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

Nightmares and

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

Not these prose that may bloom and become rhymes,
unreasonable times squared , how have i faired?,
Thanks for asking, work is taxing, the least,
Of my worries, is finding words,  flock!
"Bird by bird" where are the people that read,
without pillaging, without burning,  and
Purifying, some flash mob dance, rough draft,
This a loose assembly of words,

proof of  life, Though the Store was not minded,
Where are?,
the watchers, from
While, dipping my toe,
in a West Coast ocean, member
of the North of the 49th Parallel
Poets Brigade, Canadian, but not pure

Everything is dry, but not in the House.
Still there are hot spots that need water,
a lot of crystal clear solution.
Not the emotional pollution.

Tarry substance, oozes from a heart
that has a cauldron just below,
it is not what is devoured,
but what comes away digested and imparts.

Black acid like fire burns and ignites,
goes around and excites,
while leaving all in flames,
spot fires building higher,
all that can be done is putting out fire.

Putting out fires.

It is all on fire.

©DWE092013

If I may, if I might, be near you,
                this night and stand guard,
just let me hold your hand,
just let me hold you close,
and
if
not
just let me hold your stars.


©DWE092013

shhhh!
listening to my heart beat,
shutting windows,
closing doors,
shhh!
there it is, hear it,
what if it stops, fear it,
while listening, for it,
shhhh!
there are a few things
you may not hear,
the sound of clouds
blowing near,
the sound the dew does,
when it drops clear,
the sound my body
makes as you appear,
sheer delight,
shhhh,
let's just hold onto this
while our hearts beat,
unique rhythms that,
fill the silence of this room,
our lives, this moment.

Many, many years ago on an island and a place not so far from here,
A group of boys, in mens uniforms did cross the marshes with no fear,
Stepping heavy footed,
Unable to lightly move,
Weapons and packs,
Six foot pickets, wire,
The wove their way,
Bogged down by the mission, the weather, knee deep watery holes,
They exercised for ten clicks to begin the exercise, which took it's toll,
Their camp was set,
Then the weather moved in,
The rain began, the rain began, the rain began, and the rivulets ran,
down the hill, through the camp, no dry wood only dry humour, "to a man
we won't go thirsty",
The next day it rained some more and still more until the marshes over-flowed, found it's
path with least resistance,
everywhere they slept and sat,
every step made a splish-splat,
the rain did pound down to the ground,
yet they soldiered on and on, just like the rain.

Clouds close off the sky as droplets fall from high
Traffic doesn't slow down as my foot falls pound
Wind lifts dried dead leaves, trees wave goodbye
Timing is right as raindrops stop before the ground
Roadway is still wet, spots cover my "four eyes"  
No pain in the knees easy pace arms move up and down
Sadness has caught me, running even at my shoulder
Sweating from the exertion the warmth is turning colder

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I must go she needs me...

R A K
random acts of kindness,
good part of human(s)character
reaching out on display,
random acts in coffee shops,
random acts in a drive through,
random acts at Christmas,
random acts at the gas pump, lol
okay cheerleaders step to the back
                 we are done with you.

What
is it called,
when a thief,
a perp, a vandal,
takes advantage of
a naive traveler, and in a moment,
          unravel, a charitable plan,
           a belonging, longing to
              be with ITS rightful owner,
                maybe a special chair or bike,
                  that was only meant for one person
                    of challenge for change.

Strange?
Anyone find it strange,
that someone would steal and burn another's belongings (Saskatchewan)
slash some young men's vehicle tires and etch an autograph their van (Winnipeg)
"Have a good trip home boys"
I won't list the remainder, other to say I have done my research and there
isn't a province or state or territory, where this is not in the news...

Yes some others step up from time to time and replace all the goods,
but you can't replace the scar on the memory, gestures do help with healing ( I hope )
but you can't replace the a hard drive beyond use, with third degrees burns,
beyond nerve deep.

Yes others show their heart and make it right, Thank you,
I wish, I pray against the spirit of dismay from
these other random acts of spite, random acts of cowardice, random acts of violence,
random acts of greed, one or more Disgusting Excrement of Evil Doers , (DEED)
like stealing a purse from a senior citizen who survived the war,
to die in a fall when pushed hard by a snatcher of purses and lives.

Lip service by local authorities, "be aware of your surroundings", too true
Crimes of opportunity, and anonymously, an idiot gains immunity,
but what to do:
being indignant does not help but keep reading,
maybe just(ice) maybe send them all North, building survival cairns
and airfields across the tundra and there they
might discover the spirit of wonder
of human kind(ness), through random acts;
(like horseflies, mosquitoes, wolves, polar bears, Cariboo in mating season,
swamps that suddenly appear and then they disappear, there are more, but what a bore)
they will have memories of Aura Borealis
                                           with out malice.
they may see the herds and appreciate,
                      wildlife in its natural state.
they may or may not make it home, either way
      they will be able to write a poem.
Or write a better rant about thorns from Devil's Club
and pus.  Or now know the hardship they did cause
                                                           ­      stop to pause, and
do a random act of kindness to make up for another's loss.

From the heart.


©DWE062013

What do you give to
get what you get? Sweat?
Or are those tears, falling with
gravity at the depravity,
that dragged you down to
where it was, waiting,
laying innocently and
you just stumbled upon
it?  Next thing you know
you are not a social
darling, but rejected
like a starling, by the
larger scavengers and
now you need therapy
and social mediation,
Stand up, say your name,
admit your addiction,
isn't anything private
anymore,...
but alas I ramble,
I don't mean to
sound off, some days
I am just off...aways.
Don't text me I don't
own a
cell phone
or the night,
don't copy and
paste, instead roll
a pencil or pen, in
your hands, take
paper and patience,
please!? I know you
can get through this,
I know you can get
down to do this,
Free the verse!
Free the verse!
Free...you
(slumping now
blood sugar
dropping fast,
and how...)
You use your words
to paint images
in black and white,              t o g e t h e r,
letters colour others'
imagination, don't
give up or give in,
do what you were
called to do, anything,
any thing else is a sin,
then the darkness, we all
share IT will cry;
"I win,
I win,
I..."
stop it in those track
marks made, your
porcelain skin and
heart of gold, eyes
of jade, I will never
be closer to you
then when you write,
what you write,
c'mon start, if you
don't we then are          a  p  a  r  t
only to keep hoping,
looking to see,
that light,
keep looking
promise...?
I will too.
until then I am here.








l

Bright black
bright mind
talk like a parrot
has talent to share it
knows how to have fun
in new fallen snow
               and bright sun
roll down the ***** once
and again,
roll down the ***** steady to
standing to roll again
playfully
slowly to
roll until the bottom is
found
smart as a whip,
able to strip the dead to the bones
catch him playing once
fine
but
then
nevermore.

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

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

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

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

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

©DWE092013

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.

how to describe out of control
by using an elephant in a barrel roll,

how to use colour to
explain black and white,

if there is a success story
this is not it, don't worry,

speaks well when he can
be heard, knows how to
use words, to inflict himself
upon others, thank goodness
he only has one brother,

likes fall more than spring
notes fall flat when he sings,

(if this were a real critique
this ain't going too well)

walks with a limp too fast,
hangs on to the past
by a thread,

hears sounds
at night that drive him
from bed, probably all in his
head...sigh...

that is just a snap shot of the
toxic wasteland some go through,

negative self talk will *****
with perception,

make one lose direction,
you want doubt, this way
to the insurrection,

life ends too fast,
it can be gone in an instant
gone in a flash,

be a dreamer no matter how big,
trick is, how to take the little steps,
to reach each one, (feel that... can't
even say the words,* success and joy*,)

by setting out to
do what I intended to
haiku this review

scored a five point five
out of ten, in this life,
if age and numbers matter.

I will not taste of your deepness red,
until the dark thoughts in my head,
don't darken the shadows and
dare to scare my dog, to whimper
while running away, further into the night.

I will not taste of your brew,
beer, rice and hops and you
all that is nice of your dark or
golden riches, until the waves
of the gray matter brain move
in a positive rhythm and groove
so I don't crush the can or
bust the bottle glass to pieces.

I will not taste of your sweetness white,
for I am easily transparent in my plight,
nothing in your fruity delights will
remove the soured palate I have for life,
so stay far away, for I am alone,
until there is peace for what I only
                                     can atone,
if I can figure out where it all went wrong.

She walked along the wet side walk, looking steady enough,
Her dark coat, became red in the early morning and street lights,
Pocketed hands, hood up, hiding all but a tuft of,
her brown black hair, walking toward me, with a vacant stare.

The leash in my hand went slack as the beast, as we call her, stopped,
To nose around in the rain-wet grass,  I looked toward that girl again,
Red coat, hands stuffed still in her pockets, red hood, pointed top,
Was that a stumble or a wobble, as she got closer to us.

She spoke with a slur and struggled slightly with, "Isz this how I get to MainStreet?"
"I am rEally drunk rIGht now! I am trying to GET there isz thisz, how? "
I said "sure keep going up the hill and on the Skytrain to go downtown."
She headed north while it seemed like her choices went south.

As she walked away, I wondered after Red, if she had already met the wolf or was
she on her way to Grandma's house and that encounter hadn't happened yet, because.

It is the little bits that get in the way,
You work all day and then you play,
Few play through their work day,
           oh how do they rate you say?

But today is a sad dreadful Sunday,
Cars and speed, intersection of dismay,
No worse, much worse, 5 X tragedy,
oh how can that happen on sunny Sunday?

My problems now seem so little so small,
So many people and schools friends all,
Will be affected and will have a terrible pall,
oh how crushing because one was rushing?

Hollow, hollow, hollow words, I am ashamed,
In your mercy and Your hallowed name,
be with them, be with everyone that knew them
I pray, as I may not know them or carry the your words.

Of Peace, Of Comfort, Of Reassurance, Of Solace

To honour them...memories, futures and lives cut short,
the other drive has a heavy burden and courts
dire responsibility.

hands break pieces dark uneven
fingers squeeze the bottle red, into a freshly picked glass
plate holds ceremonial a desert dry

be careful what you read into what I write
and I will be careful into what I bite,
this was not an exchange of ideals

dark chocolate, pieces three, late with a plate with
two ginger bread soft snaps, my momma
makes, two together, microwave whether
you trust that machine, till a lift soft and a little warm

no harm to drink the wine with each sweet, spicy soft bite,
hold
for
a moment
in your mouth and taste, the Syrah deep inside the cookie,
as the dark chocolate melts in your mouth, coating teeth,
beneath a moon the clouds want to hide, and all to me
is perfectly clear, just for now. Oh ginger SNAP! softly and quietly
it is late...

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

Families are families, once again,
Happy endings, sure, from tragic circumstance
Courage like this, seldom at no expense,
Three woman and a girl have a fragrance,
of strength,
of  life,
of much more,
Than Words which are sounds,
a little more than hollow,
and maybe peace will be found,
Somewhere, when questions, will
Not hang in the air, after needing to be asked,
While giving many others hope,
Resolve,
                In your vulnerability, in your time,
so much...
has been made better...
by your safe return, that ...
                                leaves me speechless,
in my stunned silence...a flood of tears.

I will let my self sink in to the blue,
I may float for a while and smile too,
I will close my eyes and think of ...
I may drift off as I drift out in the sea to,
the sea dreams, or landlocked in
the lake of the lost, feeling small on
the ocean adventure,
all from by bed with blue sheets and
king size comforter.

My beard is a windsock, I know the breeze is changin'.

This my vessel, the anchor has been weighed,
I set sail tonight again, to ride the waves,
for when morning cracks the horizon,
I find a port and with my sea legs, walk,
the lands, never yet
finding home.

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...

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.

The streets aren't empty,
the asphalt bare and broken,
CRACKED,
last night's late night lost,
wandered pushing shopping carts
Always Uphill,
or drove vehicles in an altered state
to spite the spate of heavy handed
darkness, that has fallen,

dripping with tears and fallen stars.

the carts they push
bear their baggage
where
recent and ancient
traditions, of if
you find it is yours,
if it fits in the cart
it is yours,
if no one else
takes it from
you,
it is yours...

it is all yours
the ticks of the clock that talk,
while running silent while running digital,

the cars that drive are
great big bubbles of
inattention, what comes,
goes, arriving as it leaves,
like bad grammar,
everyone notices, but dare not correct,
for the mage of road rage, casts
a spell of ill-temper,
shot by bullets for this temper,
on a hot August afternoon.

Looking forward to see if September Sundays, will be sombre or sobering...

like a barrel full of beer
roll out the clocks
with a cheer

like a ball on a busy streets
brakes squeal louder
than the scream

like when you are done
ahead the day is won
roll the clocks
one hour

chaos reigned,
then brick
    and debris,
rained over,
E. Harlem,
in NYC,
the fear caused,
the anxiety,
even half a day later,
sad,
worse for some,
of all that fear,
this very event,
that
took lives,
way too soon,
injured some,
                      lives filled with
                      woe
                      and the will needed
                      to repair their bodies, minds and spirit
who'll pay for the health care,
what a
stinking
thought
at a time
like this,
prayers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

sign that says stop
intersect forebode,
to wait until clear,
the air,
the fear,
the sky,
eyes, of those tears,
but what if becomes
cannot stop,
throwing pieces
off like they don't
belong and won't
stick around long
enough to be
reattached to rusted
vestige that used to
be human,
now rust stains
down the face,
empty carcass
after the fracas,
of living like there
was no tomorrow,
came
true.


©DWE102013

chickens do it all the time, quite successful, at a run no less,

remember when I was in charge of the platoon,
     the directing staff, the little guy, the buffoon,
           thought he was tough, acted like a goon,
told me, as I had the stripes, our replacements
                                 were gonna be late and what was I going to do,
I had troops on the line, on duty at their posts, waiting to leave,
for breakfast,
sleep and maybe a wash up with some coffee,
so I ran like those chickens with my steel head under my arm,
to say whoa, hold your place until a face shows up to you, replace,
then take your
chance to flee the scene,
we will meet by the tent
to get clean then go as a group
for some chow, not yet and not now,
pour back the tar called coffee, at least it was hot,
just before our heads rest on the pillows,
on one side or the other, on your back or your front,
                                        get some sack time, ya sprogs.


©DWE112013

single blade single chance both sides can cut,
double edged sword with one handle,
lather round and around,
lather up,
lather down,

in a matter of degrees,
the wrong ones taint white bubbles
and soft peaked foam to red,

one pass down,
one pass across
one pass if you
must, go against
the grain,

remember your reducing beard,
and though it feels weird
to say, your not shaving skin,
but saving it.

Take your time and get
to know your face...
the only brush you will have,
is ....not with death

does every crack,
in the asphalt,
carry blame for your bad back,
the shame,
when you walk to get attention or
in a penchant break a law,
your bruised
leg shows you break, but still you are
not broken,
that spirit pushes on ahead,
is anyone who loves you surprised you
are not in jail instead?

the skin peels and cracks
after you have removed the cast
at last you can wear shoes again,
standing folded in half
as you scrape at your skin,
you may have once
been thin, but you are
older as life has been
so hard,
the clear bag beside you
has empties,
that will be cashed by him and he may give
you your due,
but maybe not.

the purse and the contents are upside down
like you are, scattered are the many things
you treasure,
your body paid the price, so
your hand could pass the cash at the till,
your hair looks clean,
black is a good color
on you and the lipstick is to die for, did
you miss a spot or two?

your guy was seen up the road, he has
made a mountain
of all the valuables, you
call home, and he alone decides what is
to be kept,
the shopping cart and recycling bin
are full,
afterall he pushes and pulls them around,
and what fuels him ain't cheap.

so where do you go from here and
when will you rest, what is sleep,
will it be a mattress, or under the
trees, please take care of you both
please, he is hard hearted, and it is
mostly plugged, see that color of his
face, it is not good, you just think he
is angry all the time, and the time
he has left, he will be that way,
as it is what keeps him alive.

know not what to do,
rack my brain,
answers not found
with common sense,
what is best,
is this a test,
that you are just
like me another
thread in this
fabric we call
living the life,
we are both
labelled threads
"we are
who we are
called to be",
don't like that
answer nor do I,
I'll take
Street Life for $1000
on Jeopardy,
maybe with luck
it will be the Daily Double.

There will be an
answer for us both.

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




©DWE032014

I watched the fog come in today,
pushing cold air out of the bay,
to where I stood barefoot, a traveler,
the sun became veiled, plans unraveled.

Cool May day at fifty two Fahrenheit,
fog shrank and shifted from grey to white,
rolled slowly  gaining size over crests of each,
rock face, all the way to every bridge and beach.

We chose a different path and drive,
Napa and Sonoma Valleys, so alive,
101 was the temp not the route,
stop counting the signs of repute.

I'll go back one day,
for in this life I have
                in no way,
tasted enough.

Speak to me poetry,
speak to me in a voice,
that is not mine,
Let me hear the absurd,
that is like blood cells by design,
I want images of poetry,
to pour onto paper
Something seen, not a vapor,
sacrificial ink of character  
Not an apparition, a testament of reason,
in an unruly season, of drought, disasters that poetry
can survive, alive for decades of human strife,
to balm with solace
as only poetry can be,
do inspire all that
read of poetry,
in the peace,
in the piece,
the heart of poetry,
that was more,
because of words,
typed, falling which
caused words,
to be written,
from a dark place
that poetry
spoke of,
so that no ONE,
has to journey
there alone with
out having
their story told,
their voice heard,
through an act of poetry.

There is laughter in poetry,
There are tears in poetry,
Poetry is part of a community,
   which call each other part - poets.

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

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

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

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.

When the rain falls so lightly that it is a mist,
Try as you might you, get drenched, not missed,
Umbrella fully open, no breeze, yet the rain goes sideways,
Shoulders hunched and glasses hold the spots, before your eyes,
Vehicles pass and the full punch of their wind, takes yours from your lungs,
And you think to your self, "well at least I don't have to shovel wet heavy snow!"

10,000 reasons,
ten thousand years,
A cloud of witnesses,
over head

They are the ones who praise and roar
                                             raise their voices; for you.


Many years before though
one fallen,
lost before the fight was fought
                 thought it right to recruit with doubt.

These are the unseen, not good, and the Unseen not at all bad,
both are armies, only One leader leads;
the other
cajoles, then,
takes his toll, many
a jaw dropping,
eternal soul.

Then you look around you, the landscape,
city, country, mountain, lake open ocean
and outer space, awe and wonder on your face.

Then you look around you, after you text,
talk, and tap your phone, 'buds in your
ears, what you experience replaces your
fears.

Of being alone.

When the dark (one)
closes in,
and pours over you your sin,
and it has been so long you
only want to hide, but you are part of
the Seen world, where is the light switch,
anyway...
the noisy noise,
breaks your poise,
separate

yourself and make time for ...  prayer
"Open my eyes, so I can see"


©DWE062013

Eyes that mirror broken trust,
Nothing to move through your heart of rust,
Speak not with a tone, other that to atone,
Say not, a word to break a spirit or a bone,
Say not. “Sorry” won’t do it alone.

Raise not your fist, foot or voice,
STOP you have a choice, whether it is a
child or a loved one or even a dog in the street,
they all see you and your violence, together complete.

Is that who you are? Is that how you will be known?
Not by the seeds sown,
but by the darkest of your insides shown?

If you were on the receiving end would it break you or would you bend?
If you have been there in the painful black corner of a memory past,
why not make your experience the last??!

Then, Nothing will fill your hand but warmth, compassionate tears will be
the drops of oil to lubricate and prime the pump, your heart!
Blood will flow through you once again, that icy season, your winter, will be over.

Then, changed you will be ready to give and in time receive…