a body speaks a foreign language,
never taught, seldom misread,
till you grow up, up and away,
go to places of higher learning,
Hope to increase the dollars earning,
they reteach you to read, a person,
Like a book, ****** expression,
a sign of misdirection?,
hat and sunglasses, ******* jewellery,
orchestrated instrumental,
body parts, don't like the stuff,
dreams are made of, then bluff,
You can't choose the cards dealt,
all to get a big name and wealth,
with somebody else's dime,
credentials?,
oversized ego in stretch fabrics,
tailored to fit in while, I
Attended the U of P,
first in my class,
to go I all in,
on a hope and a prayer,
that have nothing to do
with the chips that slip,
not roll, through not across,
these worn out knuckles,
audience chuckles as they
would love to sit where I am at,
one bluff away from heaven, and
one raise away from hell.

Starts with a plan,
You need a street,
volunteers with care,
You need chalk and artists
volunteers who, give time to share,
too make it complete!

Every artist bends,
and begins to work,
some kneel some stand,
there is a demand,
on every body,
fingers coated in chalk dust,
as the asphalt grinds away,
minutes become hours.
measured by smaller and smaller,
morceaux de craie
a chill is in the air, yet
warmth is around each artist,
as they work the asphalt.

Centennial Square artists of chalk
beautiful works to be seen, and the kids,
could work with chalk; was the talk.

Government Street, quite a beat,
to walk and see artists' heart,
and love for what they can do,
put on display for you and you too,
as you enter
to the center
of the Bay Centre!

You, on your way to or from work, walking by,
you who want to see something different downtown,
you who have friends in Victoria from anywhere,
you who may want to do this next time, next year,
let the chalk do the talking!

©DWE092013

She was walking with her summer tank top
     sailor blue stripes, dark  brown hair swaying
       same as her hips.

White purse on her shoulder, sound flowing
   to her ears, shaded warm sidewalk, solid
        beneath her feet.

She moved to the beat.

That is when he saw her, he knew what
  he wanted to do, no, had to do,
quickly left his guy friends' side.

Running quickening his stride,
crew cropped head bent low and picked
   out
a
   single  flower
     from the thorny ground cover.

Wild eh?

He wasn't done.
He spun.
Three long strides.
He was there.
Tattooed arm reaching,
out with care,
Gave her the flower
bloom and her heart
went boom. (pitterpatter)

Words stopped in her throat.
His mouth moved,
she is still not sure,
what he said,
before he ran again
to be with his guy friend.

Of course she turned and looked,
she was young and he was older,
his kindness made her bolder,
than she was ever, ever before,
she kept walking and looked once
more.

With a toss of that dark brown hair,
she made a place for the flower there.

The trees must have got in the way
                         as I am unable to say
if their eyes met only once or more,
    lesson learned
people make up this heartless city
   I adore.

Just another view
from the second floor.


©DWE082013

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

As we gather around the table,

Give the Blessing as we are able,

And Thanks for what we have received.

Wait.

Wait a little longer.

This cannot be taken so lightly,

the sunrise Sunday morning brightly

shone more than any day before.

Waiting.

Have I waited long enough?

A round stone was rolled, away.

What they found missing,

Changed,

everything that day and everyday

After,

Waiting.

Around the time that He returns

all of us will wait no more,

He will show us what creation

was really for.

*It will be worth the wait.

the three quarter crush crunches
                              under foot,
till you leave the man made route
                       step from sun to shade,
of the forest, inside a park, inside a city
                        to see inside of me,
what do the shadows stir, was that a
                        movement that blur?
or is my deepest insides pooling fear
                 when I walk alone out here,
it is then the beauty escapes me, some
                traffic noise nearby masks
the peace that could be mine, walking
                further to find rotten logs,
in my thoughts, so if I just sit a while,
                  let the green needles, inject
me with a sense of humility and blindness
                  evergreen, ever clean, silence,
now pristine, I have walked deeply to
                 the place there is no sound,
except that which is so close to surround
                 me in its entirety, and I feel
that the onion layers of tears will peel,
                   leave me stronger to go back
into the world uncluttered, save for the pack
                   of sensations I take with me
no fear, no darkness, no sadness just be free,
                   with bird whistles echoing instead
of the thoughts that can only hold the despair in me,
                  I like my forest walk and would rather
listen to the birds and nature talk to one another.
                 Than the self-doubt poisoning my stream.


©DWE102013

metal plastic, matters not,
moving rolling, engine hot,
pushing ahead,
mass of air,
goes by me,
changes my hair,
in a new direction,
takes my hat,
without discretion,
seeing eye blurs,
rush even at, an early hour,
foot plus gas pedal equals power,
and for some, that is all they will
ever have,
but walk I will by the boulevard,
dog on leash scenting hard,
for a place to go out of the blast,
that never ends as they all go fast,
while I must look slow, walking beside the boulevard.

there is good in all,
woman and man to a fault,
(the only bad came the result of a fall from grace)
being a woman does
not disqualify you from
a man's work,
men take note,
say with me by rote,
'I must stop being a ****."
(chauvinisima)

take my love to the next level
measure it against the bevel of the Platonic
lust is a bust, then there is love, gimme agape
every time after a time,
and after a while you might under-
stand beauty...real beauty...really understand,
take as much time as you need,
you need this time...to understand the sublime.

A man died, I don't know him,                                                             ­            he was married to a co-worker
                         I may have met                                                              ­           her or I may have
                   walked by her desk                                                             ­            and saw her name plate.

He was riding his bike, the day                                                              ­           before today. Yesterday. Can we go back to yesterday, in 2001,                                                            ­                  I know, I know...

That was a day when people                                                           ­                   were talking or packing or getting ready for the next day.                                                             ­                 There weather checks, I bet.

My feeling, my reaction to that day,                                                             ­    the next day that was
                   that will never go away,                                                            ­       never ever go away
                                                            ­                                                                
I stopped what I was doing at 6:29                                                             ­  and 7:28 at home this morning.  Without warning                                                          ­                warning, I sat at my desk for 1                                                                ­                                                        minute each today, at 9:59  and 10:28.                                                           ­                                                     To this day, I look at every
HEADLINE and none was as gut                                                              ­        wrenching, shattering my personification of the soul, as that one.                                                            ­  There have been others but
for me that was the first,                                                           ­                                            Was it the last?
Terror build fast.                                                            ­                                                         Changes things.
Fear full                                                             ­                                                                 ­                 Tear full
Names                                                       ­                                                                 ­                           Etched
Tears                                                     ­                                                                 ­                                Pouring
Crying
was I, was all,  IT was an evil, IT was so terrible, was ..., was..., was..., was holding on to me, can I let it                  
                                          ­                                        go?

©DWE09112013

The curled up grey bristle could be called a beard,
His loud vociferous dialogue with a light pole. Weird.
His clothes had holes and ***** coat was smeared.

I think he twitched more than he talked,
I could not help myself as I gawked,
then just as suddenly, away he walked.

I walked around to the road side windows,
there he stamped his feet, doing the flamenco?
Never mind you weren't there, this is innuendo!

Once again he weaved his way away. There he was gone.

You can sit and watch grass grow,
Drop seeds and reap what you sow,
Get dirt on your hands, you know?

Wait and see what mystery winged things
                                                             bring,
Observe their dance, how they see to clean
                                                           ­  wings,
Absorb the flight and the strut and the peck and
                                                      the song it sings.

You can walk the dog a good long ways,
Run with ear buds for the endurance phase,
Remember either way get out and go play.

Listen carefully, take care of you, only you know how,
No one else really can, not even your lover or friend, wow,
Free yourself, find peace, seek as much blue and green, Allow:

A Time for Love;
To Express Joy;
A Life in Peace;
Doctoring your Patience;
Delivery of all with Kindness;
Self-discover Goodness;
Unearth Faithfulness,
In the realm of Gentleness;
Wear a Patch for Self-Control;

but -

Start with time to watch birds

this will be brief, hope it is clear,
sorry, was not there to greet you at the door,
see you found the food and the wine,
have we met or do you know a friend of mine?

join the party, laugh hearty,
and don't let the average age here
give you pause, we are all younger
than our ages, or maybe  phases of maturity?

like your smile, who did your teeth,
how goes that hot yoga and where do you go?
are you serious or is it just for show, speaking of which,
don't mind my detailed superficiality,
working toward my own TV Reality, does it show?

you can charge your phone over there,
drop your donation in the jar, as you go out the door,
after all this is a free for all, but it is not all for free.

Diamonds on the wall of my blue room,
Dark chocolate by my bed, unable to enjoy,
Colourless whine poured out, it is just a ploy,
Sunshine through the blind of my tomb.

Oh pity where is thou sting, that barbed song you sing,
Oh death where is thy mercy that you grant,
Life won't be able to nag at me and rant,
What the  "Na Na Na na Na na, hey hey goodbye", brings.

My ears hear sour notes, my tongue taste flat ones,
How did I get here so fast, when I started last,
Finished first, did I cheat the torture of my past,
Racing my engine, beating itself, while I dream reruns.

Well,
well,
unwell,
once again, drifting off leave me be, let me nap till after three,
grant my heart a rest for Monday comes and another test.

DWE 2013-04-21

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

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

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



©DWE012014

I will not talk about my losses,
where I neither gave up nor tossed
in the towel,
and still did
not come out
a winner, the winner.

Maybe I am not built to compete, I have no grit
no edge to my way,
maybe life is fun,
and we are to just play?

Maybe when you feel sorry for your self, you lose,
your edges now, are broken bits,
that makes deep cuts into your pysche,
a vivisection of the visceral.

Maybe thoughts like this are best bottled up and
tossed in an ocean made up of the tears
that rain down and pour like a wash
filled with
every dream, every goal, every first step of last resort,
I ever had that never left
the space. the gray space above my ears, which heard
my cry and my eyes which see but have no handles to turn off
the faucets that they have become, leaking saline,
while I pretend to understand Einstein.

I write and that makes me a writer and a winner,
what pray tell, are you a winner at...?

I am listening.


©DWE112013

Circles and ovals made in space,
As sweat rolls of a brow and face,
legs piston forced, make the pedals,
go round and round,
                                  steady cadence to the musical
chamber, it is so full of sound, notes fill it full
while the legs go up and down and pedals go round and round,
the rest
of the gym
is full of sound
but nothing is
heard in my head                                       except the sound of "quitting would be nice"
as my ear buds are
pumping sound
to keep the legs
going up and down as
the pedals go round
and round and the
arms can handle the
need to pull to keep
the rhythm, and not
break pace, now the sweat pours down my face,
streams roll, hydrate more
as so do the hills, so climb                                           " off the bike before the grade increases and"
the gear increases,
a need to pound out
to the sound, at this pace
a twenty total minutes,
then my feet will
walk on ground, feeling strange
toweling off and cleaning
the stationary machine,                                              "it is not a machine it is a monster"
the workout is complete again.

Next stop the shower, to drown the voices of doubt and admonition, this is my life and I am on a mission.


©DWE012014

My name is bill, no capitalization, required,
the Writer will be ill, soon, once he gets me,
or my friends in the mail, my cousin e bill.

Won’t be far behind, a marvel of technology!

I am famed and legendary, but be wary,
we attack in groups and bunches and
don’t rely on hunches that you settled with us.

We don’t make a fuss or a muss, we will cut
off your cable, and internet, see?
Hydro and Natural Gas you can ill afford
to miss, we do pay dates, instead of play dates.

So if you don’t pay up we are through
with you, hope you can find your self in
the dark, call us and we will talk until your
cell phone loses power or they drop your
call from their towering collection.

So with affection,
from us named bill,
make a plan and a will,
to pay us on time, after
all it is your dime, until it
is ours, all ours.

You can take that to the bank,
but we will do it for you too!
Save you the trip...

signed the

bills

P.S.(we were going to list a few,
but we don’t name names, we
just collect Presidents and Prime Ministers,
they may be dead or royalty, but they are
acceptable to faceless nameless ones,called
bill(s), Thanks!)



©DWE042013

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.

Trapped in a rectangle of glass,
Get out while you can, but you say,
All of this would have to be left behind.

Caught up in a butterscotch coloured liquid in a half-empty glass,
Escape while you can, but you say nothing, as a drowning person moves
their lips and only bubbles, of air escape, not words are left behind.

Encased in flesh, shaped with bone and muscle reflected in the mirrored glass, there
is no leaving until all your sand has run out of the timer, but you say, your days
are numbered, when the last grain has dropped, you don't want to be left behind.

Transparent as glass,
He has seen it all,
But you say,
A Life misspent,
Oh but it is now left behind,
A Stand-In died, freely,
Now your Heaven bound.
.

Concrete curbs,
the blunt reality,
almost metal car parts,
softer than some hearts,
inside bodies that beat,
to stereo rhythms till
torn apart, when worlds
collide, outside and
inside,
ridding the peace that
passes all understanding,
that passes the test,
                   a quest, endure
to be at peace when
emotional chaos rules,
afternoon naps end in drool,
give me the lush underbrush,
of a wild forest,
no wait that is too easy,
I will struggle,
I will fight to find,
green spaces parked so,
my peace in the green stretch that
only can be found, endear,
in the place it was first born,
the heart of my imagination.
Ends here.

Be listening to the Adagio in G,
When you go for a walk, any walk, or walk all alone, lonely
Be listening to the Adagio in G minor,
When you look South, where your life has gone, without you,
The clouds are moving bringing rain and storms, to spite you,
Be listening to the Adagio in G minor for strings and *****,
When careless words leave scars, like someone keying your car,
When thoughtless people talk like you are not there or anywhere
How soon, you wonder when things will change, if, for the better?
Be listening to the Adagio in G minor for strings and ***** composed by
Remo Giazotto.
And, snap out of it!

Great pitch,
sales pitch,
your prep,
was great,
you knew
everything
about her,
you gave
it to her
straight,
you knew what
you wanted,
to achieve,
right from
your intro
(se)duction,
you
addressed
her
respectfully,
you got
to the
point,
conversationally,
sensational,
your delovery
was flawless,
you closed the
deal, almost,
but when
you go to
yes, you got
no.  Sorry
the cat will
not let you
eat at the
dinner table
with US.

There is more grit than you can handle,
man or woman, words will flow,
staunch this bleeding, visit the coast,
let me know when and I will toast,
and raise a glass, buy you a dinner,
and cause you waves that carry you,
away,
             Unselfish,
                                and very sure.

But be assured  I will cry.

Words spill from me somewhat out of control,
I say what is on my mind and never mind the toll.

I can't sing, don't watch me dance, it will appear, as
a left-footed ballet times two in right-footed shoes, and fear.

Movement not fluid, words that flow, sounds grate,
worse than when you stub your toe, was that fate?

If I told you what I believed would you still read or be relieved?,
Of your senses, in my words imagine, flights of birds!

They move en masse, like planes rushing, oh so fast,
Laying on your bed, daydreaming your future is in my past.

I once was white bread small town always acting like a clown,
Growing, leaving, finding love from both sides now, down, down.

I have never hit rock bottom, into the rabbit, whole I go,
I am all in, this is not for show, I write to make you pause,
cause for thought, are you living or not?

There is so much more to embrace, maybe you can't save the
human race, just one other by a smile on your face.

I am not telling you how to live, you know how to do that best,
than any advice I could give, but, sometimes, I know it is too much.

Slow it down, look in the mirror or glass, take one drink, one bite, at a time
Do not pity, give grace instead, live life, neither large nor small nor pantomime.

Move!, look up to see a blue sky, or clouds with rain, or stroll in the snow,
Lethargy and desks jobs can ****, how quickly do you want to meet the god or God,
you know?

They shuffle their feet outside the Labour Ready place,
insulated and tattered plaid work coats, to keep them warm.
The smoke from their cigarettes curls up into their faces,
Their heavy boots and hardhats will keep them from harm.

They sound wise in the cold, as the six AM hour begins to give shape,
to their words, their breath that smells of last nights' alcohol and now, tobacco.
They need the job, they want the job more, it really is just an escape,
Sleeping on the good graces, couches and floors of others, hiding from who they owe.

Life is about choices, not judgment calls or a bunch guilt-ridden thought,
Most of us are where we are, because, we think we did good, even all right.
These guys here, in Whalley, struggles with doubt which their actions have wrought,
How can they end the day, without having said to someone, anyone, good night?

where oh where
Don't go there

without me,
                      the piercings
we gave each other and the
frail chain between
                                   all the links (www....)

showing strain,
we have not travelled the world
together, or entwined,
                              but why is it you fill my mind

sad things are, we may get to know each other,
                                      but we might never meet,
if bytes of information travelling at light speed,
                                    are all we have, take a seat,
FREEdom of speech includes the internet,
              somebody ewants to echarge me by the ebyte,
thinking they own it cuz they never owned
                      up to the world of hurt they caused,

they don't own the internet,
so if they love it  and let it live free....


me like a dog chained to a six foot
post in some forgotten back yard,
overgrown weeds, Glory, you
walking by looking over the
fence, knowing I didn't get
to choose  my owner,
chalk it up to these
paws always being
muddy and ugly
like toes...

where oh where, you go
don't go there without me.

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

The horizon.

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

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

and again.

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

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

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

Oh I See..

Vanity in my mirror,
I see Vanity in the windows
I shop, reflected

pausing;

longer, less and less
to spend money, time; time, money
I see vanity in my tablet, my computer
screens.

I see vanity  re-
fracted in faces,
I look into their portals, at their
windows, blinded, shielding their
soul.  But,
those others who turn away,
refusing to accept my eyes in greeting
or those that stare at the ground like they
have lost...

something, like a way OUT,
through the ground but that
leads to hell, unless,
wait...vanity;

I have worked,
worked very hard at mine,
Sturdy Legs, great support,
where the concrete Slab,
sits below my Chest Of Drawers,
one of which holds an imperfect thing,
which
         beats,
de-
      spite
it's
      un-
           fin
                ished
state
and atop this mobile furniture is
what?

a cloud, no, an expensive mercury-backed glass s u r face,

NO,

a perfect carving chiselled, no.

There is no face anymore, just a surface
that reflects inside and outside,
every face that stares, blankly at me.

Help us, help us all.

voices in hushed tones,
sound like the wind, blowing
heard but not a scene,
not loud or mean,
delicate breath breathed,
secret shared sounds,
a hummingbird,
a dragonfly,
a conspirator,
a love,
shhhhhhh,
listen and if you hear,
you might understand,
and if you do,
that changes everything,
a whisper,
is a power, an engine
of change,
or just plain rude!


©DWE072013

Every day I move from my bed,
Stretch my body and shake my sleepy head,
I find it harder to be alert once November,
passes winter to December.

"Really?" you ask, "why is that?"

Dark is as dark does, clouds absorb the sun,
I find rain a constant companion, walk or run,
It is a journey every day I leave my home,
Wetting my appetite is easy to do, pick a puddle
to splash through.

Too may walkers and runners get hit,
Drivers drive too fast, in their prescribed induced states,
Pedestrians take their chances, do you believe in fate?
or more??

Watch out for the other guy or we might find you
victim of a drive by hit and run, the carnage and dismay,
lack of compassion or skill I'd say.

"Since when is one life worth more than any other?"

The hits we hear about, the near misses are many more,
silence does not keep score.
Wear something bright, brighter than an idea,
Do not rely on those behind the wheel.
So wear white
or something brighter
like the morning sun
on your walk or your run or ride
Be as white as reflected light, so you are seen,
as plain as day, run/walk,ride seriously injury free,
I pray.

the shadows hide much in the
early morning light,
tripping through muddy puddles,
slipping on rotten roots,
welcome to the show,
where everything is made up it,
and the points don't matter,

pull out the roots first, wait
better start to toil with the soil,
empty all the dirt onto a tarp,
keep dumping and spilling,
it is a mighty big tarp to catch,
all the dirt and darkness from
that life, use your hands and
open up, give back the grime,
the slime you thought it was your
right to own, be human, empty
and start new, you could call it
a cleansing then add "do as often
as necessary", why so sad?

Oh I see, you say you got some dirt on me,
don't worry don't fret, that is my
dirt, my slime, my grime,
where do you think yours came from?

Shop-vac, paddle lock, give me a cell phone,
This old man ain't goin' home...
anytime soon. Everything is made up
and points don't matter...for it is only you
                                          that matters.

follow you, follow me
follow you, if you follow me
where are the days of Genesis,
days and nights
created,
for the sounds, of your tears falling like raindrops
when is this,
going to resonate,
going to penetrate,
the dense forest of vessels around my heart,
choking out the Good, It Is
Creator
created everything,
created me apart of the very thing,
you right here,
He called Good,
Oh Lord
the echo of that one day and night and day and night
                                day and night and day and night
                                day and night and day and night,
stills rolls through space, in the dark
and it skips a beat every day of rest, the seventh, not the first
and it skips a beat it is not a test,
and it skips a beat so you can give your best,
on the first day for the rest of the days until the day of rest,
old faces singing young songs,
and even if you may not sing
and even if you may not play
                                               you are an instrument, if ever I needed
and even if you may not rhyme,
and even if you hate the sound of prose,
                                                 your life is a sonnet, font in BOLD, please, stay with me,
                                                   even when you rest in peace,
so we will laugh until we cry, knowing
because once you experience Love,
                                                     you     have seen the face of God.



©DWE022014

A, mall of, all things called, America
some of my favorites things in the USA,
are found in Minnesota,
some of my favorite people too,
they have a Lutheran background like me
or not,
they are Norwegian in heritage,
or not
woe be gone,
a lake of the lack of despair,
Minnesota has lakes
hundreds thousands,
some very cool things go on there
that squelch despair,
crank the volume of human warmth,
they have Clouds too,
and choirs of kids that sing in a Mall, of America
to celebrate the life of one their own,
who fought a battle but not alone,
although he knew
yes he knew, few would pay a higher cost
once the battle was over and not at a loss
but a gain,
a gain in full measure,
that he may not be, for sure there to enjoy.
Up...Up...Up

Earth moves on an arc through, space while a spinning,
Grass shorn short, fertilized, lush dry for prize winning,

Ball colours vary, same guts to carry far afield,
Brutal weaponry, club warheads whip and yield,

Swinging flawed on an axis of rotation,
Aging arms, eyes connect one intersection,

Transformed flight path, set in motion, rocketed,
Small enough to be picked up and pocketed,

After you have holed out of course, on the links,
Cooler minds prevail peaceful approach me thinks!

It snowed overnight,
Falling flakes, white, with cold,
The ground was covered.
The sky was falling,
apart and not losing its'
place high above us.
The ground was lighter,
with flakes and whiter too,
yet stayed beneath,
our feet; only laughter,
left our lips and returned,
to the sky. It then
fell lightly on us
again.... softly falling flakes
of snow, winter's white.


D W Elverum March 2012

Roll with the punches,... but what if they come in bunches?
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag,... and smile, smile, smile?
When life throws you a curve ball,... hit it out of the park?
When life gets tough the tough,... get going?

Oh I have all of that, can I have some sprinkles on top, please?

Rain drop
                  falling
                   sends sonar
                    signals out
                  calling,
                               for any sign of life
the few, are many
                       drops
                   falling
                    calling
                      to know that they are not
alone.
                      Ring
                       signals
                      go out from the splash,
there is no drought
                        about these parts,
   there is no pout,
                                  on faces of the
dropletsfor their cloud mother,
                                  lets them
                                   all by and by,
releasing each one
                           until
                            she is done, which
                          lifts
her, lets her drift
                        with the wind.        


DWE012014

Eternity, a long time.  It seems along time away.  Forever.
I do not have, that long to live, breathing. I hope to experience Eternity.

One day.

I have heard, so have you, that a picture is worth a thousand words, I want to write
thousands of words to get the picture of Eternity, and get it right.

There is one way.

I have heard that words can fail you, that is when music speaks. If words are my only voice
and poetry and prose are the only notes that are on key........
Do you.. will you recognize the song?
Can you sing along, so
I do not sing, out loud;
Alone.

If I paint a story with my pen or construct a vast
array of sentences, to fill the void,
please read it and bring it to life;

thump, thump,

in the emptiness,
feel for a pulse,
bring your face close,
to catch the signs of life;

A breath.

I am desperate here.
I am wanting; to ink stain, computer character,
and burn a memory in the muscle of your conscious
and unconscious.

I AM.

My arms can not open to hug anyone, if I hug my self to protect my self from the
darkness, in the world that slays
innocents without, regard for their
thoughts, their breath or what they speak; not a
word.

Winter waits. Cold comes. Freezing rain falls.
Seek the shelter, that opens its doors to the cry of
your heart; that still beats, the beats through time
and space and beyond reason; that, IT, echos

across... a cross

Spring follows, Summer simmers until the Fall,
which brings an end to the seasons, which again
are whitened purely by Winters frost; snow
hibernation and too frozen
death.

If you suffer; somewhere someone has suffered more. You are not alone,
left out in the cold although some are; in places that do not have chilly temperatures
they are treated worse than as if they were living in the most severe of winter conditions.

Punished.

This cycle of seasons is not experienced by all parts of Earth; the whether, or weather still leads on and results need to invert the status quo for mankind to survive, for you to
live eternally.  Experience the eternal.

Accepted.

Originally done by DWE 2011-12-15