Shut the doors and throw away the key,
if it was that easy see?,
Close up shop and send 'em all home,
will they take to the streets and roam,
like zombies?
Out of work,
no job,
because a couple of people, don't see eye
to eye, must be fun to have so much liberty,
but no money.

I know I won't ever get it so don't be mad at
me, is it a crisis or a case of mistaken identity?
As it seems to be happening or in the news
regularly, every election or every year, hey
talk I'll listen, and maybe you will feel better
                                                           and
                                                            see
                                                          the answer
                                                          real clear.
"Oh, say can you see... "

into a write,
into reading a story,
imagine,
              a place,
                           a time,
oh some time would be nice,
if the place was as vacant as my stare,
imagine me there,
penning poetry,
                          rocking in a hammock with palm leaves over me and crystal blue water see,
cotton ball puff clouds,
.
.
.
sorry got to go, grand daughter is crying,
                                    my beauty is trying to paint,
and the dog is dancing back forth needing go out.

Help me, to escape...ism if you can.


©DWE112013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life going up flights of stairs too many missed steps,
                     too many cares,
Life going down the same repetitive staircase, when
you get to
                the top or bottom,
                                              toe tapping,
                                                        ­        what stares
                                                          ­                        you in the face?
Go ahead tell it to the mountain of concrete,
Go ahead break out the map and compass,
                                     don't get pompous,
                                                        ­            find a way through the concrete jungle,
                                                         ­        hey you might find the treasure or bungle,
your way,
the way,
              you did it, better than expected, sing a duet with Frank, while the rest
                                                            ­                                 tank the results,
of shame,
no game,
cold hands
                  of stone
                              touching the frigid corpse
                                                          ­            of a loved one,
                                                            ­                              time to say good-bye  
oh why
             do we
                       miss the
                                    ones that
                                                   fill us
                                                            wi­th regret
                                                          ­                   of more shame,

WHY can't the stairway to heaven be found
  all there is to walk on, is down and down,

wanting to climb out of the basement for a change,
wanting to climb onto a roof top and sing a refrain,
with JT,
needing to sing a Hallelujah, from the gut
                      still it never gets beyond but...

dancing is out,
singing is a bust,
leave enough ink to write with
words covered in rust,
that flakes and falls
like snow gone old,
so no story gets told.

Another day on the gravy train, the office is closed for Another Day,
                                                                ­               in a bad way, so,
"So won't you stay, a little bit longer"
she turns to walk away,
"please please say that you will"
the shape and shadow grows smaller
as the pit in my stomach grows more hollow,
                                                         ­                emptied out.

That moment, lasted only a moment,
                                                         now emptied out.


©DWE122013

there will be no poetry tonight,
the sky is clear and if'n there be a moon
                    there will be light.

the traffic plays a base note tune,
the frost lands softly, a delight,
nothing sinks faster than a frozen balloon.

there will be light,
that shines into the lives of ruin,
gathered in packs, of two or three this night.

the tears that fall on this freezing night, collect in a heated spoon,
there will be a night light,
whereever the homeless sleep, entrances, streetlights of even the new moon,

there will be light,
snow by Sunday a boon,
for the ski hills and plowmen who,
have not made any money to go to Cancun,

but there will be no poetry tonight,
the dog is ill and there is no clue in,
the stars as to what is wrong, but there will be light.



©DWE012014

the frenzy of emotions
wash like waves, the ocean,
of tears, saying see you soon as
every day,
people say,
they are travelling,
some journeys go as planned,
some journeys go awry,
or new journeys begin,
before you can say goodbye

it can happen like that,
it has happened like that,
many times before sometimes
for one, sometimes for many more,
not to diminsh your grief,
not to say get over your sorrow,

you loved them
and they now know

you miss them
and you let it show

you have let us
know, they cannot be replaced,

we see it so clearly in your teary eyes,
and worn out faces, no chance to say that goodbye.

To one another.

Pieces on the ocean
may as well
be your heart,
no time to get ready
to be apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the writing was on the wall, no real fuss,
it was like a quiet ocean between us,
dried up after a summers intense heat,
this country is so large, amazing we did meet,

in a small town,
in a cadet corps,
fast friends,
spring time,
was it to be love,  

I left for the army, and she was to finish school,
letters and words of our days and nights
the ink filled the pages of our thoughts and emotions,
perfume on her pages was a magic potion,
drawing me in, keeping me close, in the end was I a fool?

There was a day, months after I had left,
my dog had died, my mom said they had found
the dog under, the neighbours tree, I cried
my voice cracking on the phone, blamed the
connection
and distance, so far from home.

I dragged my upset and a tissue, back to my room,
where waited a letter, it was on my bed and I was
alone, I smelled the fragrance and saw the cursive
hand, opened IT after all nothing could be worse...

In a few short pages she did explain,
that long distance relationships were
a pain, and though I might come home
by plane, it was plain to her that she was
not right for me or rather as she put it,
could I not see, she had fallen out of love
with me.

That relationship ended and I cried more tears,
I think my naivete was preyed upon by fears,
that I would never find another quite like her,
and wonder what would've happened if ever?
and was she my soul mate who ripped into me
with angry words of hate, that I had left her
for a career.

Such is a soldier's life, she was not meant to
be this army man's wife, or betrothed,
nineteen I felt going on sixteen once more,
and it all started with two words,
Dear Darrell, the first time in all her
letters she had started with my name,
she had much to say my tears stained the pages,
and she signed it Goodbye Chantelle

I may have wrote
back, an angry
mess that I was
in, but I knew it
mattered not, it
was over in
September of 1978.


©DWE102013

I am thankful there was no Facebook in those days...

Coffee Shop after Club 16 Fitness**

listening people assaying the content
of the messages, against the background of noises
                                like layers,voices upon voices,

but there is one voice, holding court with herself,
staring through the floor at my feet, finding oneself,
                                                        ­                            I would hope,
among the chorus in the coffee shop,
among the chorus in her conversation,
under her white and blue striped scarf,
her wrinkles cause twinkles at the corners of her very sad eyes,
if she had stopped talking even for a second, I would have been surprised.
The erosion of her has begun her cheeks have permanent fissures where
the tears and rivulets have run for ages.

Her small frame and skirt fill the chair,
as it seems there are others there,
she is so lonely and alone, her skin
tone fits the surroundings well,
how long she will talk, time will tell.

I wasn't rude and did not eavesdrop or interrupt,
                    I am sure that would have meant an abrupt
halt to her flow, of prayer for ones like me, a by product,
of my own invention, as she resembled Mother Theresa,
with her conviction of non-stop prayer, from her chair.




©DWE122013

Stuttering, sputtering, spewing words while noses were growing longer
than the grey shark that lay dead on the subway car floor, no stronger
words were uttered than a Brooklynese "phoque"  and then silence as
the stench of death and black humour.

The red bull can and a **** life, too many cigarettes, he didn't listen to
his wife, and she was no where to be found anywhere around the sub-
way walls and brick, mortar, concrete and rails with one like a taser.

SHOCKING!

Said the press, the greater subway transit authority has better things
to do, and I agree so a short poem about this will be all this brings
to the surface of a stolen idea, NYC has the dead shark, a but and
a can, while in Russia, wild dogs travel free, in those subway cars.  

cuz if it ain't safe for sharks it ain't safe for no one while in
Russia every transit traveler may pet and be near a dog, and give and receive
love.

good night little one,
you have been busy today,
good dreams little one,
you have laughed and played,
good rest little one,
you know you are loved,
the words you say
speak for themselves,
your laughter is so clean and clear
I want to hear you laugh some more,
read on with me until with your
own voice, you can make the sounds
and we then will rejoice together,
grow little one grow for you,
warrior princess fought an old
foe that needed to be vanquished,
and you soothed the savage beast
(grandpa(foe) and his dog(beast) )
rest for the evening after you have
partook at the supper feast,
for tomorrow,
you will have more growing to do, than today
you will understand the world one day sooner,
and we will
                   read,
                   and play ball,
                   oh I can't list them all,
                   we will build and drop towers right where they stand
and all will love you more,
as your hopes and dreams and possibilities
will wait out side your door,
discovery to your left
and awe to your right
cuteness factor ten,
lamp of learning
              burning bright.
Now shhhh, goodnight.


©DWE102013

Take each memory
Tell one close to you,
The Story
The tongue will muscle the details
Don't muzzle the truth, or it all fails,

Travel in time isn't for the massess,
The past is the past but by telling it now
The Story passes
the test of time, and makes it to the future
wounds might not be healed, but sutured,

history local or global or private were and are
sustained by the verbal record, a spoken treasure,
Like a DeLorean car,
words tied to synaspses, flash pictures, smells and action,
make movies for some, tales for others, that did not sanction,

the telling of the story,
minute paper pieces,
microscopic chemical reactions
recaptures
laughs,
tears of joy, many of sadness,
and the events, surrounded by the madness
of the days,
so if this the case save Time Travel to books and fiction,
or quiz history and historians, and was the truth told
after all, forever after, but lean in close and whisper in
my ear, I will listen through your tears, take me Travelling,...

One Day.

Balding head, across the boulevard, catching drops of rain,
falling hard,
cars and trucks travelling fast, weather warning was plain,
for all to see,
watching the drops bounce off, where they land, the strain,
in him is obvious,

his coat sheds water like a duck, the burden he carries tight
to his chest,
he stops and moves and stops again, points prepares to fight,
shadows in the downpour,
he talks, then shouts maybe he likes the sound of his mighty
voice, all alone,

he stops and confronts a telephone pole, others pass by, not staring,
to get his ire,
what he held to his chest, was dear to him and had to stay dry, carrying
his shoes, high
so his shuffle was in soaked sock feet, he had his mannerisms, wearing
plainly for all to see, he only had socks on his feet
between him and the rain swept
                                                         ground and street.

He may have needed more, he was tweaking, maybe he needed less,
was it **** or worse, he was still walking and still cursing, confess
to the gods, he would make it through the day,
against the odds.

Doin' the Boulevard Shuffle,
it isn't hard, until you have to live it.

in the end, who needs words when you can't spell the sounds

they run parallel to the ground, away
leaving t's looking like l's, who may fall flatter.
they are dropping like dots from i's,
but they are not wasps but are they flies

there is still a buzz in my ear

the hairs on my head run from the razor,
but only get as far as the cracks in the floor.
the fingers on my hands touch the workmanship,
sculpting my busted head, but change nothing.

the ringing in my ear is familiar

the life has become an empty tube of toothpaste,
and now I have to refill it from the counter.
the live wire I keep touching, looks
like a nerve, in my one arm that is ripping me off.

If I have a tone, it a came from outer space,

my feet are running on the floor, louder the neighbours
are hammering on their ceiling, my legs buckle, no feeling.
there is nothing so refreshing as a dog licking your
face when you are flat on your back staring out to space.

The tone has stopped, they are here...

It begins.


©DWE092013

do not watch news, it won't make you a better person
it is not like a marriage to be made better or worse on,
unsure how to spend your day, other than electronics array,
lying on your bed with pillow comfort under your head to stay,
or sitting in a chair with simple ease remembering to breathe,
or floating on the ocean on a tube, not minding what is beneath.


©DWE072013

We live near the boulevard,
Open a window and it is not hard
   To believe,
                    Do you believe?
Each year for the last four or five,
  Some men and women in trucks drive,
     By our house,
                           Do you believe?
They now have forty or fifty or a hundred all lit in color,
  Police escort, HONK their horns and drive my dog bonkers,
      If you wave they do too,
                                             Do you believe?
Each truck has strings of lights to delight the roadside few,
   Maybe out past curfew or stamping their frozen feet too,
     Reindeer and inflatable penguins on a skidoo,
                                                         ­                     but do you believe?
That human kindess and good cheer should only show up once the decorations are complete?
That what is generous now, will last till summer,
                                                         ­                     somehow, that thought should warm some feet?
Or like festivals, celebrations or such things seasonal are best kept to one time per year, call it    Christmas fiscal responsibility...

Maybe you don't believe in anything at all?
Do you believe in love thy neighbor as thy self?
Or do you believe in a story about an ageless elf?
                                                   Do you believe?

*
I
believe
in each, one
of you, can do
more good than harm,
it is true, if it is one mite
only, as that is all you have,
may it be multiplied by those
who see what you do and they
want to give, contribute and share too.
This is half a tree, my poem is sadly
incomplete, for that night
we all wait for and
attend,
will at
the end,
appear
almost
the end of
this December!



©DWE122013

Electro Magnetic Pulse, thank you, no
Early Morning  Physical training, yeah, no...not since my military days
                                                            ­                                                and ways.

Early Morning Poetry
Before the suns' rise,
A spot on the edge of the
Eastern earth,
Grows brighter with delight,
But,
Not just yet.
Sounds and letters
Are ready, waiting
Solar panels,
Hands spread, before the keys,
Recharge, with poetry read
Until the suns' Rise
Ignites the passion, the fire
In your beautiful eyes!


5:39 am Pacific

©DWE022014

abuse of substance,
abuse of space
bully's don't change their stripes,
maybe just their names,
makes 'em feel surrounded,
by those of like mind,
like having relations, with oneself,

the jungle used to be the jungle,
then concrete became the jungle,
because someone somewhere
needed trees removed to flush the tigers out,
then there is the internet jungle
where one on a bent thinks they are a tiger
when they are really a dead stick
from a tree of evil rotting, while doting, licking
cleaning their own, ego,

oh please don't assault my senses with your defences,
no need to prove that copy and paste, makes you a word smith,
and imitation, may be a form of flattery, no need to flatter me
I am a nobody, who has a love for language, and
sees through bully ****, go back to the chicken coop and cluck,
yourself, ....


clematis scale up
flowers look grey and pointed
go boom to bloom colour

Access to knowledge is a dangerous thing
it is readily available and some don't think
they need to learn, to change, admit they were
a bully when they were young or bullied and
lastly anonymity in this day and age is a lie ;  )

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


D W Elverum   June 2012

her dress was blue gauze
                           because there wasn't much there,
                                                          ­         for hair, or makeup
                                                          ­             after her breakup, she went to the mall and used
yes uses, the outdoor steps for a changeroom, putting on her polka dot pjamas, once that
could be used, for the game of twister.
                                           Poor sister.

She took it all off in the downpour,
                     she chose not shower, the water was too cold and refreshing,
                                               make her catch her breath while wretching,
                                                      ­  no one walking by found her fetching,

they all turned away as they walked by,
so did my wife and I but she checked
and confirmed, the stairs were her change room, she was putting on dry clothes
she had three overstuffed bags, her feet were cold and wet, her socks were wet,
we did not see any shoes,
sadly her angry looks at
the invisible people she
muttered too
uttered curses loudly
kept anyone wanting
to help far away, as far away as Oz,
whoever wanted to be a bridge for her troubled water,
and all she needed and all she wanted was a dry place
to lay herself down,
sail on, silver girl
sail on by,
there will be serious prayers for you tonight, because God does not
make life trivial, we do,
take your bags,                                                            ­          He will cover you with wings
and your baggage, in your hands,                                   He is sufficient, to provide for your needs
is all that you own in those purses and bags, but you are not alone,
even if you have been given up for lonely.
Will someone be sent to help her?



©DWE012014

Stars sit in the sky,
planets revolve around them
out of sight of the human eye, at this hour.
Earth revolves around the sun, a star with a name,
that brings heat, warmth, fun, daylight, somewhere at this hour.

We speak of the human condition,
more babies are being born than those that die,
is it me or has all the peaceful air, unspoken promise
left the atmosphere and gone to you know where, at this hour.
Tunneling through the ozone is not the way to get, God in His
artistry with Holy Love the world and creation, to save us, at this hour.

Wait.
Wait a minute.

I have stepped over the line, trying to tell you about the Divine.
I am like a sloth at a speed reading contest when it comes to that.
I am like the only Meercat, kicked out of the family group,
can I get a war whoop of agreement?

You all know where I try to stand,
I make it obvious when ever I can.

So when I am away for a few days,
and may not have any technology to
                                                     play
with to stay in touch, miss me please,
cause I already miss all of you.

Gardens come and gardens go
seeding, planting,
watering, weeding
as do the seasons,
as the crop is waiting for your care and
to greet you daily, for without a gardener
such as you, I may have turned to seed,
too true? Or become a bad ****.
Your garden is a beauty every year,
as for me, I am getting there, thanks to you!

©DWE08262013

the water was dark, as asphalt,
nothing could be seen, until
looking real close, the fish moved
so
slowly,
among the lowly seaweed,
if they could laugh, then seaweed
                                        would
           ­                              know
                                      that fish
                                     are ticklish
                                   at this depth.
So in defence
of their weakness,
for their troubled
neighbours,
the fish as a group
has a stratagem, ahem
to release bubbles from
                    both ends,
but only while amongst
                  the seaweed.


©DWE012014

I don't take risks, I can't
I only have enough, for today
I know what losing costs,
Coins rolling away, no moss
a gathering, this or any way.

I walk at the fringe and look in
I see in the reflection, of the mirror,
my weakness, my resolve has stress-
fractures, my life a poorly played chess
match, if only, my head were clearer.

I need fresh air, let me out, of this box
so much refuse to trip on with shoes,
feet not mine that I hide with black socks,
the only hazard is me, you best take stock
and remember don't regret what you choose.

Pass me a glass
with a splash
of red, dry plum
fruit with peppered
notes, my nose so
tainted, I would
not be a taster
but a waster of
delights, ...
well maybe not,
of all delights.

When do you say you have done enough for today?
How do you hold yourself when you pray?
I don't know your answers, nor what I would say!

This though is where I would go to a rocky place called a cleft,
where His Spirit has not yet left and an Eagles wings covers,
this rest, high and away from the world.  Not so I could look
down, while trying to fit my perfect crown, nay it is so I
would catch my breath and breathe the peace that passes
understanding, so when I went to be in that world which is
demanding, my conformity , I would say "check with Him,
the Higher authority."

Oh I can stand on my two feet, swords of words on my lips,
seeking peace, seeking peace, His love does eclipse, all I have...
to give, be at peace, be at peace.


©DWE032013

She walked a
slow march,
feet in blocks
of, heavy booted,
cinder.  It was like
she was stepping
on the bottom
and drowning
in her own life,
no air bubbles,
coming to the surface,
for anyone
looking for
signs of life.

But know, one was.

                                                           ­                 The gray wet mass,
                                                           ­                  in the gutter,
                                                         ­                    the dog and I about
                                                           ­                   to walk by the
                                                             ­                 road ****,
                                                           ­                   the injured rabbit
                                                                ­              raised a head
                                                            ­                  front legs tried to
                                                                ­              drag itself in the
                                                             ­                 pouring rain across
                                                          ­                    the very boulevard
                                                       ­                       that taught hard
                                                            ­                  the lesson, in the
                                                                ­              early morning rain.
                                                           ­                   
                                                                ­              The spine was snapped.
                                                        ­                      The beauty and the ugly
                                                            ­                  was showing through,
                                                        ­                      pale white foot bones,
                                                          ­                    where fur once was.
                                                            ­                  
                                                                ­              I had a towel and held her
                                                             ­                 close, my dog was beside,
                                                         ­                     herself to get near, to the
                                                             ­                 gray wet mass, with eyes
                                                            ­                  wide with trust, not fear,
                                                           ­                   sorry friend rabbit,
                                                         ­                     where are Pooh,
                                                           ­                                        Piglet,
                                                         ­                                          Tigger,
                                                         ­                                           Owl,
                 ­                                                                 ­                  Eyore,
                                        ­                                      as I am no match for
                                                             ­                 Christopher Robin,
                                                          ­                    and your injuries are
                                                             ­                 too real, so rest a while,
                                                          ­                    I am right here, when
                                                            ­                  you are able or want
                                                                ­              to go,
                                                                ­              let me know,
                                                                ­                       or show,
                                                           ­                                           me where
                                                           ­                   rabbits go to eat the grass
                                                           ­                   that is always green,
                                                          ­                                  and always grows.

                                                         ­                                                                 ­                
                                                                ­                                                                 ­           Her fingers unsteady
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                   till she grips the
                                                                ­                                                                 ­           pencil crayon
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                 lightly with a heavy
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                heart, does the colour
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                 flow both ways, onto
                                                            ­                                                                 ­               the paper and into
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                her face, her smile,
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                  in a way nobody
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                  knows ,
                                                               ­                                                                 ­             in a way nobody
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                  sees,
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                 unless you look
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                beyond the mask.
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                                
                ­                                                                 ­                                                         The Picture?
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                     
                                  ­                                                                 ­                                           It is a ribbon, and
                                                                ­                                                                 ­             vine with thorns a
                                                               ­                                                                 ­              rugged cross, four  
                                                                ­                                                                 ­             yellow roses too.
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                             
                   ­                                                                 ­                                                          There are few,
                                                                ­                                                                 ­             too few things
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                   that speak of true
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                 friendship than
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                 yellow roses.
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                                 
                                                                ­                                                                 ­             There are few
                                                                ­                                                                 ­             too few friends,
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                     who remain.
                                                         ­                                                                 ­                     Yellow roses
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                    all around, petals
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                     sprinkled on the
                                                             ­                                                                 ­                  ground as she
                                                                ­                                                                 ­               details the green,
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                     leaves, the brown
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                    as rugged as the
                                                             ­                                                                 ­                  rocky earth,
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                     so she would never
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                be alone, there
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                     is no friend,
                                                         ­                                                                 ­                       none truer on
                          a wet stormy Sunday morning where three strays, all let me know, how to love.

Black shoes too big for her feet,
Feet dragging to keep the high heels on,
On the edge of the curb she slowly,
Slowly walks to display her legs black  stockings,
Stockings, exposed thighs, short shorts,
Shorts black, she is dressed in all black,
Black garter belts wave at all who she can see,
See how she clutches her purse under her coat,
Coat hood caped on her head,  black sunglasses,
Sunglasses half way down the bridge of her nose,
Nose slightly bent, let trails of smoke out,
Out in the cold air, cars rush by, gaping jacket open,
Open to getting into a warm vehicle out of the cold,
Cold legs, cold wind, no warmth,
Warmth
of any human kindness,
lost to public blindness,
to what she needs,
Turning her head, hooded dark brown coat draped,
She may have looked like a Sith lord to some,

To someone,
she may have been a Jedi  knight, this
daylight walk was at the end of her night
shift
shift
your thoughts,
what if this street edge walker
were a mother and daughter too,
not related to me or to you,
you hope for her...

The stub or her smoke gave her one last puff,
and
she
was
gone.

not sure where she went,
home or does she change
and roam all day,
awaiting for the change that
night brings to this aging waif.

When she sleeps
             and where,
I pray she is safe.

It matters not the hours,
The quick five minute showers,
to rinse and wash the sweat away,
from the workout or just the day,
rinse the dust of worldliness,
to finally rest in peacfulness,
let quiet be your hepa filter,
bring you away from off kilter,
body breathing, absorbing calm,
healing those weary bones with balm,
yup
a time balm,
my pillow, my friend,
my head is full of poisoned thoughts,
wrong bill of goods the I cheaply bought,
I need a time balm,
if when it goes off silently,
and there is nothig left of me,
the self that came through the door,
at the end of the work, plusiers choses,
tying my smile back to a grimace,
clothing fused to my skin,
I have become the job,
help me step away for my job is in trouble,
it tried to rob me of my soul,
my pillow, my friend, add a bubble,
push the button, light the fuse,
for it is noisy in my head and refuses
to go quietly and seriously
I need the relief, not grief,
of the time balm.

©DWE012014

I

if I yelled into a walkie talkie,
would you melt, or burn,
blaring noise
glaring sun,
glaze the windows, someone!

                 II

fade away and radiate,
move the people dis-populate,
we may all glow,
there are leaks, they know,
but that is not all
they are going to build
an icy wall to STOP thoseleaksnow,
some one strong willed
                                      is taking charge of those positive and negatives
                                                       ­                        keep an i on atom, physically speaking.

         III


shake, shake
roll the water
shake shake
roll the dice
shake shake
what happens
in the kitchen
where it is hot
and you bang
plates together
the do break, explosively
this time, no
tsunami, so sue me
but it was a six point one
when we get a nine what then?


           IV
they have politics,
they have unrest,
they have strife,
put the ad in
the paper, some
one misunderstood, vehement
denials, sabres rattling cementing
bad relations blame the propagandist
bad formula blame the chemist
bad politics cost elections
bad people take lives
that are not theirs to erase, displace
or otherwise disgrace, I know we will
never know what has gone on,
but it really comes down to ONE,
all it takes is one to die,
and it - whatever the point is
is wrong,
all it takes is a million refugees,
not one in power will listen if we
say   STOP                    please,
think of the creative talent who have died,
think of the number of times you have lied,
think of the geniuses unable to breath through their face,
oh wait, if you did think, in the first place,

you still would have done it anyway,
because that is who you are, makin' people wear sarin, eau de ... deathly
                                                silence is a grave filled with the cries
                                                of the innocents
                                                chaos is a grave filled with violent
                                                death with intent
                                                lashing out first and with such force
                                                is a grave filled with numbers of
                                                the lost, who now are no more
                                                the cost is too dear to bear
                                                except with sadness, and mourning
                                                but there is no time there is danger
                                                          ­                              and warring
                                                         ­                                                   while the world dithers uncertain,
close the blinds
draw the curtain,
cover your ears,
we are doing something
here, umm, there.

The road followed the base of the steep hillside,
trapped there by the river and a park of city pride,
the footsteps walked along roadway and sidewalk,
as both young and old, converse and talked,
there are less
people now,
but every one walks the walk
that overlooks
the Columbia River, both life giver
and a taker,
people fish the river, above the plant, some
even float,
at a park named Binghy  
in hip-waders with a tube dinghy
casting their lines with flies tied, methods successful true and tried.

I have walked that same place
on many, many school days,
I have since walked more steps
more miles...much much more,
but every time I walk there,
I am once again on my way to school,
some bullies took me for a fool,
yet
I am here,
I did not fear
them then,
nor do I fear
those when
I meet them these days,
bullies do not change but technology does,
for I recognize that, as the cowards way,
and all I have ever done is walk away.

Until it comes time to stand my ground.


©DWE072013

I have not triumphed over armies or doubts,
I have not gone into battles with cries and
finished with victory,
I am not a chess master
I am not epic,
I can play no instrument, or have perfect pitch
I have no treasured wisdom at my call,
no deep pool from which to draw,
I am not epic,
I have not ran into chaos or darkness,
not knowing what my chances are,
of being epic,
because, I am not,
my faith is at times like mustard
without the seed,
watered down, not epic,
I do not ride a stallion,
or have tigers as my beasts,
I have a dog, aging as fast as she walks,
we are not epic,
I can not unleash an arrow from any bow,
with accuracy, but I can say, the fights
I have fought, I can count on one hand,
and none were epic, maybe mistakes,
I did not sacrifice my friends lives or mine
to save a princess, the queen or the Land,
I have not fought dragons,
or black forces of night
I am not epic,
I have never received near fatal wounds,
I have not stepped in front of an arrow,
meant for someone else,
that would epic,
and I am not epic...yet.

I want to go to places,
where water falls, spilling down
hidden rock faces
while pools of water fill the air
with a heavy mist to lift my cares
high out of reach.

Dip my toes into a clear pond,
submerge  hold my breath beyond,
...
not to test me or to test God,
just stay as long, how odd?
to say so long to, my cares.

Now I know they will find me
returning to easily remind me,
they know where I dreamsleep
they are only cares, they
brought their cousins nightmares.

And all I wanted was a break,
a token of a moment of peace,
not be broken into pieces.

You know your old when,
you buy a two bedroom with a den,
and it never empties out.

You have dragged emotional baggage,
cleaning your ears to discover cabbage,
busting at the seams, zippers are stuck!

For the first time in your life, you have a plan,
right?, oh no, you got this far on fruit and bran,
okay cereal killer, bust a move and your hip.

Have you smiled yet?

I really want with certainty,
to give you three steps, not wishes, for eternity,
it IS really important some how.

Not that this is the end,
could be drawn out like torture,
what would you give up, in forfeiture?

I've tried to do it on my own, painful right to my bones,
I am not powerless, nor am I a legend in my own mind,
Some One did it for me, and he found me, in a bind.

Have you found Him yet,
hit refresh, until you do,
don't believe in just anything,
even some lies can be true,
that baggage, it may be your strength.

I was there,
when each of you
                      were born,
that change,
from womb to
life with room to
grow,
beyond what nurtures,
leaving behind sutures,
and now, scars at what your mom, all moms
gave away,
so you are here today,
she bore scars then,
and she will again,
and again,
when you forget a birthday card, or to call,
or don't drop by on Mother's day at all,
but she, will be the first to defend
each one of you in their turn, until the end,
so remember, if you read this, it is nothing
more than a kiss as a reminder,
come and find her, stand behind her,
not to take advantage,
of being first or last or in between,
and whisper in her ear, that you love
her, as much as there is air in the atmosphere,
and you know she has cried an ocean of tears,
inside for each time, each of you, or others have broken her heart,
but it does not mean she is angry,
but it does not mean she is frankly cranky (that's me)
what it means is she is human
who has made enough room in her
heart for all of you forever, whether or not
you bring flowers or hold her hand for a walk, when she gets older,(light years from now)
just call her and listen more than you talk,
give her the time to be creative, ART recharges her battery pack.

For she is special, like ripples in the pond,
her love can be felt like the waves that goes on and on,
                             and I observe all this, and I am in awe,
becasue I too have a mother,
who is unlike any other, except her capacity to show her love for me,
for all the time, years and miles, distance between her and me.
             And she still smiles when me she sees.


©DWE112013

I remember Reaching for your hand before we first kissed.

I remember Enjoying the warmth of our hands touching as did our lips.

I remember Measuring my words whispered in your ear, to take you beyond bliss.

I remember Every tasted breath, before we kissed.

I remember Minutes spent together, the blood pounding in my state of light headed
bliss.

I remember Brown eyes drinking in my blue eyes, as we touched finger tips.

I remember Every tasted breath, before we kissed.

I remember Relishing the next time our hands would be closer than our lips.

I remember
the letter
you wrote
saying it was
better that
this was good-
bye, I was across
the country
and could
not test the
look in your
eyes, gone
cold. This
rememberance
is very old.

thoughts,
water,
paper that tumbles from the sky,
movies,
music,
two dimensional conversation in three dimensions of Skype,
air,
sunlight,
refreshing through the miniblind and my open window,
ideas,
words,
that take me to places to meet people who are total strangers,
                                                      ­                                                             but that does not make them
                                                            ­                                                         stranger than me.
                                                             ­                                                       When I stream.
Tears,
down
cheeks
defrosting
frozen
visage,
salty,
talk,
cheap,
with
expensive,
words,
that
are like
cologne,
fading
fad,
all
used
up
bottle,
now
emptied,
and only
a hint
remains
streaming,
sniff the air...?


©DWE122013

We are all so small,
        that is all,
bums in chairs, who cares,
warm bodies, with a pulse.

That pulse
where does it originate,
not your heart, that is the noise maker,
your lungs are the breath taker,
where was that pulse founded?

Have I, you confounded?

Your beating heart was known and
loved before you were born, God
knew what he would do before you knew you.

All your cracks are filled with grace,
All your dents, and brokenness,
                               bear witness,
of a loving God that has never left your
side but been there with you to
                       bear, the hurts
                       bear, the sorrow
                      bear it all,
that is all,
why we are small,
if we were only talking about the physical
                   not the physics,
                   a God who is time,
                   a God who is love,
                   a God
who gave you character,
who gave you identity,
so though you are small, and
feel alone or lost in the crowd,
He who gave you individuality,
so you could find and
                                     be a part of a community,
where you fit in,
                            with other assorted parts small
                                                           ­     that is all.


©DWE092013

Battle royal for a bottle of red.
Up the ante, we're going for Chianti!

Grant me kindness, pour a splash on my fettered tongue.
Up the ante, we're going for a thousand cases of Chianti!

Hoist the mains'l, sea dogs, raise the anchor, or you be hung!
Up the ante, the Cap'n is in a wanton need of Chianti!

Another wine won't do?
Up the ante, we know where they harbour the Chianti-shhhh

Wind be fast, my thirst is deep, as the desert is dry!
Up the ante, we're not paying' for the Chianti we're takin"

The ship from stem to stern, you get to clean, when we return, alive!
Up the ante, it is worth all the cases of Chianti, below decks we can hold!

Up the ante, we're putting' out to sea, we have a nose for good Chianti!
For when the Cap'n retires he will drink and
sing this Chianti Chanty at a seaside shanty, all day!

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People walk. they drive, talk is cheap
                                                  like some Red Wine by the gallon my dad bought, often
                 he was not a nice man to most, what they could not change, they overlooked.
Overnight when the sun rises things,
                                                         ­ will have changed as much as they stay the, same,
            it will rain somewhere, and as many tear drops will fall from eyes of those with
            broken hearts, and those eyes if you looked in them, you would never forget, ever.

Ever sit there on the dewy grass at night or in some Adirondack,
                                     chair, actually in the Adirondacks, and just want to shrink and be small
                                     enough to disappear and travel at the speed of light, with out getting
                                     tangled, under the stars, in string theory.
  
Totally impossible you think and that may be where all of our problems start, we dwell on the
                            impossible when the possible is one small step away from you until you get so
                                   close, the impossible becomes I'm possible, I'm possible, repeat and repeat.

Riches, little can be so varied, there are some common ones, money, jewelry, stock portfolio,
                         there are so many tangible and all most intangible, love, joy, goodness, kindness,
                         gratitude, notice no mention of war, violence, death enough of that out there, they
                         are devalued right now, yes, yes they are yes.    

Y*ou are the best advocate of change I ever met, start with a *small, stay close to your heart and close to home, write poetry, take care of yourself and when you find the ONE, take care of each other, there is power in right relationships, now if you have found the ONE, teach your children too, end your day with a laugh and smile, but be alone as little as you need to, teach peace.