Waking up when others, brothers and sisters,
finish the day, they go to bar, then the bus
mingle in the crowded fuss or get in their cars,
                            to go home slowly if it is far.

Alarm goes off, the
house to yourself,
sit in your ******, watching the news,
what you missed while you slept,
eat and dress, not in that order, as you
update your status, make your bed and the
bumpy mattress, pack your late night meal
ready, set as you go to your job on the border.

The patient drive, and you are not in that rush.

The hours nobody wants resemble people,
that nobody want to get near,
move through dark of shadowed hopes,

motives are suspect, call them creeple,
yes,
both the hours that move so slow,
and the bodies that hide, but can't diguise their intent.

You dictate the night, look left and right,
as people in a slowing stream return home,
their treasures packed away, receipts in hand,
passport ready for your command, to hand
it over.

There are those that "went for the drive, or to get a tank of gas"

Every one that passes though your gate,
despite the hour being late, smiles broadly,
as if to say,
nothing here to declare
go about your shift, oddly, questions
you do and ask these, late nighters to drive in
open the trunk, show you the receipts and
if they are in luck, they told the truth,
but
when they got to pay, they got to stay,
unhappiness empties their wallet,
then those three guys with mullets,
dare you to show them your gun; their laughter is like rusted metal lids, turning on a glass jar,
you being Canadian, don't have a gun.

You can still wish.

The night ends uneventful, your eyes
see the sun and know your day is done,
you will be home maybe to bed,
maybe stay awake, a chance you'll
given, you have four days off.

Night shift will ruin you later in life,
when those in the home will be able to
rest, you will be awake, no matter
what meds they make you take from the platter.

When the dark shadows close in, you have a job to do,
but where?, while
you won't
remember how or who.

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

I will close the shutters on this night,
Close my eyes, rest my sight,
holding all that is precious close, in my grasp,
no that is not right,
holding all that is precious, close to my heart,
no that can be done,
holding all that is precious,
lightly, loosely, but being near by all this
night, ready, waiting for any wrong,
fighting in my own sheets, a fight in the dark room,
hoping that all will be right by mornings light,
and quickly forgotten and
the day will be bathed in hope.

How naive of me to forget that one out
there does not care and would rather
make me drink bottled despair,
right from the source.
When he does not own the rights.
           he does not own the rights.
           he does not own the nights.
           he does not.


©DWE082013

While you sleep, I am awake, I sit at the foot of your bed and I stand guard,
Believe me
                      it is difficult to ward off the imps that chase you far and hard,
To me it appears you are asleep, yet you toss, you turn, whimper and startle,
I hear your groans and I drop my head, I may look defeated, but I am just in prayer,
I can't stop those mares who stamp at night,
                                                          ­                           bridled rein in the hand of a dark heart,
They rest in the daylight when you are not able to stop or go slow, but hark,
they come calling as the sun is low and you are a feather falling lightly, oh that stark,
reality is they are waiting for you land like a rock,
you always do hope for a soft one on a blanket in a park,
but I know concrete slab and cold steel greet you and
                                                             ­                                         the shadows take aim and mark,
your journey this night, the scars don't show by mornings light, yet the drains tap,
into your energy, and I can only watch, no weapon in my hand, no tear from my eye,
will ease the battle, so I pray and I pray to remind me to pray,
                                                           ­                                                          as you alone enter the fray,
defenceless, against the assault, we know there is no fault,
                                                                ­                                                    or if you were to give in and stay
until the dreams ran out,
of their hold, that heartless vice that turns and won't
let go of your beautiful fertile imaginative mind, vulnerable
                                                      ­                                                            and alone.  I am beside you and
yet I wait, to comfort, with only a word that I am near,
you are not alone, "I am here", night watching.

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

in the heat, not Arizona hot,
I sit or stand and I cling to myself,
not by timidity but humidity,
sky blue and polarized hue,
the asphalt, black absorbing my cool,
until I climb into the shower,
and have the steam take the
impurities away.

in the heat, not Death Valley hot,
I move in the heat still feeling the air
spill the oxygen on to the sidewalk cooker,
grass green, wilting under the molten ball
green radiator liquid bursts from cars,
reflected light blinds first and burns skin
water droplets steam, take all the impurities,
away, lifting me up

and away

©DWE062013

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.

No one leaves, by choice, without heart,
It is difficult, so, it is easier if you don't start,

Trial by fire is better than trial and error,
Prepare your spine for another day of terror,

Life is religiously, each day, taken like a pill,
Swallow with water or you might get ill,

This not about me but about you, I lie,
For with out you in my life, I might die.

Leaving no one.

discarded belongings, don't long to be under the trees
                                                 among the dead leaves,
a suitcase, a blow up mattress wrapped in plastic
                 does sleep happen here, how domestic?
There is no place,
watch where you walk, needles and not from the cedar trees,
anything you like under the trees?,
by the babbling creek who has heard, more stories that
float among the shallow pools, until the rain tests the truth and
the lies bob and float away,
under the trees tales have been told,
that get caught in the low hanging
branches, and
the smoky clouds that are lifted with the voices,
get in amongst the cedar tree arms,
and just hang there, ghosts of the past,
dead end relationships,
drug deal, something to steal,
was that a scream?
or did the caretaker of the underbrush
have a bad dream? There is no place like
this, but it happens so often this way.

"Pumphouse, bus stop, hospital and a high school,
Tim Horton's so close that you could...walk right
there, crossing traffic being bullys on the boulevard,
Dairy Queen, rehab centres and a place that takes
...well crazies off the street, and a place that sells
flowers and plants, look at all the amenities that are
close at hand."

"Hey, roll up the rim is here, you can win twice,
can you spare enough change for a coffee mate?, here,
I 'll even show you to the head of the line, I would hold
the door open for ya' but the place is under renovation,
you know, coffee to go from the mobile restaurant"

No Snow Arriving                for Christmas
New Snow Aging                   now raining
Now Slowly Abandon             draining away
Next Season Awaits.





©DWE122013

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

Bent under the load,

I am, breaking will not do,

or do as there is…

Wanting not to be,
worried, fearful,
crowded out
wallflower,
trapped.

It has no color, yet it embraces them all, so it is black.
It has no size, yet it does the monstrous, in an attack.
It is not passive, yet massive aggressive, watch your back.
It has no peace, yet it wants the peace on your mind,

Yet there is nothing else to do
Or say
Done, moving on killed that topic
All agreed?

What is power of being the last of anything,
That there is no other and we need reminding,
how precious and rare like fresh air,
or a loved one's last breath.

What hold on our being does it have, when there is only one,
That you cannot hold in your hand, or take your eye away,
What would you do, if your child was that one, like our singular sun,
Precarious grasp on life, bumble bees, dragonflies, please stay.

It does not end here.
Last of all I fear.
I will write and write
until I get it right,
in last words that
all can hear the poetry,
that all you can write,
type, say or do.

Peace.

doesn't add up,
curves and lines,
      by design,
systems with
formulae,
by the way,
you count for more than all numbers
you can add or multiply,
together, if you subtract you from me,
then divide, I am nothing without you,
if my number was up,
and you could go on,...without me
your number would be,
anything but zero,
nothing would make me happier,
if you alone became great, in the
absence of my "feel like a number",
stereotype
but you can still count on me,
to be the lowest common denominator, as
you number me among your peers,
and
hold my
hand to
keep me
warm.
Don't count
me out,
of the equation...

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

Young One tries to hide her frowning face
I see the scars, the open sores,
Her hair hangs such away in place,
The world sees what she ignores.

Reality.

It has been a while since she had a fix,
Hood up, Eyes darting right and left,
Just looking like she'd been  in a conflict,
Width birth achieved, looking possessed.

Anti-society.

The other Older bends around to light her smoke,
head shielding the wind,  straggled hair showing,
She steps off the curb into traffic,  without a hope,
But the cars don't stop, loud honking and horn blowing.

Climactic.

Leaping back to the curb and looking up at the light,
in disbelief, swears a blue streak that it was her turn,
Defiant waves her smoke in her fist, it was "her right"
Paths about to cross, Past and Future, would they discern?  

The two come face to face, not recognizing, looking stern.

Anti-climactic.

take the darkest moments
look to the heavens
the rarest jewels, stars.

take the wettest of days
look to the heavens
the rarest jewels, tears of the sky

take the brightest of clear days
look to the heavens
the rarest of jewels, the sun

take the lowest of moments
look to the heavens,
the rarest of loves, you

All looking down on
this wreck of human flesh,
decay is okay as long as it won't stay
or stink, or turn black, the pink,
part that still has a pulse from the heart.

Roll back the cuff, cut it off if you must,
please tell me, you feel a pulse, touch me.

come walk below the blue, and white clouded sky,
let the web of our fingers touching answer, why....

lets make new soulful meaning to that old word called love,
lets open the cage of hearts and let loose, let fly the dove.

Of peace.
Of Muses.

lets take naiveté, be it our undoing, and roll with it in the dirt,
come take ours shirts off and heal the scars that once hurt,

lets find a healing sun, laugh have fun, leave the world in its' place,
pull the heads of the tall grass, bring our lips to touch the other's face.

In the distance.
Our only resistance.

For we will never touch, except with words.
how empty and hurtful, if they are not kind and land like birds.
Lightly.

there will be no sounds,
the road is lonely tonight,
travelers will stay off the
asphalt ways, the blackest
                           of nights
                                       will not be pierced
                     by headlights
animal eyes will not be bright
spots appearing to float lightly
to escape, in the darkness,
no engine noises will echo in the trees,
and cause mothers to gather their young
and tell them in animal voices why
no one is allowed to go out after dark
        even for a family walk to the park,
        across the treeless way
            where they can play
       with garbage cans' contents,
       but rather stay in and be content,
       with the gathering of fur with breathing
      in the still air, restful sounds and a
       peace to be shared with care and oh,
      but there will be darkness that hearkens
      sleep with dreams of play, teeth flashing,
      rough fur rising along the spine,
                  just don't cross that line,
                                               and leave the nest alone tonight,
                                   for even the darkness has teeth that bite.


©DWE112013

Walking in the bookstores, searching, questing, testing,
which book is the one, not for fun, or congesting,
IT will fill the hole in my dissatisfaction, it will give
meaning to an otherwise empty space filled by my warm

                                                                                      body.

I have been at this for years, sometimes I walk out with
less than I went in, other times I walk out with what I
bought and it is all for
naught and leaves me cold   to   the   touch,
                                     doesn't matter much,
in my dysthymic passive aggressive crunch.

I have Jesus, and I hope it does not take me
until eternity to have my ah-ha moment,
good or bad, don't point me at an omen.

Life is as fluid is the water cycle, and as
hard to find as the water table,
in the desert.

So how do I leave you;
I don't know the answer
to the impossible question,
a cramp in my digestion,
a cactus thorn in my side, doubt
not only clouds my mind and
evaporates my sound judge-
ment; but would I recognize,
or would it be discovered a surprise,
if I found what I was really
looking for.


  ©DWE072013

discarded nail clippings
             or fat drippings        
all over the individual waves
all can read, a palm concave
                 up to the minute arrival
is life more than a fight or survival
of the next break
or chances to take

walking goes better with one foot in front of the other,
left, right, left, right or right, left, right, left it is about
the cadence after all.

breathing goes better by blowing out to make room,
bad air out, fresh air in, bad air out, fresh air in, bad air out
it is about sequence and consequence, do you believe?

living takes your breath away at times,
walking is not always possible when you are on your knees,
gripped by disease, missing limbs but still embrace life,
frozen in a catatonic state not wanting to move for fear
for fear, for fear grips mens prostate, and
takes women's rooted relationships away
glean what life means from the women, men
when you have a job and no place to live,
when you have friends and they have a couch to give,
for a week or two, and the lessons you have learned
from the life you have lived, that has broken you
busted you in two, your ideals don't match up with success,
what a truism of altruism, give it all away and you will get,
patience now it has not happened yet...and you wonder if it
ever will.

Stay away from bureaucracy, become an entrepeneur,
gain a skill that will always put food on the table,
run with your ideas when you are able, and remember
there is no finish line, you just run the race.

Young countries grow, old
Time spills out and unfolds,
Liberty, Freedom, A Place that
                               has it's own dream,
Songs sang, bring tears,
Anthems, passed fears,
                                          subside,
Take pride America,
For every American,
Who has a home, who has a neighbour,
who has a defender, offering peace,
whose young children hold old hands,
whose women and men, continue again, and again and again,
to make it, starts with that dream,
watered with tears, and fed with more than food stamps,
even with so many accents they
all say in one breath,
"thank you for the opportunity"
to serve, to be free, to have the will
from the Baja to Presque Isle,
from Bellingham to Florida, Puerto Rico,
when hopes follow the sun's rise bright,
"Oh say can you see by dawn's early light"

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

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

Oh to dream,

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

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

When I close my eyes,
                                      what do I see,
from the darkness comes your face, and
trees reaching out reaching up, then
the last words I read in some Book somewhere,
the weight
of
them takes me to my knees,
where I find you waiting,
in the coolness, and all this time I have
acted and thought I was alone.

Does my life have to empty out and lay on the
ground for me to realize how precious, i t  i s
how fast it goes by, how little time we are given...
eyes heavy am I falling down to the ground
then to dreaming.

A young child on a swing,
sees a bird with a broken wing,
runs to get a shoe box, some grassy bedding,
calling for his mother, while crying,

please be okay, please okay, please

he cups his hands carefully carrying
the bird, pecking, into the box now nesting,
quietly he walks while his hands are bleeding,
calling for his mother while crying,

it will be okay, it will be okay

Up the stairs,
puts the box
down with care,
opening the door,
entering with his
treasure, quietly
sleeping,
but he can't find his mother
anywhere,
suddenly the box gets heavier,
as a
cat jumps
on, the box
in his hands
strikes him strange
as they don't own
a cat...
imagine that.

mom make it okay,
mom make the cat go away,
mom why didn't you stay...
mom?


©DWE072013

blade of grass, grouped like soldiers
makes a lawn, to battle weeds,
to battle floods,  even makes a
walkway for slugs, ughh!

blade of grass infested by weeds,
that is what happens with foreign seed,
with a vicious wit, and an appetite,
will tower over the thin blade, day and night,
leaving the grass, starving for attention.

blade of grass grown taller,
hold to your lips, the reed
squeeler, whistle caller mirroring
the night sky for every blade of grass,
is there a star?

blade of grass with roots that hold,
grab the dirt, and won't let go,
sure some grass blades do fall,
yes some don't grow at all,

but if even one can hang on,
dance in the breeze, until it warms
grow so tall as to reach for the sun,
what is your problem, eh?

Why do I do NanoWriMo?
I write.
I have guarded my thoughts, my words,
for so many years it is absurd.
I have sounds to string together a n d   t h e y  b e c o m e
something, some thing
I am no superstar,
I am not rich,
except LIKE all of YOU,
in experience,
I am not well connected,
except by disconnect,
relations like ships rise and fall
I accept responsibility for them all,
mishaps perhaps
but they, are all mine,
and I forgot more than I can remember,
for decades, I stagnated or worse dismember
time as a value,  (cut off the hands of time) and
live with in your ethics,
or they smell your stench of duplicity.
I have an imagination,
is it a work of machinations, per Descartes,
or my trapped
living soul on a day pass choosing to Escape?
Meet me
by the West wall of wire at dusk,
you lift the barbs and wire for me,
then I return the favour and set you free,
from the other side of 50,000 words.

Hope leads away from
discarded,
despair,
paired
heavy overboots
with steel toes or
clay mud covered,
sandals,
from walking solo for years
                hiding the tears,
that stream and
became rivers, washing
but not cleansing the soul,
everyday a piece to add,
a toll to pay
dragging
baggage
through
the sludge
do not judge,
for penance,
is or was chaining sins together,
hoping to get a fair price
by weathering that path,
on the uncovered
clay, that stains all, in the rain, in the pain,
in that tan tone, paints skin and clothing,
jaundice,
up hills and down,
"look a clown"
as people stop to stare,
stoop to throw, their
own mud at the struggling
bent back through the air,
                                       this is the nightmare lived.

there is a dream,
maybe this is just a fantasy, out there,
where the walk, takes us, floats us
up to the clouds and people are
treated fair and souls are free,

to live,
living,
before eternity,
depth of humanity,
the measure of the soul?

air colder than it is heavy
heaviness attached to memories
of shinny games played
with friends playing like
stars players of the day.

The names changed but the
friends didn't, the rivalries,
were more than East to West,
but who was seen as the best
on ice or roadway on that day
in our surreal play.

Ball, sticks and net,
the best game yet,
on suburb roads, icy or clear,
competition was intense, no fear,
like losing once,
to win again another time, the next night.

It wasn't about victory or loss,
it took skill and staring across,
at your opponent, to make him
look away and maybe give in,
before the game began.

street lights and stars lit our arena
found on Silivia or Olivia
framed in two curbs of concrete
the game was never called on account
of rain or snow or ice, we only
paused for
when some one called,
"Car!",
a goal or to chase the ball shot out of
bounds,                                                       ­ (you shot or touched it
                                                              ­          last it was only fair,
                                                           ­             you chased it down...
                                                         ­              all the way down the street)


Of course we lost our stars
when the parents called them
in for dinner... but even then
we stayed late knowing in the
cold our plate of food would be
warm,

as these memories,
wet jeans and socks, flushed
face, fingers and toes were
sometimes colder than
the frosty distance,
the empty streets,
the orange ball frozen so
it did not bounce,
but always either
made a mark, or
made its mark,

with the echo over
our heads in the
frosty air "Ggoooaaaalllll"
or not so subtle, "he scores!"
and the run back to your
team of friends and celebrate
the celebration seen on TV
on Saturday nights.

addendum:the cracks in the street where the tar repair didn't take,
holds my memories where I can see and touch and reach into them
once again.


©DWE092013

To make, a

p r a i r i e,

it takes

a clover

and

one

bee, one

clover and,

a bee

and revery,

the revery -- alone

will do if bees,

are few…

Emily Dickinson

oh fall is here all the real flowers begin to disappear,
I know what I will do, if it is okay with you,
I will find some fake greenery
borrow a live
stem or two, or three or four
or what the heck a whole bunch more
all real one's from my neighbours garden patch,
and then I will mix and match and call
it mine, put it on display, no one will know
what could they say,
and I will sing under my breath,
"it is a free world after all,
and my imagination is so small"
but I sure know how to borrow!


©DWE102013

if one day,

I am away,

worry not.

if in two or

three days,

there are

no words,

no write,

I am all right.

if a week

becomes

two and s t r e t c h e s

the ache…

to a month

or two in

you.

I have gone

across

the Rainbow Bridge,

to the Other side,

with no regrets…

save not knowing

you, as one of this

Warriors conquests.

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.

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.

I would sit in a cave if, I could sit,
I would stand into the wind if, I could stand,
I would lie beside you if, I had you.

My logic is so, so pitiful,
I place expectation upon expectation upon demand,
My illogical answer is, I don't even know you.

If I could dance it would be for joy
If I could fly it would be into the sky so very high,
Then so low along the nap of the Earth.

See?
This how I try to impress thee,
For I am not joyful, therefore I cannot dance,
I am unable to fly so I don't stand a chance.

But these words, an intimate dialog, 'tween ye
And me, I take the time and chronologically
Realize already I am the one unhealthy...

Wait, don't go, let me start again, and when,
wait, why are you crying, I am unhealthy not dying,
I am unhealthy for us...

I will take you this one time to places where,
where are you going, how will we be together,
if you leave, I think your telling me I failed the test

That okay
that is alright,
I will wait till your
outasight
then move
onto my next
conquest.

It is what good friends do,
Their actions say "I love You",
While with their words
Come with comfort too.

Good friends can be human or
animal, old and young from
curb-side philosopher to a "Carl Jung",
they feel pain too when you are stung.

There is nothing better when some stranger,
saves you from danger or some youngster
has blessed you with a gift of a sweet song, or
a dog or cat takes a moment to rescue you.

They are a good friend, to you and to those who
love you, so model what they do, for all the
community around you, need a good friend too.

Remember life bites all of us in our turn, it is
not the teeth marks or tissues scarred, we see
while together, but how well you live life until, even
your wrinkles
have smiles.

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

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

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

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

Twogether.

Don't make eye contact as she motors on her way
with her hands on her stroller through another bad day.
Her hair is clean and flies in the boulevard breeze of
vehicles that speed by with hardly a care, an indifferent disease.

She tastes the cigarette smoked, she doesn't want another
as she looks down at her children, sister and brother.
If they only knew they were all on their own,
he finally left after the love she had shown.

Her jaw was set against the cold, she was 32 and just felt old,
She leaned into the trek she had along way to go,
Two kids in front and a back pack as cargo and away she went,
Walking is all she had and no where to go, he didn't pay the rent.

He was a bright kid,                                                             ­                                                               
H­e was as brilliant, as the son
Any father would be proud of,
His dad was!
And still is,
How could he not be?,
High School, Masters, PHD,
He had the grades, and
If he was like his dad his
Heart was in the right place,
But the lake did not care,
His mom,
His sister,
His dad,
They have all cried tears
That burn and soak stains
That never seems to come out,
And never stop,
Sepia memories,
Unforgettable,boy to man,
Un-refillable,
Undeniable, emptiness,
Now heart wrenching sad.
Sad.

©DWE072013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

much water has flowed down the Columbia since that day,

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

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

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

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

waiting for someone to say...Hello.

Don't have money
or I would send it,
but there would
never
be enough,
Driving takes days
that aren't mine,
but I
will run if it takes years,

May                                      tears.
       smiles                    your
                 wash away

The fight you face is real,
ugly and mean,
Coming out on top is not
easy or clean,
Or even a guarantee,
hope to be the friend,
however this ends,
to always let you know,
you are loved.
                        I will let my love show,
                        being by your side in the thick of this fight.

the caw, was  heard,
it was a crow, the bird,
black in daylight,
shredding with the
pointed beak and skill,
probably road ****,
or a left over side of fries,
in a paper brown bag
with arches, golden,
the risk of being in
the roadway was worth,
the treasure and the squabble
with his or her crow friends
and one attention deficit gull,
                             he was dull,
and slower than the others,
he was white among his black
feathered brothers, sisters
they are smart
these crows as
they knows them
cars that pass just, so
close keep the curb in
reach and don't go
beyond the line,
while the gull of the sea,
would walk on the out
side of the circle nearer
to traffic and cars swiftly,
rush by, the crows kept
moving pushing the gull
toward the road way,
he had stepped over the line
assumed they were friends,
they all knew he would get
it in the end, the front end
of a rusty tow truck.

Road **** to share, poor gull
don't stare, just be quick,
and beak it while it is still fresh.


©DWE102013