My dog walks are getting crowded,
Drag the main, the girl, she asked,
"I know this is a random question"
as startled I close the gate,
"But do you have any plastic bags?"
"No" said I, and stood to wait
for her to move out of the way,
there was enough time to take in her face,

her life was rough her face said so, but
no language it spoke but two, body and *****,
it made me walk the other way as she turned the
way I normally do,  that face textured, maybe
crack pipe burns from in her youth...

As I walked quickly away large trucks rolled quickly by
I turned to keep an eye them, caught her, in the corner of my eye
following, and not very discreetly.....

What was once water, now ice,
         Fall has begun to winter-over,
          Crackles and breaks, sections slice
        Grass green-brown but no clover,
What was once warmer, now bites,
into flesh,
into light clothing,
have no fear or loathing,
never heinous or aimless
looking for the creche,
for what is not worthless,
is priceless,
not painless,
but with difficulty
admit it, found faulty,
forgiven,
rewired,
good liven,
inspired,
stay warm people as the shroud of the Arctic, glides down like the temperature falling,
don't turn a deaf ear, share of your surplus and good cheer, do you hear, the street calling,
                                                        ­                                        do you hear, in the sprawling,
of anycity, voices of those who, the cold is told to show no mercy, so be kind... as outside in winter ********************­********
                                                                ­                                                          is appalling.


©DWE122013

The weight in my chest,
                                           beats,
              Does Fate make a test,
                                                      then cheats?
                                Does Karma ever rest,
                                                                      or sleep?,

or
do you know
how to show
one, you love yourself,
                                    to then love another,
                                   or even all the others?
           Not just jaded Sisters and Brothers,
do you know
the lover of your soul,
by example paid the toll,
                                            for eternity,
                                            stark humility,
do you know
the humanity,
measured by Stars,
                                  across every night sky,
                                  since the Word of God,
spoke,
            do you know I have always wanted
             to hear those first words, echoed
             I am sure, that stirred creation,

do you know
that every living thing,
is beautiful and can bring,

me to tears.
Of Wonder.
Of Awe.

transparent tremors
venous inlaid filaments
make wings,
blue and gold and many a hue,
segmented body
prominent eyes,
oddity?
dodge, float,
hover, gloat,
near you hand or facing you,
they dance to the music of their wings,
listen closely, the peace it brings
ugly beauty the dragon fly,
mesmerizing the Dragonflyght

oh,
busy life events,
that blow in and fill a tent,

of canvas,
with more wishes, than ways to entertain them.
my dusty wind blown whimsical wishes,

trampled by the heavier, well, Others
wishes, that bury mine,
they bring their own dirt,

to bury mine, doesn't hurt to put up a sign, painted "Here lies the dreams of..."
too bad mine, they wished to be
cremated, if theynever saw the light of day, nor came to fruition,

chased about place, but not caught or captured, but tumbled
around in the hay, the scarecrow way,
just kick the oil lamp over, or "the light unto my path" over,

and let the flames lick the pain of loss away.




©DWE012014

tree branches
        dance to the mysterious strains
              of the wind while the rain
                                                drains
         ­                                                  away all the small boats
                                             holding wee folk crossing moats
                                                           ­                                      to the castles in our dreams.


©DWE102013

It was white, like snow, like linen sheets
Drying
             in
                  the
                         wind
It had silver buckles, like cutlery, that was only used
at Christmas
                       at Thanksgiving,
                                                   ­   but it was made to wear,
It had extra-long sleeves that tied in the back
for
       his
            own
                    protection,
Not from the rain drops
That tasted like tear drops
Not from the housekeepers
Barely five feet tall, a hundred pounds
if that at all...

With out his arms to salute,
He would not walk away,
He was a soldier, and this was now his Dress of the Day,
A good soldier was always
prepared to salute, now
he wasn't able.

Part I
Bullets
Of Death,
Target innocents,
Lost Lives, emptied
Last breath,
Expired.

Part II
Drops
Of Dew,
Morning fresh,
Overnight, air
Renewed
Again.


D W Elverum April 2012

I

He grimaced while flexing forth,
the Hulk he was channeling, going North,
blonde crew cut, making a spectacle while
                                       wearing glasses
he wore a black tank, with no sleeves,
while the wind teased the leaves with a breeze,
and they fallsaulted (somer is over)
                             across the concrete at his feet,
                             it was all about him on the street,

                                       his handler, his care giver,
                                       watched with a shiver as
                                      as she had him and two
                                      others to deliver to their
                                      destination on foot, crime
fighting would delay the journey
                                                    and she was not sure who would
                end up on the gurney if it all went awry.  

                                              II

Short time later, as they passed by, gone, the other part of the duo
                                                             ­                                            arrived
she walked with swagger, in heels and no stumbles or missed steps,
                                                          ­                                       not quite a stagger,
dressed in black with jet-black hair, she was part ninja,  
part tim-bit monster,
or at least her appetite was,
the box of forty sat on her shoulder and she was delighted
by eating
them one at at time, her confident stride and petite feet,
stuck in almost stiletto heels acting,
very intuitive, see how she feels,
that kind of hero, because if she had to from fifty paces,
she could take out your eye with a honey crueler tim-bit
don't be fooled by
her ambivalent smile, and toss of her hair, those spoke of
caution and beware, as she stuffed another in there,
where she smiled while her eyes twinkled, kept moving her feet,
                   I think she spotted me from fifty paces,
                               away and from my second story window,
                                                it was curtains for me, I closed my eyes and braced for impact,
                                                         ­                                                           which never came,
                                                           ­                                                         as to her shame,
                                                          ­                                                          see even heroes
                                                          ­                                                          don't share
                                                           ­                                                         all the time.


No more heroes walked by that day,
crime rates were down and children were
                                      able to play
                        and be safe, so as my final thought
                      from my view on the second floor,
                          never under estimate anyone,
for real or in fun, and their capacity to bring joy, even without sharing.



©DWE102013

I stir in the soft glow, in the room, and traffic is a slight ocean's wave, in sound,

I put my hand upon my chest, this ceiling isn't mine, the fixture here is round?

When I roll over, you are there, face hidden by your hair,

Pillow grasped with hands still bunched, have a hunch

We loved last night under, the moonlight, cloud light , no light

If I remember anything, ... umm I must get dressed and take my things

I must leave without saying goodbye, or get the stare from sleepy eyes,

That could **** even me, with the air thick with thrill, from the eve before,

No, I must leave sleep and you, to walk the dog who is scratching at the door,

for sure before I leave, this early early morn.

Nerves pulled taute at an alarming rate,
Sitting on the edge of too many choices, a spate,
Leading to indecision and dizziness, changed
From horizontal, too vertical, too fast, deranged

To be awake at such an hour,
As the body tries to tap into power,
But hears this " take warning early morning"
Ahead, and a head still fuzzy while scorning,

Is there really a reason to get out of bed
at 5:19?

There are chores,
There are meals to prepare,
There is reading and meditation,
There is the routine of a morning constitutional!

There is full time employ...ment.

But all of these wait in line,
As care of a friend o'mine

Comes first,
We burst,

Into the morning,
Despite weather warnings,

And on good days too,
In the early morning,

We walk the same route,
And the same distance,

We have our pace, for instance,
My two legs keep up with her four,

She is never more excited then before
We go out the door, this is not a chore,

She pulls, she stops and drop to ***,
She is content and relaxed beside me,

She repeats as often as is necessary,
It all belongs, it is her territory,

In the early morning, I will, we will
Continue to walk, each and everyday,

We will arrive at three hundred and sixty five,
Morning jaunts
Again this year, it is a joy to move and be so alive,

With her, in the early morning,
We think not on, the mornings past,
               nor, that the mornings won't last
forever,
We only think on the present, the one we share,
In the moments found only in the early morning.

While the world around us revs its engine to a roar,
All we hear are birds,  paws with toenails on pavement or
Raindrops falling and wind calling us to stay longer, and more

Where there are no cares to wear on us,
We have each other, and it is early morning.

Earth to
the rain drops,
"STOP!
Or else..
Friend Sun!"

Firsts are important, if you make them
We didn't, well we did but we didn't.
No regrets though.

Like young birds trying out their wings.

There was sometimes no camera or film,
some times little cash or a lost roll of film,
to mark a moment or a special day,
so we didn't.

Oh we did, make happy and we smiled
and laughed as firsts were, the first time
after all.

There was walking and talking which then became
running and now they have wings and fly.

I did not take pen and paper and write down the moment
with colourful description and names of all who were there,
I did not make the time, to be fair.

We still have no regrets that would be a first
if, we did.

They all grew up fine and they will now
know I am proud of who they have become
(if they did not know before, that would also be a first)
and how they got to where they are and did so by being
who God meant them to be, with some help
and guidance from her and me.

Oh how they soar!

And love, they know love, I hope that it would not
be a first, to know that they are loved, from first
time we found womb for them and for all time.

As they grew from younger to older, sometimes
every day it seemed that there was some first or other,
and now it is I who have firsts, my first daughter in law,
married to one son, and a first grandchild from our daughter
in the middle, and as for son number two, everyday is a first
and for him some things have not changed,
still no regrets,
even though the nest echoes from time to time to time.

Can't get a word in
edgewise, no doubt, introvert
male, extrovert child

Oh words that, don't sense of what I make,
The liberties I take or will, I might forsake,
Edit me.

Free them that would be bound by what I type,
We, I, need calm, cut the crap and this hype,
Edit me please.

Distraction costs, whether freely sought,
I want not the pity you bought, you sought,
Edit me please, take my disease.

Oh far, far away.

Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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


©DWE122013

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

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


5:39 am Pacific

©DWE022014

scattered boxes, empty halls,
empty voices call, scattered socks

Mismatches all,

Need to, want to
Fill this heart with joy,
Not bubble gum cot-
ton candy ploy,

A hunger like ivy needs a trellis
just to grow, up toward where that,
strange ball of y and o is amber heat

Plant to the Sun "let's meet"

ah, but this roller coaster has
gone off the rails and pitched all
people in skins, that hide their
emotions behind a scream,

pitched them, forked them good,
draining every drop of human kind-
ness, masking it with superficial
paint,

so paint those empty halls,
with all the upset and subsets
making sure you stir first,
for even after painting,
a coat of that paint, or two
"to warm up a cold space"


you still may be left with empty boxes,
and unmatched socks, and a painting
project with no end, as you will paint
until the paint is gone from the bottom-
less bucket, and life time supply of brushes

which as you
paint it is the
echo you hear
in the empty halls
from the empty boxes
forgetting to stuff
a scattered sock
after shredding,
in either ear.

What if, ... you don't dream,
What if, ... we never meet,

What if, ... the sky is the ocean,
What if, ... the sea is the sky at our feet,

What if, ... I have no means,
What if, ... we never sit, side by each,


Enough of, what if,
what will be, will be,
not to take life flippantly,
or put my boat into unknown seas,
                                        no anchor,
                                        no rudder, to steer me,
                                        no sails,
                                      
so be, my sails filled with a windy blast,
be the rudder, bring me to where our hearts...will meet,
then be, my anchor and hold fast,
                                   and forever.

This life, the open water, big enough...

I have seen the blood stained teeth as big as a man,
I have trembled and shook, cowering as I ran,
My mind retreated faster than I could run to keep it,
In one piece, some days, I can not find even on my knees,
It is a disease.

Peace without rest.
Time without space.
Sure real dreams, life has no meaning.
Death evades, but chases me nipping at my heels.

My heart has pounded in my chest wanting to escape
the cavity I have become rotting root in my mind does
the flesh no good can come of this and my eyes hear what
my ears see and I no longer feel and everything tastes like
fear.  In the air.  Around me.  Tonight and every night
like a light that flickers when the bulb has a bad filament.
Like dragons eyes in the deepest night. Waiting for the next time.
Soon.

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

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


©DWE112013

I need therapy.
I need more than a hug.
I need a drug that does not drug,
or disconnect the brain from the pain
where my pain stems from,
has-been thoughts,
lost in explosive expletives,
as it is easier to give up
and
give in, than fight, stand up
for what
I believe in.
Every thing God created is good.
Sometimes very good
Always.
That I am beloved of God
Every thing is loved.
Forever.

To me poetry is every thing.


©DWE102013

Manicured lawns, sculpted shrubbery dot the landscape,
Indifferent drivers of cars going to or coming from an escape,
Hydro parallel lines almost invisible but a contrary shape.

This is where life happens,
but don't get on the bandwagon,
for big city life, from inside the fence,
short walks to and from work, less tense,
d
e
s
t
r
e
s
s
if I had vehicular commutes,
a one hour sentence that pollutes,
if I lived further away,
I would be an employment cliche.

My ear buds on,
my music in,
I hear what I
want, on my
travels, where
the music opens,
the landscapes,
of my imagination,
manicured not,
indifferent not,
every workday in
every way is
a new and
exciting adventure.

Spring's gleam, sunlight
Streaming
  Low horizon arc light,
   Sparkling
    Heart beating, chasing rest
      Dreaming
        Valentine is a day, but
                   my love
                        is all the way
                               Each day
                                 Throughout every year
                                    From the opening of eyes,
                                      To
                                          The closing of eyes,
                                              The same... as,
                                                 Night follows
                                                    You to the slipstream,
                                                        Of Bubbles, Feathery Pillows, and
                                                              Petals
                                                                  Land  Softly  Now,
                                                                                                  Love.

Eyes that widen, that weep
Eyes frightened, rest now, sleep

see the atmosphere breath,
by waving back at the branches
of trees, you could use the
ocean tips and curls,
if you did not have any of your own
waves, of joy, of love, of sadness, of ecstasy,
of longing, of be -
longing,
those eyes
the eyes of the wind, of the hard life lessons,

find them, without a fight.

By the time you read these dots and dashes,
Most parts of the world will have those splashes,
of colour
that excite me and ignite a change
of a season,
for this reason the weather rearranges,
our calendars,
outdoor events move inside, lightening flashes,
go before thunderous sounds and crashes.

Uprooting and harvest, closure and clothing
changes, rain boots and umbrellas do the thing,
to keep us somewhat drier,
jacket on in the chill of morning,
jacket off and begin,
the humid commute home, people warming
and sit by the home fire,
with their feet up, yet summer mourning...
                                                     ­                  .
                                                               ­        .
                                                               ­        falls
                                             on the deaf ears of relentless change...

overstuffed places
it all has faces,
names and dates
all things rate,

another chance,

like my garage,
an assault, a barrage,
on the eyes, and the mind
you will despise, or go blind

if you stare too long,

how did it get this way
you ask,
up to the task,
close the door and stay away!

not a good thing,

life gets in the way,
of the every day
put things back where they belong,
works but, won't be a top forty song,

not even if by Lennon and McCartney

years and years and years of rushing
give it to dad he will put it in the garage,
if that is a garage, then life is a mirage,
if was a large toilet, clogged while flushing,

then somebody call a plumber,

there will be order out of chaos of decades,
willing to give away what won't be thrown,
willing to throw away what can't be recycled,
willing to recycle what can't be sold,
willing to do it now before sounding old and aged,

and bequeath it all to the Family

Categories for this story, camping, car supplies,
tools and hardware
work bench, spare fridge, rock art,
oh did I forget Christmas trees and ornaments
oldest son's stuff, table saw, winter tires,

the three Amigo's

Garbage, Recycling and Organics,
The Bin brothers,
The scooter and display shelves,
sounds simple, sounds divine,

The Name is Clutter
Good night, I'll be fine.


Really.

Aches get real old
                         Sold a bill of goods,
five and dime, cold
                          Rolled coins into a tube, into a fist,
A flurry of flesh dolled,
                            A toll on burning bridges that LOVE built,
My revealing stainless pole dance
                Upon the vocal shoals, that cut me off from feeling real,
Ended up a blackened coal sheep
               Of the family role model (let that creep into)
                         Your soul

   My
Heart
Was
Washed
Away
By
Some
One
Else's
Tears

clouds,
islands,
afloat,         above
the solid texture,
far below,

cloud shapes,
dusty vapor,
lifting,     higher while
letting clear droplets fall,
far below,

clouds robed darkly,
rolling thunderous light,
sitting,    casting drop of fear,
people scurry for shelter,
far below

the drought has broken,
the prayers spoken,
answered,
in a wet flash of light,
by every roll of thunder,
that makes
                    the windows
shake,
some grateful people
quake,
in their homes, dusty
from the dry season
far below

the taps of the sky
have turned on and far below wash
away men's tears,
so far below wash women's fears,
into the rain barrels,
filling children with hope
that smiles will return
to the wet faces as they look, up to the rain drenched sky from
far below.

Wrote last time a title Fear of Failure,
this time, fear,
this time fear,
I weary of those,
who use fear as currency,
are you listening to me,
do you use fear as currency,
do you hear,
sorry it,
The market,
The value,
bottomed out, that
is right you have a whole donkey,
(read ***, I may have it backwards keepin' it clean, interpolate)
buy a dollar store dictionary and resuscitate,
your vocabulary,
too many overdue fines on
your library card?
Here it is, you will not be ready for it,
change your
underwear after you read this, the
fear you use to try to control,
is that you have so many
fears, your tear ducts are dry from the num-
ber of times
you cry and no one hears, because you are alone,
the fears you cause are less than
the fears you have,
coward.

He blew out once
                           under the sun
emptying, and emptying
                                        the blue sky air,

from his only lung,
                               he did it again for the second time,
and paused;
then breathing in deeply,
filling, and filling,
until he could hold no more sky.

He wanted, no needed, to hold his breath for a minute, NO, two,
so
he wouldn't cheat, thumb and forefinger pinched his nose closed.

his mind looked at him in the mirror,
while clearly able to see his fear,

"Failure", echoed the shower head
his one eye on the clock as the seconds slipped by
he looked from mirror to the clock, and back,
with his one good eye,

while his minds eye wrote in red lipstick on the mirror,
you will fail at this too, saying "are you already a shade of blue?"

he glanced at the clock and back to the mirror, this seems to be going
well, a thought, really nothing to fear,

it was then the voices, started, the choir of doubt,
"remember all your other failures, just let the air out"
"you'd be a fool, to
even try this in a pool"

with that forty nine seconds had elapsed and
                                            he collapsed to the outdoor shower floor,
and the last thing he saw,
before all became black,
was his convexing reflection,
in a stainless steel pipe,
                                     the winking of his one good eye.



©DWE022014
(west coast)

Begging your pardon you are on the property of
the owner who is the last one to, utter a kind word,
if he catches you here or one of his hired guards,
they have no reason and will not hesitate, with gloved
hands to take you and toss you back where you belong.

Who am I? You ask, that is quite a task, to describe...

Well, I am a free spirit, who wanders these lands
to save unsuspecting lost souls from roving bands
of criminals and those who are n'er do wells,
whose souls are fueled by the darkness of their acts
and their wanton disregard of any peaceful facts.

Me, oh I am the owner.  Now be about your business
                                         and go on your way, as long
                                         as, you have a place to stay.
                                         If you have enough to eat,
                                         and dry clothes and have a
                                         pillow for your head, in a
                                         shelter out of the wind, the
                                         rain, and other peoples disdain.
Until then please stay I wouldn't have it any other way.
Just mind the fences put in your path, each and every day,
those challenges will try to own you, trap you, crush you,
with out love, black pools of tears at your feet, I am here
                to tell you I am so glad we did meet,
                   now rest I will take my leave,
                  all that is mine, yours to receive.
                          Please, call me friend.

Seasonal construction
Path of destruction and rebuild,
Traffic crazy, in the car ahead,
Face yelling at a speaker phone,
Zig-zag path like the road owner,
3:05 late so a five o'clock date,
And a seagull sits right on the line,
Patient Mockery so sublime,
The seagull "walks the line"
Waiting can be a hating game,
That would be a vacation shame,
shame,
Shame.
So now the seagull is not alone on the line.


©DWE092013

two eyes staring down,
One,  the virtual and the real
One of glass and the other cheese
not a creature
no other features
stand over the city
reflect urgent transparency
if it is visible
it is true
the heavens
secret hold on the moon
one hundred percent
that has split and become
two, the virtual and the real
like life the dream
like living in reality
in sickness and in health
should be fifty/fifty
yet images have blurred
edges that serrate and grate
across a blackboard skin
that is the sound, of giving in

do you spill ink, like blood,
does your will sink, in mud,
as the tears,
plummet from your eyes,
to the dirt
your feet sinking below your knees,
you kick yourself,
you kick up dust,
you think, you must,
cut yourself down, before anyone else does,..
clown,
smile
a frown
upside down,
makeup,
to hide
excuses,
for the cuts, the tracks, the bruising, the bad taste in your mouth,
for the buts, the crack, the cruising in a stolen car, life gone south,
this is not who you are,
this is not who you are,
this  is  not  who  you  are,
these are what you do, size twelve shovel for a six foot trench,
so whoever you are needs CPR, resuscitation, mouth to mouth,
some air in there,
Samaritan way,
get up and walk, away.  New day.  And fill in the **** hole before
somebody
breaks their leg.