I know I won't be shot for writing poetry,
even if i was on the walkway or side street,
ok?
I know you who read will react with speed,
but none of the actions will make me bleed
13?
replica resulted in repugnant use of force,
they were experienced police of course
ak
he was returning it to a friend,
guess he was at the wrong end
47
so in a country wear the right to bear arms is protected,
so in a state that is self-proclaimed progressive,
we have an innocent fall,
not trip or stumble,
he caught bullets as they tumbled
into him.

I am confused that people with real guns that cause real harm,
walk in and the killing begins,
a kid a child about to be a man, had the admiration of his peers,
life torn, 'cause someone did not want to get close, and be sure,                                                            ­        

maybe he had an ipod or phone with ear buds, had his hoodie up
more like he did not think that "stop" was meant to be the end
for him, unlike the bullets, that put holes in
his dreams and the hopes...of a future.

I am harsh I admit it,
but nothing no nothing is harsher than
losing your child,
for any reason,
it is wrong,
but this,
              but this speaks of sorrow a whole life long
a void



a n     empty                                                           space
that will be filled with only tears
as they hold onto one another
instead of, their son or brother.  

Thoughts and prayers to all, yes, even them


©DWE102013

Clenching teeth but giving in involuntarily,
Bending over touching earth rather warily,
Is adverb use in poetry supposed to be sparingly?

Clouded visage, clouded sky, clouded meaning,
Don't look for nuggets or rainbows for gleaning,
I am in pain, is that not plain to read, I am leaning

The fire in the belly is not a positive sign, not by design,
Put SOS up the flag pole in a strong breeze, three ensigns,
Save Our Sanity, I will walk on the wild side, slalom the road signs,

Till the bright lights of headlights silhouette the way...and
I stand real still on ... a single dot dot dot
                                                       dash dash dash
                                                              dot dot don't.

Some are led by tears, both happy and sad,
Some are led by fears, type to drive you mad,
Emotions,
Emoticons,
Pros and cons,
Prose and... mon frère ne m'adore pas,
so follow your heart,
if it is a heart that seeks the Light and Truth and Peace,
life is not easy, but that daily path brings a moments ease,
to breath,
to observe,
to delight
to experience,
if it is a dark heart that seeks Darkness and Distortion and to be Dire
life is not easy, but that daily path harkens disproportionate fire
toward hate,
         to ensnare,
         to lie,
         to leave,
we each only have one heart, paint it what you will, beats the same blood,
flooding arteries and veins, feint or faint, follow your heart and leave mine alone, for my mis-beats I will atone.

A pair of daffodils on a single stem,
Had fallen from the bunch, their
shared stalk too short, it really wasn't
much of a flower anyway, but
instead of throwing it down
on the ground
or away...

I found a hole
in the dirt
Between
grass and the curb
And I placed it, on a lark,
for a laugh, but time has passed
3 weeks and the pair are alive, and doing well.

Only a stem, no roots, cold, moist dirt
showed me that even a flower was worth
second chance!

So, if a flower proves this, then all of LIFE;
deserves a dance and a full measure of grace.

With two meanings and a poem about each

I

"Here Lies, the
Last Dog
To Crap in This Yard"

Random corner lot with patchy grass
Dual tired pickup owner, cantankerous,
got tired
got wired
got to thinking,
about why his
yard was stinking,
looked out the back
nothing there to attack
looked out the front window,
rising
sun pooched a crescendo,
as it rose,
he stood, cigarette and coffee,
the order of the day,
other hand on the hood,
of his red neck tribute, a Ford truck
but that odor,
that smell,
he felt unwell
spinning, more like reeling,
he had a nauseous feeling,
that some dog was crapping in his yard,
excrement was on the breeze,
silhouetted by the bright yellow ball,
was the last dog to crap in his yard,
he grabbed his shotgun with ease,
pulled the trigger, buried the dog,

No one saw, everyone heard, when the
police showed up not a word was said,
not a witness could be found, as each knew,
in that 'hood, that dog got around,
to every yard in turn, the sign is all
that remains, a warning and a refrain,
this neighbourhood,
may have ****** lawns
do not get caught doing your business at dawn.  


II

"Here Lies, the
Last Dog
To Crap in This Yard"

They both sit a the table to eat a meal,
from where they will look at the dog bed,
by the dog bowls, and then look away,
just as fast,
it is the past
and recent loss,
of their beloved dog Boss,
beautiful boy, who died to soon,
left them alone, together,
such a calm and gentle giant,
one that they had become reliant,
to share
their journeys,
their truck trips,
their walks in the waning sun,
life,
until that terrible day,
when she called to say,
Boss had been hit, saving a toddler
crossing the road, the boy was okay,
but not the dog, "Come Home Quick,
please,"
he did and they rushed the dog to the vet,
it was awful, everyone was a wreck,
and then the vet called them in to the back,
to give the news that Boss was going fast,
he could do nothing to make his life, ...
soon he would take a breath and breathe his last,

they nodded and said "Put him down",
they went and looked him in the eye,
through sobs they said "goodbye"

Days later, they went back, to get the
urn of his ashes, he liked their lawn,
he loved the grasses,
so they decided, then that they would
never leave or sell, but buried him there,
in that spot where the sun first landed,
every summer morn,
summer was the season of Boss,
now they were at a total loss,
as each morning began with mourning.

But Boss will always be nearby.
And the sign above that spot read,
"Here Lies, the  Last Dog  To Crap in This Yard"
For they would never own another.

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

Vimy - April 9 - 12, 1917

The Prince said to the Princess, from a foreign land, in a grandiose style and with the wave of his hand, "I tried to follow after All, to wait for my chance, to rescue you and defeat an enemy or two."  He was looking up and up.
The Princess looked down, dishevelled and with a frown, from the cage which held her,
"I tried to escape to, ...I wanted to call, "Help, Help!", there were so many of them around."
The Prince looked at the Princess and a tear fell from one eye, he sputtered, "I can not reach your
cage, nor the rope which holds it in place, I have no arrows left to dislodge it from it's place!"  

Anguish or anger, the guard watching could not tell, but the Princess already had him under her spell. He walked forward eyes fixed and glazed, unhooked the rope lowering her down and then
fell into the crevasse, his grave.  The Prince was shocked, he knew now, he had to kiss her lips,
with all peril aside he ran beside the cage which still held her fast, she said, her voice now changing, "Undo the clasp!" What a raspy, grating voice it was.

His eyes were fixed and glazed and focused fully on her face, he did not see her transform as he unlocked that place that imprisoned the Dark Queen, who he had just embraced then he melted
away, never again to be seen.   Her mood did not lighten, the cavern got darker, so would the days ahead.


©DWE042013

shut it down, shut it down,
but it will not,
try on a bed, one pillow under your head
                                                            ­       not two,
how about a cot,
                          no naps on the spot,
                                                           a glass of warm milk or two,
warm water won't make you ill what if
a warm shower instead,
                                      a routine, hour by hour,
                                                           ­                until it is that time to stop,
stop caffeine, after two in the afternoon,
read Moby **** or War and Peace, be with you as you rest,
maybe eat earlier instead of late, no deserts after eight PM,
praying may help, read a Holy Book with time to listen to God
for your soul or physical stretching too, failing all that,
systematic muscle relaxation from toes and feet
                           up through each muscle group
                           to the eyes and face then fall asleep,
                           clench the muscle full, then halfway
I know I am repeating my self,
this is indigestion for the lack of digestion of what I said before,
count sheep,
count rocks.
count horn beeps,
try electrical shocks (with your doctors approval),
oh did I forget medication (ditto see your doctor),
left side, right side or back side,
change the bed direction,
or how about a quiet music selection,
less video screens, I am not even talking games,
phones and tablets are to blame,
tap your chest over your heart, in time, in beat
breathe so that the emphasis is on emptying out,
the lungs will on automatic refill themselves,
dust your room, empty shelves (before bedtime)
warm the bed or have *** instead,
write out a to do list so when you
sleep you won't lose what is
important to you,
like sleep.


©DWE012014

This is for you,
Not for the things you have done,
Not for battles lost or battles won,
This is for you,
For whom you are,
I know, sometimes she disappears,
Or you lose track, but she comes back,
This is for your bubble,
The place that is safe,
To do art, to enjoy life, to find that PEACE, sorry peace,
That passes, not life tests, instead
The peace that passes all understanding,
This is for you, it may not help when you are tired,
It may not make the sleepless nights go away,
This is for you, I understand the physical pain,
But we will hope, I will continue to pray, you will continue to gracefully dance,
               a brush and paint and mixed media, all art, for others eyes to see,
                                                            ­                                 so beautiful, yet for therapy,
To share your happy,
And for your own heart.

I don't think we were ever meant to retire,
                         I truly believe with the desire
To create beauty, until....eternity rises,
Like that slow moving elevator at the doctor's office.


©DWE012014

Fall is here
shortening of days,
chocolate chip cookie moments,
with socks
long
enough
to keep
your knees warm,
dampness out,
fireplace friendly
chair,
comfort needed, fueled
by cold,
yet to,
           winter here.

Violence sells, *** sells,
but why?
WHY?

Do we have a greed as a society,
greedy need to feed insatiability?,
from East to West and North to South,
Watch carefully what spills from my mouth.

I can not digest what I divest to the dishevelled remains of my day.
I know they are not supposed to end or begin this way,
with tears instead of raindrops falling on my face, rolling down to...
to my paper covered desk, absorbed and lost drying the instant they were
spilled.  Have you had your fill with what the world ills your way?

Take time to exhibit patient poise, in all that you face,
you are not alone in your lonely place, some say feel it,
I say try to pray and seal it!  Away, oh Lord, away!  Take me.

All this which is not the world's best will target you as a test, not the same
day or the same time, but sometimes, it will seem so as  it comes all down the funnel
cloud of darkness of heavy woe and the gravity of your circumstances; pulls
at your hair on your head, plucks your nerves till your limbs feel heavy and dead
as your heart pumps red liquid poorly through the frozen pipes that circulate
oxygen with red tincture flowing that could be spilled like the tears and cover
the ground sorrowfully, bleeding ......
heartfelt loss
embarrassed as it is emptied,
from your vessel, with more cracks and
holes, pass me the plumbers' putty please!

Seal it and pray, each crack, each hole, each day,
C'mon!
It is not about how low down and into despair you go.

It is about him, Him! You might not agree, you might not
see, you may not believe, but He believed in you and me,
FIRST, so if things get bad or go worse,
look up from a position of pain, move to a place of
strength, to the rock, to the cleft, to the shadow of
an eagles' wings and then see what His mercy brings.....
Take what His mercy brings hold it close by your heart,
in your face.............your scars......the ugly...... will one
day BE gone........may my hollow sounding words tremble
like a tree-trunk under the weight of many birds that take flight
with your plight, your harsh existence, be carried away in flight
on the echo of "no more tears, no more tears" sends the winged
prayers to flights of  spoken freedom........ heard higher and higher.

One is alive the other is dead
First one's the lie,
the other was not heard,
don't go to F State,
don't let your kids out at night
     unless they can outrun a bullet.

you know
you are
in a bad
way when
that       happens.

So a jury of his, fears
the truth, because
a lie was told,
an investigation botched,
what else could six people do,
you might want to rethink that law
or orange state might pitch and yaw,
to get through
this, imbalanced scales, lifted high
while peeking from behind the fold
with one eye,

but have her ears gone deaf,
then every voice rise to speak,
because one voice was not heard.

cold-heart
Ice Just In
twisted inside out and backwards,
you might figure it out.

No, no, no, no, no, no
social justice
can fix
Ice Just In,
I don't want to do this
and stay polite,
wrong is wrong,
who stood for the others' rights?

Fortune is already there,
fame and a book tour,
no time to spare, oh
don't look for blessings
       ya'll were messing
with one of God's innocents.

don't you just hate it when one
person can make a whole state
look bad?  And don't call him a patriot.
From a place that is an aggregate,
                    how can this happen?

This just so complicated,
really the systems are implicated,
so many walk away brushing
the dust off their clothes, like
here was a waste of time.

his mouth doesn't stop
with the obscenities,
his steel-toed boots have seen
any work in weeks,
   his anger would frighten
            a nervous dog,
all who meet him on the street,
    put their tail between their legs,
         and do not make eye contact,
               he gestures in the air,
                       unfriendly stares,
if his eyes don't burn through you
he'll use his cigarette,
people driving by in cars marvel at
his violence, until he looks into their
private space, their fragile cocoon,
turning faces away,
as he strides, black jeans, black hoodie,
he wears a grey hat but woulda,
bought a black one, if he didn't steal the grey one,
there he goes,
punching air,
punching at plastic highway safety posts,
already low to the ground and
begging for mercy,
as he motions,
like he is a Trojan warrior,
jumping as he drives his fist down,
                   too bad he does not have a mirror to see the angry
frightening clown he has
                           become.

They wave, "Hello" at the slightest breeze,
they are the wild flowers
of the valley, oh the tease,
they have minor powers,
like they are able to please and bring smiles,
to an empty face whose heart has a need,
to know there is something more fragile,
willing to brighten a day
with a splash of this colour
or a spritz of that shade, something
that only a flower has...
a place where love stems from,
a place to hold budding emotions,
and a place at the center of attention,
like your needs, your wants, your heart,
and my sacrifice to be surety forever in
a greeting, in the first meeting, then falling
for you.

©DWE112013

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

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

I walked up to the door,
I had not been here in years,
In my bags included fears and woe,
How long I stood I did not know,
I raised my hand and knocked
Once and
With impatience
rang the bell.

The superficial greeting went both ways
Neither of us knew what to say, shoes off
She took my coat and he took my bags,
Weighed down with guilt for sure,
As I had taken too long to arrive,
Not months
But years had
passed, oh well.

We sat at the kitchen table,
I told stories and my fables,
They listened and looked at me,
She ran the water warm and he,
Got a towel and bent to his knee,
socks discarded, feet
bathed and massaged, saying
"Welcome weary traveller"

With that done and my feet towelled dry
I felt relieved, I knew I was forgiven,
Dans mes faiblesses, the water poured out
took my stress, a new page was turned,
Nothing I had done had earned,
the humility, gratefully I
had received that
humbled me.

can you count them on one hand, the good ones,
or do you have to take off your socks and shoes,
using your finger and your toes,
to count them all, but only, the good ones...?

they are like a soil where your roots can go deep
and be exposed, and still be nourished,
in the harshest of times, still flourish,
and like something vulnerable, be nurtured.

time is not a friend, and if you are like me, and I hope you are not,
I have more time than friends, soil has been replaced by rocks,
the filtration is great, for the amount of saline water that flows,
                          on every lateral root socket that grows,
                      would have drowned the roots years ago,
                          and the soil would have washed away.


today
roots still exposed,
memories of those
who were once close
greying like my hair,
fading while
the roots hang on
but  there is no one there.


©DWE122013

The grey and tan house on the busy highway,
where traffic flowed like the river it was named after,
Halfway from nowhere,
Halfway to somewhere,
"leave your stinking thinking at the door."

The two multi-coloured coats in a warm embrace,
shoulders' held the others face,
long hair mopped up the tears,
they did not pat each other on the back.

But rub the shoulders, the arms and back,
as if a genie would appear so
they could wish it all away,
and start with a new day.

But that did not happen.

Sadly each took a slow step back,
hands dropped through a painful wave,
' Good-bye'
now turning to walk,
nodding as they both spoke,
not waiting for the answer to the
echoed
"stay in touch"

I hope they do,
it will matter much.

Fast talkers
line the roadways,
moving at the speed of sound,
the sound of their own voices

bus riders, their lives,
time line chatted and charted,
awaiting departure, an unwilling collection,
waiting to transport theirs mouths,

moving at the speed of sound,
the sound of their own voices,

all peers, all seers,
in conversation with the invisible,
trusting the only one who has
their ear

their ears, ear ringed,
they hear the sounds
they want hear,
as they move together,
each all alone,
they move in unison,

moving at the speed of sound,
the sound of their own voices,
confident they will arrive in
on time, in an orderly fashion,
one bus, many voices,
all moving,

at the speed of sound,
the sound of their own voices


©NL022014
   DWE

mother bear
three cubs in tow,
wonder I, where
not sure, where to go,

nature's hers, to run,
these feet are mine
bright day with sun-
shining, oh so fine,

gave her room, gave her space
my friend met her face to face,
at the bank of the creek, turned,
ran hard until his lungs burned,

not able to yell,
couldn't tell
if he made it to drive away
yet I heard, the quad saved the day,

Both man and grizzly are alive,
Bear runs the forest, that man drives
and
works out
there with
a shotgun by
his side, buried
his pride.

It starts with eyes watching the forecast,
             watching the fog or clouds mass,
              overhead.

The muscles, the glutes they hurt when,
                   you do anything or nothing,
                    oh well.

If you sit if you kneel with your weight on
                   your heels, watch how you
                   place your bare hand or any
                   knuckle, asphalt with texture ... bites.


On to creating she
began day two, the
centerpiece was done
now a border to do,
twelve
peach and gold salmons
swimming in an asphalt blue
as blue as the ocean nearby.

The artist chooses some red, some peach,
some gold, some defining black, and
two types of blue to her art she stays true.

This cat had found
"the purr-fect spot"
people ooowed and
people aaawed again
and again over her,
but try as she might,
she could not wait any
longer,
only if her will was
stronger,
she ate a fish, anyway,
right to the bones.

She is done, the artist I mean,
f i f t e e n   h o u r s, bent and
contorted, leaning and standing,
oh and the painting well...
purr-fect of course, we will be
back next year, with many more
artists as the Festival will grow,
thanks to the great job by all
volunteers

Can you see the slight
smile on her cat face,
the glint in those eyes,
like she owns the place,
she is content to stay the night,
by morning she is off to appraise,
better grounds for catching fish!


©DWE092013

And not enough stars.

The streets are like arteries behind your eyes,
they can now see all.

Young geeks familiar with computer speak, sit in rooms
of control and the troll to make traffic better, with the
help and dreams, sky high and sky eyes, I feel more secure.
maybe...

Do you need attention,
what is your intention,
on main street thoroughfare,
tell'em all watching life ain't fair
rage at the sky above
with gestures, not love
sirens buzzing your direction
show your best side, get bolder get braver
no pictures, you didn't sign the waiver

Peaks rise at either end of the stretched terrain,
Ten sisters' peaks at one end and at the other,
                                                     oh brother,
                                    the tallest peak, alone
the weather changes often as the winds have blown            
down to the hills and undulations shadow the flaws
                                    in the lay of this land, and law
of gravity and time has passed, the weather has marked
with erosion,
cracks of past drought, as well
waste deposits,
surface oil so close to the lone pristine summit,
all there to see when you look down from it,
the whole length from any point of view,
small bushes and one clump of golden brush,
surrounds a valley too,
ah but today is a good day and the light is shining though,
beyond the lone peak there is a prized forest where all the
                                                                trees are numbered.

This forest has deep roots and hide much below the surface.
Some other forest weren't so lucky and suffered blow down
by what some say was a rogue wind.

Robust hills lead to a plain, which can be seen from the lone
peak, the brush and valley, have paired twin ridges running
away and all the way to the foothills of the Ten Sisters' peaks.

Some rocky knobby outcroppings chop the length of the
beautiful ridges almost by half. You may walk this place many times
but you will never really know, this land.

There are deep rumblings and grumblings in the empty caverns
below the surface, on that plain
you can hear life giving liquids rush in buried
passage ways if you listen very quietly.  And there is rumored to
be a not so dormant volcano, with hot
red magma, pumping and thump-thumping in a chambers no so far
from the lone peak under those robust hills.  But oh so old.


©DWE102013

they are birds that fly indoors, fight over popcorn tidbits,
which even cause wars within the small flock of squablers,
metal barn with ibeam trusses, power gate doors that open
and close, to give them entry points and traps them,
just the same,
the people that go to fro from booth to booth
with such smiles and seasonal joy, to buy a present or a toy,
for someone deserving,
a celebration peserving,
a season of giving,
pieces of hard earned living,
for hand made goods,
from passionate hearts,
of city folks and country folks,
anonymous strangers,
sharing
one of
lives adventures,
a fair of craftspeople,
who create and create,
to place smiles on faces,
where maybe there had been none
yet,
seen in the twinkle of a light,
or in the reflection of a silver ball,
and maybe no one hummed with the
piano playing instrumental seasonal favorites,
by players of differing stages of playing skill,
and ages.
what ambience,
what a choice,
please shop local this Christmas,
it will be money and time, well spent.


©DWE112013

waiting for years it seems
quiet observer,
with grandiose dreams,
bridled fervor,
impatiently as life streams
without a
life preserver,
have my saviours sailed
the other way,
being time, success, and
bank account balance,
when the battle was spiritual
warfare. I was fighting the wrong fight
the wrong enemy, feel good gone bad.
emotionally had,
con anarchist,
picked my name from a list and worked
me over and over till my brittle soul
was lost in finding closure.


©DWE092013

tolerance
for the plain
boredom hurts
watching grass grow to become clouds

nagging nerves
poke, poke, poke
never give it a rest in peace
will it hurt the next time, or be gone away

invisible even
under scrutiny
lying in wait
pain that moves like moss gathering

building like thunder
striking like lightening

mercy

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

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

to smile for all seasons
need not one reason

Vigorous pulse and impulsive
Sleep is wasted, and repulsive,


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

Mirrored concrete, no details,
Drops of rain, carried in trails,
Of footsteps, of therapy, in a retail
Disguise, while eyes of well dressed
Crows, glint with the glitter of the decor,
Shop for more, shop for more, evermore,
Evermore, for tomorrow it may be gone.


©DWE122013

with eyes so old seeing it all was easy,
spinning around there is nothing queasy,
in the head
but one thing yet to be seen
refreshing, so crisp so clean
that
makes knowing what to look for from the start
being so close to what is really is feel the pounding heart
dare not go closer, mistaken for the wrong stuff,
nothing tough and sinewy or even tougher,
is
this way and that way, can't find a way, even in the fog,
with the biggest **** spotlight shining out, so much light that my
silhouette is pasted to the fog, like Davinci's pointing man
the
way, fully vulnerable and exposed, wingspan equals altitude,
it would be a loss to fall from your own height,
not from the "mountains of madness" over and over an
edge
of no return, or what is the point,
of a sharp blade, for the dull witted, but what
of glory, that is the edge of glory
don't let them catch me peering
                     I have found it.

Grow up!
Reach Out!
Become aware,
                      of your surroundings,
Go ahead share,
                          your daily doings,
but first find a spot,
one square foot, not
in the center of a
busy Boulevard,
twelve inches on
all four sides with some or all of both feet inside,
and look down at the ground all around,
then raise your eyes and discover the surprises that
wait at waist level near and far, then take a risk and look
at the distant distance, the haughty horizon
so far away and appear so tall, feel smaller?

Then wait there till the sun is gone and
watch the stars appear one by one and
soon groups and bunches, light the night
does the moonlight make you think on
how it all started, your hunches, might
be yours, hang on to what is right for you,
might be a mistake, maybe genius,
keep breathing or you
maybe missing oxygen like venous
blood flow from your feet which are
now rooted in the one square foot
you stand with your two feet,
life in the square foot is where
you start, start small,
with large amounts of wonder
see the lightening, wind and thunder,
be filled with awe,
like a thirsty cup dusty with time
and emptiness, parched to experience
anything outside the ordinary
inside a square foot of life.

Then walk away plant a seed,
and just remember to tend the
growth from time to time,
the beauty of life in the square foot.

©DWE092013

promised them not to do this tonight,
                                                        ­     please pass the potatoes, my they are light and fluffy,
promised them not to be so distracted,
                                                             they said if I keep going, it will be redacted,
asked them if they meant the turkey or the stuffing,
                                                       ­                            they said is that your feathers you are fluffing?
asked them where is the cream corn and the gravy,
                                                                ­                 "stop typing and we will pass them maybe"
thanked them for their generosity,
                                                     ­  they said they "hadn't seen an appetite with such ferocity."

thankful that I am full and tasted some of it all, did not have to cook, only child mind and clean,
up after,

they said, if I "try to write a poem again during a family celebration," with irritation, my "serving
                                                        ­                                                                 ­     will be lean"
thankful that they do not know that I really will eat anything even if it is just white meat...



©DWE102013

Petals of a flower
hold so much power,
as they remind me all
of your delicate peel.

Vibrant colour, sedate life
awesome wonder, with knife
in my hand to begin my cut,
an incision, "pick me, pick me",

a voice cries from the table as
the juice runs to drip and has
my attention, deaf to the others,
the babbling sisters and brothers,

To stop me too late,
my appetite to sate,
as I reach for just one more.
                     Just one more peachy moment or bite.

©DWE102013

They move, some more than others,
                            sisters and brothers,
more likely to be, sons and daughters,
life is a jigsaw puzzle and moving
shuffles the pieces, making choices,
do you hear your children's voices,
transient, as they echo...echo...echo,
tangled in the sounds of the streets,
caught up in the internet of deceit,
pardon them if they are all thumbs,
texting  to a social circle a thousand
strong, but there is no one to lend a hand,
sometimes it is better that way,
to be nomads, where your phone is,
is where you are at and where, you'll
be, you are free and you have space.

As long as every once in a while I can reach out and touch not a virtual pad of
keys
but your face.  You know who you are,
this by far is such a peace journey, if
this is what is sought,
not the bill of goods bought,
and sold to the highest bidder,
on mE-Bay, no that was not a typo,
don't get mad
          be a nomad,
if it fills
a heart's desire,
a passion, after a fashion
a mashup of music and jigsaw
sized pieces of a life, fitting
well together and in one box,
lay them out on the table and
build your life, after all you have to live it.
Be a nomad, be sure.

she was blonde but now brunette,
her guy in the States dumped her
  with force with a divorce,
he hopes to become a citizen of the USA,
being married to a Canadian girl got in the way
what an inconvenient truth and full of dismay,
something about a Presidential Pardon, for those
from a certain central america country,
the tears were real as she reeled in the wake
of his void promises to appear here,
you know love is just another word,
until you prove yourself worthy of her affections,
not a set of misdirection of your affectations,
that tells all,
with out a touch,
and at first blush,
your love was an
illusion, it was all a
trick, you
...
there was no
promise from
the land of liberty,
no love without
conditions, only admonitions
that it has to be about
you, and will you call
her back when it does
not go through?
With her age and her beauty,
I hope she grabs dignity and
feigns a hearing disorder,
and if you ever try to cross
the border...make sure your
headed south.


©DWE102013

Sitting on the edge,
mountains make a hedge,
horizon's silhouette, borders

to the imagination
of what lies beyond,
juste le beau monde,
anglacism, ou non?

Peace is what awaits
where my imagination
                          sates,
while I breathe slowly,
the last of the sunset air,
just out of reach, over there
past my fingertips, but
I touch the distant clouds,
the sky changes hue and
I imagine you sitting in the
next room, as the colour
matches your blush, and
a hush comes over the world
as I close my eyes,
and still see the mountains
with green pine trees so high,
and I breathe in and hold
I am
refreshed
by the mountain air so cold
and bracing sends my
heart racing,
no balcony,
no home,
just the mountain
the rocky mountain
beneath my feet,
the solid rock
created by
God.

Empty branches, nakedness stark,
Against an undescribable grey dark,

Sky,

Evergreens mockery, of winter's brown,
Mist so heavy the tall grass will surely drown,

Fog

Mixed with rain to the air a heaviness brings,
Here's the deal, there surely will be, Spring!





Bring on the poetry,
Hands not frozen
To an aging keyboard
Unseasonably warm
So why am I so cold?

This too is a season,
Or a trial of reason
It ....appears.

no controlled response
part or whole nonchalance
body's toll at the whim of this ponce
maniacs a troll named Hans

need to wake from this dream,
still sleeping while the scream
ripped from my lips, a jet stream
of profane pain in the extreme

duck pond near by, fetid pool of duck **** floating
as eyes stare inches away, drool drips from Hans gloating
as I sit with legs wrapped around a pole, body weight totally
resting on one ankle hands behind my back, pain brutally

stay upright
fall back
the punishment will not be light

...oh yeah ...pain
my only friend
this is the end
give me a pen
I'll sign the ****
blank paper and
Hans will be sure to fill it in with anything he wants
he has a hankering for my soul...
he will start
with my heart
go for the nerves
take all my verve
get my mind
in a bind
then leave me
all alone............................................................­...... miles from here
who will then
teach me
to walk
on two feet
again.

step away,
to watch,
the sway,
the notch,
in your gun belt,
as you
pull the
trigger, quicker
the more liquor,
you imbibe,
become a tribe,
of misbegotten,
choices,
and the voices,
cheering
you on
to spawn,
a new life
form,
usually only found in a dorm at university known liverless unconscionable -
"capacity
to drink
alcohol
unknown"


©DWE102013

the aging stump now hollow,
                    not one to follow,
into the vibrant past
  or gift of the present (which is all we really have, even us trees)
           the future, what future?

sewing fresh bark on the outside
                             to look brand new,
overlook, please, the needle mark or two.

dehydrated fuel chips for some others'
                                              kindred fire
     if there is any green left, don't mind a
                                       little if there's smoke.

Logged many hours going nowhere,
roots of evil, to foul the air, and clench
the dirt deep down, gripping every wrong.

To the very fibre of its' being
with out knots for eyes for seeing,
        blind to all that does surround,
except what can be felt in the ground.

All will fail and finally fall,
hope any seedling falls
far from this tree,
there is no sustenance
to be found, in this clay
soil unyielding ground
once thought to be fertile
        not even agile fibrils,
                           remain.

The other trees show their
                         disdain,
reach up and up to the sun
full canopy of green broad leaves
on long strong branches
and block the rays,
**** the chances
of a life, of any life at all.

The gray stump remains
crumbling, a humbling cycle
to the disintegrating end.
To life. evermore.

©DWE082013