
succeed
with motion,
with and
without
the puck
oh ....,
the rubber disc
is the net again
passes look
like they are
made with ease,
opposition
chases air,
it is not fair
they look and
play the same,
but differently
invent, re-invent
thank you two
for one plus four
more
years to cheer,
for the way you
play
with passion,
and beauty,
re-define what
it is to be tough
in this game,
that I grew up watching
waiting for finesse,
to win the day,
and hope the team
around will raise
not just dreams up
but Lord Stanley's Cup

I sat in a catatonic state
Looking forward to sate
my appetite
for coffee,
but unable
to move or enjoy the taste.

Frozen.

A mask of glazed eyes blinded
by a bright white light, reflected so much more
was I standing on the wrong train tracks,
had I died and waiting for my turn in line,
was this my karma as a deer in the headlights?
none of these had a chance to cross my mind.

a figure silouhetted poured from that light,
her features delicate and skin so pale, in an eerily
beautiful way, was that her hair or wingtips peering
draped gracefully over her shoulders, and she asked me
"would you like to try our new mocha and vanilla via?"

I saw spots of white, and said "I would if I could see ya,
please step closer but out of the light"
as she stepped out of the light and to my side,
I just realized this whole time I had been trapped by
a reflected beam of light from the sunshine outside,
that found a highly polished mall marble floor, next time,
and there will be a next time, I will wear sunglasses
so as to not be served, like fine wine, before my time.

groans to laughter
what am I, after
riches not
a fool and his are soon parted,
fame not
I have had my fifteen ticks of shame,

time...
to
love...
never will have enough of either with her,
love...
the
time...
have so much gratitude for what has past
and what will be, what we have between her and me.
So what
am I, after...different before I met her.

She puts up with me
when I skip down
grocery store aisles
you see,
she laughs at my
humour and tells
others not to encourage
me,
she knows I can not rub her
back but she asks me any
way, and I may be getting better,
so it is gratitude, I display each
and everyday...maybe she will let me stay.

And the coyotes will
find something else to eat
or starve another night.

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.

For a time I disliked change,
For a change I disliked time,
For a time, change disliked I,

We fear what we don't understand,
Ask those in power,
We fear they don't understand,
Abuse of power.

Goodnight, I will be up past midnight
jot a few words down, in the dim light,
hoping the ideas are light and bright,
in a story where time stands still until...

a son is found by his mother,
they are reunited with a sister and brother,
a daughter and son, and together,
they look for their father, husband and king,
while they save the known world, from disastrous
calamity...
don't believe it,
that is why, they call it fantasy...adventure

PSA   Public Service Announcement  PSA
oh remember to set your clocks back this weekend,
and that will give me an extra hour of time
for typing, while you all do what you do when
you stay up late and sleep in, too.  


Time for a change

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.

rise refreshed, walk the dog, after splashing water on my face,
breathe the air in and out before to many cars are about,
feed the beast and pick up my muse to read for as long as...
                                                           ­                                    i can,
drink dark brew, after a lemon water, warm not cool
have breakfeast, an egg, half a bagel and a whole grapefruit,
with brown sugar, butter and walnuts, broiled just so there
is a slight crunch to that glaze, with each bite.

then off to my favourite  bookstore in some part of the world
or near by, hope i can get the leer jet, to pass the time by
to get where Munro's is waiting.

then stay have brunch at some hotel or other five star place,
and fly back for early after noon and listen to itunes,
as I sip my green smoothie as the traffic motors by
making mockery of ocean waves as I read the book and rave
about my purchase. is that your beer or mine?

then dinner would be a winner, some veggie or meat dish
like ratatouille or nachos ground beef and cheese with green
onions, olives and tomatoes and please pass the guacamole.

have a glass of wine or two, red would be better considering the
chill in the weather at the end of the sunny fall day, might have
a hot desert or not, then to walk my dog, not to trot, as we
both are not as young as we used to be, maybe I never was.

well then i will wash up while showering
then to bed and write it all down as who knows,
when it will happen again, perfection is rare as
pure air, then read for an little bit,

dim the lights and see how easily

my head rests on my pillow, as i drift on some
translucent sea of blue,  still comfortably fitting
her hand with mine, as it has been all day.



©DWE102013

Will it always only be a safe dream
like wandering in a bare wilderness,
game to robust predators, and wildness
clear choices call across the primal stream.

It was late Spring when we first did daydream
the fragrant flowers were dusting progress
Winter's meagre offer, a cold caress
the wildlife, sedate upon the grounds glean

of Fall's gathered rare jewelled leaf mountains,
among the valley's musk we would linger
peak with sounds, echoes loud voiced joy bringer
beyond Summer's pleasured column fountains,
wayward wine red chances, seasoned drinker
deep red and bottled up, loose danger pains.

I can't give the raw edge,
Of Life,
a chance in words,
flies away like birds,
it is not mine,
to give.

like the amazon queen,
who ****** for her ****,
(they sleep for now)
they both crawl or limp
out from behind the bustop
I can see the scars from her battles,
starting with the nose on her face,
working down her arms,
and even her legs,
he is an intense pair of eyes,
Address *mean street on repeat,
as his looks are like darts,
avoid eye contact, or there
might be only two sounds

he is porter, drags the bags for the both,
they are looking for a home, as the hint,
of cool morning dew tears, is fall, then winter
Will chase at their heels, and his role as protector,
will be tested against a cold-hearted enemy,
in the open, they are on the hunt for a shelter
to run the business, where he is lord, master, lover,
And ****.

every day this merciful summer,
it has been a different stop, bus or not
every night under stars pinpoints,
Not Needle Marks,
but the Personal Crack Pipe,
needs cleaning before the next use,
like removing makeup from her skin,
just to put it on again,
And off,
And on,
as he banks the money,
for commodities Street market loss or gain
after all what is the price of crack *******?

The raw cost,
In the raw, her business attire,
The raw edge,
I have not lived, not mine to give.

©DWE092013

I know someone who can say,
"Words on paper, might become vapor, after years and years,
Of the silence, and loneliness while a pool of tears and more tears,
Allow fears to float, high and heavy on my chest,
Almost suffocating me before my next breath."

I know someone who can say,
"I am not only sad, I am not only angry, although I feel that way more than you know,
  as I live two different lives as two different people, the one that is always on show
  to the world, to my friends and to my family, see?, which may be true, but wait!, everyday
  it is more than that is only half of who I am behind masks, to let you think; that I am okay!"

I know someone who can say,
"I have seen intolerance,
  I have seen stigma,
  I have seen ignorance,
  I have seen someone suffer in silence,
  I have seen mental health issues,
    mistaken for an identity,
  I have seen someone who is sick,
                   but been called weak."


I know someone who can say "I suffer from depression,
It is okay.  I will be okay."

©DWE092913

The heights of men
        match their lows,
The heights of God
        nobody knows.

I climb the stairs,
to get higher,
awkward ones that
I am aware, I
no longer aspire,
I say the words,
but they are already
dead to me.

Dizzy...
It all moves
while I sway,
                      no stability.

The heights of men
        match their lows,
The heights of God
        nobody knows.
Someone once said space goes out there and out there and never comes back.

On the edge,
the precipice,
                I am not afraid of heights, I am not afraid, I am not,
               but that landing!

Only if I was an astronaut, but as my aspirations are,
beneath my feet.

Trod on
like stairs,
eroded and
incomplete
like this

©DWE092013

talk about the weather,
storm into a room
shattering the peace
that passes all understanding,
like the fragile vessel,
like the broken pottery,
some claymation caricature,
living life large,
narrow stream
and in you barge,
and rant and rave,
until you realize you are in the wrong room,
the one without a view...point,
who anointed you,
with oil that flows over your beard,
and hand sanitizer does not
count, as you listen to that song by
Blunt, and stare at every girl as they
walk, and by mouthing the words,
in hopes that the lyric comes more than
true, for that one moment, face and eyes
that
met,
angelic wings will lift you,
from where misery holds you...
no chains,
no ropes,
only hands are holding you
by your bare ankles,
the hands you no longer
recognize
as yours.

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.

I knew him because he was there...sometimes
in the morning drinking one of his sixteen cups
of coffee before I would go to school.

I knew him cause we would go camping sometimes
and the four of us and our dog would be in the station
wagon towing a tent trailer, to be set up and taken down.

I knew he was there sometimes when I joined cadets and
then the militia and...sometimes after I joined the CAF,
and less when I began to have a family.

I knew where he was when we were home... sometimes,
as he was cleaning his rifles or handguns, making beer
in the wine room, carving or tinkering with something.

I knew he was there...sometimes he and mom would
argue and their voices would be raised and we could
hear them through the floor, as they struggled with
reason.

I knew he was there...sometimes he would smoke
when he drank more than he should so I would
drive us home with my new licence, before that
he would do the driving.

I knew he was there in the hospital...sometimes he
would have seizures then the aneurysm that did not
take him but made him less able to be a father
and grandfather to our children.

I knew he was no longer there over twenty years
of a slow spiral down, to where the cold, cold
lay waiting...sometimes sooner for some and
later for others.

As  he lay on the bed in the care home he was
no longer there, cold to the touch, heart stopped
struggle quit,... sometimes I miss him, sometimes
I am not missing him, he was not the kindest,
and I made him my only dad... sometimes I
wonder if that was, my mistake.

Young men fit for battle,
too young for war but paddled
with swagger down the Skeena.

A week on the water, lakes and rivers,
bodies of water that take if you giver,
but this one this day promised what it delivered.

A vortex, canoes lined up to paddle hard,
as the hole in the middle would drag a canoe,
to the depths, to the depths, without release.

One canoe and wait then another then one more,
three were through, number four went round
and round the eddy they held steady as five went
past, then they, four escaped the mighty swirl without
cheer.

Six was with the whirl, they paddled hard as
they were drawn near the rocks and cliff,
a broken paddle, and they limped away, clear
of the gulf.

Seven went and were hell bent, to get through,
all experienced paddlers too, what success,
number eight held four of us, weighted low down
with only three paddlers too, round we went and
then again, nine passed us and cleared the danger,
seven came back to encourage and be near...

What happened was what they feared the whirlpool
dragged us closer, we weren't dizzy, but tired of
rounding the same bend, breaking waves but not enough,
tiring out as we were pulled in again, round and in again.

We needed to split the curve cut the outside wave
and across the break, near the rocks and in the wake
of the river wash and the base of the cliff,
we had to all paddle hard and when and if
we broke free we would join our brothers guilt free,
if we did not
we would have
been a story on
a page of some
deaths to drowning
while at a cadet camp.

the boat's bow broke the waves one two and three,
missed the rocks, the cliff, almost free, voices raised,
an angry fight to live and have done battle with no loss,
we were finally free three companions and me, tossed
by the fourth wave, and I looked back into the hole
of the maelstrom, I looked back lesson learned,
passion for life, a must you have to yearn
for life otherwise, for love, point your bow,
dig your paddle in
and look back no more.

There is more rough water ahead.


©DWE102013

fingerprint lines
catch and drag lightly
across, petals soft,

the flower may not mind,
it is blind, to your touch,
yet you may remember,

scent the fragrance,
from the moments,
skin to skin embrace?

the encounter may,
taste like honey,
the sweetness remains
long after,

the sound you sing,
the pitch you bring,
to give the petal new life,
exhale deeply from your heart.

It is energy,
'tis synergy,
maybe philanthropy.

It is fruit,
'tis ripe to boot,
maybe entrepreneurial debut.

It stems from a cell,
'tis atom sized firestorm hell,
might be prose or poetry written well.

It is part of our worth,
'tis no gender after the pains of birth,
from notion to thought to conception,

through a period of gestation,

it is then the birth of an idea
comes out of you


©DWE092013

rain pelted and fell from the sky,
glancing often as no one went by,
four wheels rolled by often,
the rain did little to soften,
the rumble, the thrum, sounded like thunder
but it was the noise of the "Jake" brake under
the hood.

so many big wheels lifting up spray,
mudflaps did not get in the way,
of the geysers, of oily mud, and water
too slick to stop in such short order,
tons of weight, need to wait after the halt
their turn so, you hear the thunder waltz
into the air as "Jake" doesn't stand still
until he has sung his bass notes.
                                             By rote.

Still no pedestrians, too wet even for a
well structured umbrella but the
skid of brakes is seldom heard,
not a word except by "Jake"

Thanks for the brake, "Jake"


©DWE102013

Their name is not Trish,
they are not blonde but gray,
                                                 not from age, but the contents,
they do not elevate, or leap from
the third rope of a wrestling ring,
                                                but they drop on you a million
drops of rain, from low levels,
drops that find their way into
                                                 the lowest part of your shoes,
and not into your heart,
the drops tap dance across
                                              your umbrella until the clouds
lift and go away by tricking
the wind to carry them away,
                                           to dampen spirits of others, to their dismay
unless they are human sponges. ( Important but rarely seen part of the
water cycle)

Bent under the load,

I am, breaking will not do,

or do as there is…

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

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

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

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

There is full time employ...ment.

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

Comes first,
We burst,

Into the morning,
Despite weather warnings,

And on good days too,
In the early morning,

We walk the same route,
And the same distance,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My steps, river bank edge, look up a cloud!
gazing skyward at the massive roamers,
Left foot became right foot, fell splash, too proud
In water I was cloud-like, a floater.

The depths of the water, under me
Chess piece clouds building up over my head
treading water, current, headed to sea  
I may have been better off dead

Gray and white mountain towering heights
flashes of light, rolls of noise and thunder
jagged light and noise at me causes frights
That sound near can only be a hammer

As Norse gods pounded anvil darkness
I emit, little girl screams, shrill sharpness

It is 1:30 am somewhere,
I stew in the heat of the day,
the Sun is gone West and
drained into that spot there.

The horizon.

Are you always looking at that place,
or any place where they meet with a
deep studying look on your face?
Like me.

I see blue sky some days,
Smog, the dragon, other days, polluting the view,
I see clouds yet and complain, again,

and again.

If I walked to where the horizon is, I see
                     from my second floor balcony,
I would keep on walking and never succeed.

But with my eye, I can see where those two meet,
they touch, and I am speechless at the beauty,
no matter what the weather is they meet, they
touch every day.  All around me.

And every night too.
Dark, the dark brings,
quiet to their night time,
together time,
where the sky meets the Earth.

Just a little ditty, not too witty,
when my youngest is now of age,
in the United States,
but has been for two years in Canada,
                                   it doesn't matta,
                  so Happy Birthday son
as of midnight you are twenty one,
in human years
not dog years
you speak of dreams
        and you stream
   ideas   of a   better world,
while I do NanoWriMo
you talk of Nano Technology
where you will go to University
                           in Ontario,
after you go to Australia,
I hope we don't fail ya'
by casting love clouds of doubt,
or just stand by and shout,
like some cheerleader,
but really listen and hear ya'
    for you have leader ship skills
and intutive creativity with a proclivity
that will help you sail for years
in the world where small is becoming huge
if you can just find the wind
if you can just find the wind

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.

the war they say is many centuries away,
  different continental breakfast, different time warp zone
there is an ocean and a sea between...well,  understanding and action

then they don't understand war,
they don't know what it is to fight a cause, except for personal gain
they hired people to do just that, the fighting part
                              as a matter of fact,
                             they cut them lose
                             with out a thought
that when the soldier came back, they brought
more back
with them than they could handle,
faces of strangers, places of danger, all you are glad is you day is done and a rucksack under your head, lives of friends and pieces left behind,

then why does it take a battle while some one on some Hill
                                      rattles
a sabre, cutting what is approriate care for someone whose
mind is still there, war changes you, if it doesn't and you don't
adapt to fight a war...YOU DIE.

sadly though no one has learned
                               that it is burned, into your brain,
                              into the heart that earned
respect of peers and villagers,
                            well diggers, and such,
cattle drovers, but no one,
but no one knows, how to reset, refresh, return to the naive
state of mind where the past is blinded to your present life,
where the army sees you as broken out of policy, how words
on paper know people right to their guts, beats the crap out of me.

It is more than hugs and teddy bears
they need to know you sent them there
and you were not over on sandy ridges,
or I E D bridges, and culverts, patrolling
but hang onto them
to show you care, and will always be there when
they argue with a loved one, startle when others
make a loud noise, cry when every one else is laughing,
or just need a moment to collect their scattered thoughts.

I have never served, in a war zone,
I left the army many, many years ago,
I know now, I would have been changed, if it me returning as damaged goods
                 some may have thought my actions deranged
but all I would be trying to do is get the fresh air in to my lungs
and stop the tears as they stung my eyes, but there is no one to hold my hand.

the rain falls and runs
over the black shield, not bullet proof,
       like a life, that is not mullet proof,
bad taste in personal care, bad taste in your mouth

so be aware, rain drops don't have legs but they
run anyway, across the umbrella,
and drip to the ground,
your heels kick up the spray of discarded raindrop corpses,

they bleed into your pants and the stain grows,
the further you try to walk away,
from the moving scene, of a crime,
but the clothes like all things, even drips dry overnight,

until it falls and runs again,
on a day, when the umbrella gets forgotten,
where the mullet meets its taker,
and the barber's chair and floor,

take on a texture change, as dead
pieces of hair fall and rearrange,
each time the door opens to the shop,
the unwelcome chill breeze sweeps in,

as the chair forms to the body of the voluntold,
striking the strop, blade raised, the barber stands behind,
a man who is getting old as his hair,
the living and the dead each strand

but the chemo is coming,
and it will take it, a requirement, a demand
anyway, may as well give it away,
cancer the disease takes, without saying please

here where the pole twirls and never stops,
the chatter of voices and murmurs in the shop,
good riddance to bad *******, he thinks
as the barber powders his neck and brushes,

any hairy evidence to the ground, they tumble and fall,
until night falls and runs, over the cityscape,
the pinpricks of light along the streets,
as he walks home alone, the umbrella he left

behind, closed up like the shop, the twirling candy cane pole stopped,
is far from his mind, for the rain falling will hide the tears,
he is not ready, he is unsteady, how will he hide the fears?
Soaking, in the night, pale against the dark future as it appears, like his hair...short

daredevil diving
base human conditon
adrenaline addiction
base jumping

girl in a gondola busted,
sliding door bungy corded
open
her face is clear her future too
nah na nah na boo boo

gondola a platform not,
camera captures his first and
only step,
it was a long one,
plummeted until he pulled the ripcord

eyes turn skyward
as the images seesaw,
his excitement
floats his boat,
while the cold air
gives lift to this dare
devil and the parchute he wears

but alas he lands, they joy ends,
once he is busted there will two
court dates, and besides he courted
disaster
reality of a trial will
bring
him
to
earth
faster.


©DWE022014

I

He grimaced while flexing forth,
the Hulk he was channeling, going North,
blonde crew cut, making a spectacle while
                                       wearing glasses
he wore a black tank, with no sleeves,
while the wind teased the leaves with a breeze,
and they fallsaulted (somer is over)
                             across the concrete at his feet,
                             it was all about him on the street,

                                       his handler, his care giver,
                                       watched with a shiver as
                                      as she had him and two
                                      others to deliver to their
                                      destination on foot, crime
fighting would delay the journey
                                                    and she was not sure who would
                end up on the gurney if it all went awry.  

                                              II

Short time later, as they passed by, gone, the other part of the duo
                                                             ­                                            arrived
she walked with swagger, in heels and no stumbles or missed steps,
                                                          ­                                       not quite a stagger,
dressed in black with jet-black hair, she was part ninja,  
part tim-bit monster,
or at least her appetite was,
the box of forty sat on her shoulder and she was delighted
by eating
them one at at time, her confident stride and petite feet,
stuck in almost stiletto heels acting,
very intuitive, see how she feels,
that kind of hero, because if she had to from fifty paces,
she could take out your eye with a honey crueler tim-bit
don't be fooled by
her ambivalent smile, and toss of her hair, those spoke of
caution and beware, as she stuffed another in there,
where she smiled while her eyes twinkled, kept moving her feet,
                   I think she spotted me from fifty paces,
                               away and from my second story window,
                                                it was curtains for me, I closed my eyes and braced for impact,
                                                         ­                                                           which never came,
                                                           ­                                                         as to her shame,
                                                          ­                                                          see even heroes
                                                          ­                                                          don't share
                                                           ­                                                         all the time.


No more heroes walked by that day,
crime rates were down and children were
                                      able to play
                        and be safe, so as my final thought
                      from my view on the second floor,
                          never under estimate anyone,
for real or in fun, and their capacity to bring joy, even without sharing.



©DWE102013

The ball of fur flying across the road,
Barely made it and stubbed a foot and toe,
As the car did not know, never slowed,
Into the bush the juvenile raccoon rolled.

The bumper and glare of headlights in the dark,
Blinded my dog so she did not pull or bark,
I saw it all unfold, told my dog to "walk"
It was after the spot we passed, she went crazy as a lark.

Nose to the ground, like a terrier on a scent,
Told she was late the raccoon had went,
No worse for wear, probably still running hell bent
For home.

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?

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

Dog walks are good for many things,
she wishes I would, Everyday!
whatever the weather brings, night and day,
should suffice, to this hope she clings.

Alas and Woe,
there are days that I go out
without
her.

I reach and bend and bag what others
leave behind, take from the ground
and out of the grass;
candy wrappers,
plastic everything,
empty roll-up-the-rim cups,
and the ever present dangerous,
shards of glass.

Cigarette packages, no buts,
emptied envelopes, doggie bags (take out food)
and the other kind too!

Pack ‘em up.

Pick ‘em up

Who threw ‘em out?

There is no garbage
can at this bus stop,
people walk and
drive their cars,
with open disregard,
that where they drop
their refuse, I consider
my front yard! So keep
your garbage for yourself.

Now where was I?

Ah, yes off to walk my dog,
part two.

DWE 2013-04-05

Creeps the stench into the room,
Through an open door, our doom,

Oily sticky sour smell,
Ain't Heaven must be hell,

Large grow-op cannot be far,
Perhaps a skunk versus a car?

Peace and quiet taken for a oneway ride,
As there is now a stink, high on Eventide,

It has come in.

Abstract, surreal, words to describe and ways to live and wander from one breath to next,
one is raspy
the other is smoky
years and months like calendar pages are all gathered at my feet
too bad I don't understand the language they are written in
too bad I see that the calendar pad is getting thinner
I like red wine
I like dark chocolate
i can't afford the taste they leave my mouth too often but it is so rich
poor me
pity me
everything I see is always half empty, what happened to the other half
I don't remember ever living life in the full
although I am told regularly I am full of it...
what do, they mean
I will sleep now and wake again to do what it is I do
but these words these images, flash before my eyes and
overload all the aging circuitry, so they think...
there is a certain flavor in the air when you run your
fingers across the screen and touch the what you read
as if we are connected, surreal eh?
No,
we are
not, except we are human and emote and share burdens
share life, share the things that make us laugh and cry
and never want to be alone once we have truly been alone,
truth is a rare fossil, and never found in one place together,
disintegrating,
moral, fiber,
oh if only I had taken up smoking at any point in my life,
I might have learned to enjoy a cigar,
music falls flat from my tongue and my
fingers get tangled tying shoelaces,
don't bother learning the cello or violin or ukulele,
as the only keys I would hit or find would be OFF,
though my ears would revel in the perfection, not
knowing the difference,
you don't like my tone, I actually have ONE, do I?,
I can't leave this unfinished,
I would worry you, YOU,
wouldn't I?
Truth has more meaning than it ever has,
lie is what I want to do on my bed.
Not listen to them, lies,
the ones that roll around in my head,
and diminish any thing I value
and diminish me, a Child of God.
Oh good I found a bigger sharper, newer shovel,
let me catch my breath and
I promise I will keep digging...
with my hole heart.


©DWE072013