beauty rests, regardless
after all day, standing
plain for all to see beyond
the pain, beauty,
on the wing that flutters, as
a young child stutters with new words
awash in excitement,
beauty rests not bored,
beauty rests not lazy,
she rests so that the haze of your
world, your eyes, fades away,
so you finally see her
she is not selfish,
she is everywhere you do not see,
                when you are too busy.



©DWE022014

abuse of substance,
abuse of space
bully's don't change their stripes,
maybe just their names,
makes 'em feel surrounded,
by those of like mind,
like having relations, with oneself,

the jungle used to be the jungle,
then concrete became the jungle,
because someone somewhere
needed trees removed to flush the tigers out,
then there is the internet jungle
where one on a bent thinks they are a tiger
when they are really a dead stick
from a tree of evil rotting, while doting, licking
cleaning their own, ego,

oh please don't assault my senses with your defences,
no need to prove that copy and paste, makes you a word smith,
and imitation, may be a form of flattery, no need to flatter me
I am a nobody, who has a love for language, and
sees through bully ****, go back to the chicken coop and cluck,
yourself, ....


clematis scale up
flowers look grey and pointed
go boom to bloom colour

Access to knowledge is a dangerous thing
it is readily available and some don't think
they need to learn, to change, admit they were
a bully when they were young or bullied and
lastly anonymity in this day and age is a lie ;  )

Look into her eyes, if she will let you,
she will look down and away, I'll bet you,

She may point to this or show you that,
All to distract,
so you don't
notice that she is

l o s t.

She pays a price, at what cost?
For every (anti) or social interaction.
Therapy, it, is or she might hide in her hidie hole,
so she is not found, by that black cloud carrying
Troll.

If you see her,
If you meet her,
you need to know,
that it may not show, she is finding her way.

The dark clouds ring her crown and may obscure
her worldly view, she knows what to do!

Paint herself onto paper, disappear in a vapour,
you will find her on the page, finding her way.

There are days when we occupy the same space,
we don't see eye to eye or face to face,

the distance across the room, seem miles apart.
She needs me there on that shore, when she is in the trough
of a stormy wave, it might help her to find her way.

Don't

load her

up or use

all of her spoons,

she can't cope and be

found...

finding her way.

I am distressed,
not like a piece of
furniture, treated to
look,
a certain way.

Appreciated, for its' age, or materials,
maybe the design details, like spirals,
in the corners, where the pieces neatly
meet together.

I am distressed, because the time I need,
I don't have, the money I have isn't
enough to buy time to do what
it is I need to get done
sooner than later,
alligator.

I am still road worthy
like a rusty bridge I heard
about, all my rust is intact,
ensuring that traffic, on my back,
will still be able to use me,
for years to come.

I am still distressed,
this did not help,
plug your ears
while I yelp,
like a lost dog,
not needing
food or water,
just time to
find my self.

napowrimo2016
Challenge: write a poem using at least 10 dictionary terms

no wood carver
marks or remarks
here, no sinking
prose with nautical
terms, no rhymes
that use ropes to climb mountains higher,
these are all and only dreams to me
I will use as it
uses me, a
poetic dictionary.
Please starting read out loud, naked in front of a mirror, what follows after, now!


Oulipo, acronym,
there are no slim
chances at Norms,
Shall we play a game,
with words and no one
gets hurt.

And the peace of
Pastoral settings
Over shadowed
love, I mean Love,
by your chief complaint.

I am but a man, thick
and thin, who touches
only Sentence Sounds
with his tongue.

But you wait on your
Heroic Couplet,
And find me not the qualified culprit.

Pick your poets then, go back way back when,
some Poets are Fugitives, short lived in Nashville,
Harlem had a Renaissance,
inclusive, read South to North, and I read and I read sustained by the Sestina,
some red wine, oh did I spill, let me cleanup while you mouth the Prose and let me, tempt you, to Rhyme, as I **** your toes.

I am a Poet after all, and the Echo verse proves me perverse in the unseemly way I overtly finish seams, a long lines that follow curves of hips and softnes of inflection, still the distance between Poetry and bliss is obscene. Please let me Muse you...?
I wait.

The lazy river, large,
filled with
water that carried my
memories of youth, and
a friend of my past,
both downstream,
flowing away, flowing
finding the easiest way,
to go to the lowest point,
so much liquid,
so many years,
some failures,
some fears,
Childhood, has those
but now,
       now what do I have?

What does anyone have?
Use your talents,
Use your gifts,
Before time is dead,
walked on like a too
traveled path, warm or cold
to where you
find your past.

Lest the swollen
river, calls and you
listen, leaving you
only to believe that
what you look for
is downstream.

Use your talents,
Use your gifts,
Be swift for
night falls into the
river,
it may catch you
as it drops by.
Dragging down
the future, in the
present tension,
until at last
you only can
live searching
for the past.

Unable to
tell the stories,
or enjoy the glories,
of the gifts you shared
of the talents you carved
into my memories,
of the time we spent
under the canvas of night
dotted white with God's Artistry,
until that day,
when my phone rang,
and they said you were gone,
                        you were gone,
And i touched the cold with my
my hand, my lips and my warm tears
knowing you had already gone
and did fly away,
                               oh glory.


©DWE082013

The sounds that tumble and pour over,
are refreshing,
until remembering they came from people's mouth's,
bus engines,
heels crunching salt crystals strewn on the sidewalk,
first sound heard, a morning alarm,
last sound heard, is of soMEone falling, asleep,
but it is all those sounds in between, combined with
what was seen,
that is an inspiration...
the first
and
last,

walking from A to B,
no this is not geometry,
but it might as well be,
as with your eyes, see,
well what do you see,
unless you live in BC,
you won't see me and
I in turn won't be free,
to see you.

with your eyes, that first glance,
take a risk that is hazard's chance,
don't step closer or bend down,
log it away in your card file brain,
before it is washed away to the drain
or picked up as treasured claim.

use your eyes, with that first glance,
no glossing over, might miss romance,
call it flirtation, or orchestration, you
are the maestro and the other, the ensemble,
well, conduct yourself accordingly but tumble
safely.  

those eyes so beautiful you have, can find words,
to clear the tears off your cheeks with the
new merino wool sweater sleeve and
that intense emotion that has
you locked and loaded as
someone goaded you
again,
and again,
and again, if this was *** that would be fine,
but it is not and your vexed
at how poetry rocks
your world but
also rocks the boat,
whenever you take
the time not to memorize by rote (that would be too staight forward)
take the technology out for a walk,
instgram your photo of your poem and share it on facebook, and
twitter while showing your interest on pinsterest, how is that *******
working out for you?,
or dot those eyes and cross your teas,
take ink or graphite, and write about
your sorrows, your joys, your day, your dreams,
what you saw,what you thought saw, like a puddy cat,
you did, you did and that Bugs me I forgot the color or was
                 it just me and invisible over there?
You get conflict, at that first glance at your notepad,
or keyboard or mumble "I need to write this down,
before I forget".  That first glance you take, all else fades to black,
                                                          ­                 until you write.



©DWE012014

picking up the baton,
bowing briefly to
the mass of people,
and my orchestra,
a smile stretched
across my face as
this moment I did embrace
as I raised my arms.
                                               to this dream come true.
instruments of wind,
elements of brass,
soft strings, percussion too,
faces looked at me with intent,
instruments and players
ready to do what they
love to do, play ensemble,
but the beats of my heart
grew excited with each
bar that was played,
the musicians and
spectators swayed as
I conducted.
                                       in this moment there was no other place.
truth be told, I was bold,
no one was watching me
unless from their window see?
a dog walk ended with
the graceful trees,
the gentle breeze; they
were moving to the music
which played in my ears,
my dog patiently sat, then laid down,
for those moments I was directing
the forest, the wind and fulfilling a dream,
being humbled by the natural symphony.

the water was dark, as asphalt,
nothing could be seen, until
looking real close, the fish moved
so
slowly,
among the lowly seaweed,
if they could laugh, then seaweed
                                        would
           ­                              know
                                      that fish
                                     are ticklish
                                   at this depth.
So in defence
of their weakness,
for their troubled
neighbours,
the fish as a group
has a stratagem, ahem
to release bubbles from
                    both ends,
but only while amongst
                  the seaweed.


©DWE012014

Doctor gave me the news, it was a good
time to buy new running shoes,

Feet slap and screech with each stride,
Biomechanic required to repair the ride,

Pounds shed I no longer dread pounding,
lightly on concrete or asphalt, grounding,

My turbulent times, no reason or rhyme,
To the day, my thoughts have plenty of time,

To play as I run away from home, smiling,
So pleased to be alone among the crowd, filing,

On and off busses, engines make noises like cusses,
Cars eating people, personalities seated in trusses,

For their own safety,

While heels kick back, legs move at the speed,
and pace where there is always sound and greed,

To be first to run the red-light but
On my heart right to that red line,

Hamstrings cry taute like strings,
My mind wanders to many things,

To some people, to a person,
Beckon me run, all that way

And I will.

How did I get here? at least a year in the making,
took on the job, it was a terrible mess of an undertaking,

If I can do it so can you,
Don't wait till your fifty four,
Start when your thirty nine,

Write down all that you eat,
You recognize each day the feat,

To stop eating, at the right point.

Get enough sleep,

Aerobic activity, found a
British study from, London see?

Muscular mobility, range of motion
under load agree, let me, ask you,

What did you do as a child, how did
you have physical fun, what did you
do in your youth, not to relive the pain,
and the strain of bad coaching or none.

Capture your life as first prize
in the only race that counts,
living to beat of the distant drum,
you run I will follow,
you set the pace, I will holler
your arrival, to set your rival,
Death on his heels,
we will chase him back the way,
he came, that will be your claim,
"Raced Death and Still Running"

More time behind a key-
board than common
sense might allow,
the Secretary disavows,
any knowledge of other Action
to bad your last name isn't Jackson
super hero you are not, and neither are you a zero,
quite a conundrum, what is in that cup the
size of a drum,
do you find that you have a fuel, and it fools,
with a run on string of....
fill in the blank you never been stumped before,
to fill the feed, kind of reverse greed,
because you can....
While I'll lament, that I am not bent out of shape,
I am saving the really twisted parts,
for when I am older and need to restart
my heart.

There is something about a fresh spring rain, wind chilling bare arms,
It moves in subtle and fast a temporary pain, come and go no harm,
Go indoors or throw a coat on, put your hood up, no need for alarm.

Then in the same breath there are the single cell clouds large and towering,
They are moved slow and sure, their energy charging up and empowering,
Tall as a mountain with darkness blots out the sun, thunder and lightning.

One bolt, one resounding boom, echoes like the atmosphere is an empty room,
Then the rain releases and floats the cloud mountain higher, no more kaboom,
Cotton-puff piled high leaving behind blue sky and sunshine, the day to resume.

Charged particles lift higher and change,
rain evaporates in the electric air or drains,
broken peaceful blue sky again a clear refrain.

©DWE042013

trust, not used for so long, long coated in rust,
gatekeeper opens what squeals then shrieks,
sound like it is from inside of me,
I sit up from being prone on the concrete,
eyes closed afraid of who I'll meet, eye to eye
probably open twin pools to stare straight in to a mirror,

slab of concrete,
is my bed cold,
flat with no give,
may as well not
wake up, to the rot,
I smell, from my
own flesh, but
where was I oh,
yes
never trust a rusty gate,
or its keeper.

©DWE072013

Control
not needed,
laws of physics,
        heeded,
naturally!

Freedom experienced
the ground and altitude,
are
only
boundaries to the trackless road fancied.

My arms tire from
trying though,
one day
by and by,
Hallelujah,
I'm gonna
...FLY!

body of water
liquid corpse
enclose a copse
of undersea
trees...

some standstill to
blend in, some wave
in a tai chi motion
some see weeds
some seaweed,

like fabric it wraps
taking shapes
by dressing
in designer
clothes,
ideas that float
enclosed
to the top
but not out of popularity
but all the
waves from
the deep,
that lift
the body
in the body
of water to float,
           to surface.

See the snow flakes floating, flat and swirling on
the tease, that is the breeze of the air so rare, as it is
cold and clean and clear,
and each lands as soft
as a kiss that our lips
share, warm enough,
to melt the frozen snow
around my heart.



©DWE122013

The Trail Creek,
could not hold
the flow of
a million million
drops of rain.

The bank let loose and a Gulch became a river,
basements of homes and stores became indoor pools but
not one resident was close to foolish enough to go in and swim.

The streets became
a river of
a muddy coffee
coloured toxic feared
enemy, that had
no weakness but
time.

An apartment building fell as the Columbia River swelled,
eroded and took the ransom till it flowed down stream and
was rumoured to have crashed into a transom of the old bridge.

So many memories swept away down stream, many more, could
not resist to power of the water to remove and ruin, words and images,
by force, and in time, dirt and sediment remained everywhere, after the flood.

Tears replaced rain,
in time water,
all of it,
was drained away,
peoples lives strained.

To a ten
year old boy
this was big!
And as the
Columbia was growing
larger each day
parks disappeared as
the danger neared
I sang, "rain,
rain, go away
we have had
enough, there is
no where to play.


The flood of
nineteen sixty-nine,
was a vivid a
disaster you will,
ever find, but still
the City survives.

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

Dog at my feet,
wanting to go out,
to howl at the fool moon
in the sky, while about,
those sorely affected,
act out, their normal lives
and loves go undetected,
my dog doesn't howl so
I will disavow any such action,
both those in the street,
who wander, like the Zombie,
apocalypse, just hit repeat,
over and over again, they rev their
motors, what if they actually
owned a car?  They run screaming
moonlight streaming in and
catches my eye, clench and unclench
my fist, stand to the rail of my
balcony, pounding the drum that
is my my chest and begin to
howl.

Is it I, you hear, then I am quite near...
join in, let us chorus, and win the
moon to our side!

I have not yet read your book,
maybe others things took,
the time, your time, from mine,
I read what you said in another
written work to your brother,
Rich Mullins.

Brennan, I know you not at all,
and after your book, I may fall,
short of understanding who you are,
but that is a measure of me or how far,
I have to go to be nearer to God.

You have written more than one book,
and the face I see when I look,
at yours is a man who wrestled with those
things of God while showing love like the Rose
of Sharon.

I will miss you though I did not know you that well at all,
except, you like Rich, were both poets, thank you for being
you.  I still have your book and one day, I will, it, read.

Oh little cloud, little cloud,
small, bright white and round,
so far from the ground,
why you seem to be shy?

The weather is perfect,
just good on demand,
whenever you are around,
and round too, I see you.

Drifting or floating
I am not quite sure,
come closer if you prefer,
so I do not have to hazard,
a guess.

It is easy to see, like
one,
        two,
                three,
that you my beauty, are
the good weather bringer,
          stick around longer,
     I will bring you dinner.

Now what do clouds eat?
A little water a little dust,
some sun or cold is a must,
but you are such a small one,
let me tie a string to you
like I own you, just for fun.

I would let you go, as high as
you wish, I have this line, a big
reel, I use on fish, it is light, it is clear,
no barbs or hooks,
a slip knot, that will let you go,
when there is no time left to play.

And we will go our separate ways,
                   knowing that for a space in time,
I was a companion of yours and
                                     you were all mine.

No clouds at all, winter, spring, summer or fall,
Tells the weather watcher no change at all,
Cirrus my friend with a fair weather bent,
Your swirls, streaks and curls, so very high,
when there are just a few of you, goodness is nigh,
but when you gaggle in bunches and take and
curl your lip to show your ornery sides and swirl in the cold,
I am told through the white and cold grey, BLIZZARD!
                              get in doors or receive a frosty reception.

My steps, river bank edge, look up a cloud!
gazing skyward at the massive roamers,
Left foot became right foot, fell splash, too proud
In water I was cloud-like, a floater.

The depths of the water, under me
Chess piece clouds building up over my head
treading water, current, headed to sea  
I may have been better off dead

Gray and white mountain towering heights
flashes of light, rolls of noise and thunder
jagged light and noise at me causes frights
That sound near can only be a hammer

As Norse gods pounded anvil darkness
I emit, little girl screams, shrill sharpness

We are fluffy
      not stuffy,
we are bright,
       not dull,
we can be
      the lull,
before the storm.

More on that later, after the news.

Reflecting white light and we become bright,
pile us on one another a collective of light,
and airy, we don't take our selves serious,
we are much lower to the ground than cirrus.

Please don't let what I have to say cloud your judgement in anyway!

We are piling up to be the top of the heap
want recognition for the sunny day, around noon
living it large looking the part too,
we are the flat bottomed cotton *****.

We are the fairest of the fair, but beware as the day advances,
we may get bigger, darker taller and you take your chances,
to be about and about, there may be a change in the atmosphere,
how is that anxiety about thunder and lightening dear?

From cotton to solid rock tall,
from mole hill to mountain,
thirty thousand feet is all,
hope you don't mind if we take turns
blowing through, easy to find us
no fuss, look for the Jekyll and Hyde
you know the Cumulus Stuff.

Even tempered you don't get mad at us
That is why you are named Cirrostratus.
Even
Uniform
Flush is not quite right,
but the day is bright
so it is quite, alright,
                                  to be on the level.
Fair weather friend like other cloud types,
no excitement, no stress, no hype, yawn.

There is though a shadow, you have this darkness about you,
Yes I remember well the Cirrus cloud cousin. Your lighter
lower twin!
  
But you my friend are so high, stretched across the sky
I want to fly, and touch you with the tips of my
fingers, float like a note from an
opera singer, Cirrostratus my friend we must get
together again and make it
surreal the next time, I'll bring the wine,
you bring the weather, I'll wear white,
you bring the blue crystal sky, and let me fly,
                                                            ­let me fly,
                                                            ­let me fly,
Pour me some chilled white wine,
And don't worry if in the wind we spill some below,
It is only a dirt carpet and ocean, for show,
                                                           ­           I can clean up later.

Outter wear, of gray,
everywhere for everyday,
ram clouds uniform.

Loose clouds, sink dreams of sunny days and sunny ways,
They are the front runners the fore tellers, driven
before the wind of the next wave of water falling
from the sky and from my eye.

It is a SIGN, It is a SIGN, I tell you don't wear a target out
when Scuds are about, It is a sign of bad weather and my doom.
DOOM I say!  Falls fool and Winters wimp, blown in my haggard face!

Seeing Scuds (a loose vapory missile, leading the bad weather)
at my doorsteps, dampening my foot falls, scud after scud,
more bad weather, dark clouds, I bend into the wind
head down so I won't drown and the Scuds can't see my eyes,

That I have given up, hide oh hooded head
and given in, I use my umbrella to hide behind,
will I or it survive the wind?
until spring rings in, with summer.
.

Their name is not Trish,
they are not blonde but gray,
                                                 not from age, but the contents,
they do not elevate, or leap from
the third rope of a wrestling ring,
                                                but they drop on you a million
drops of rain, from low levels,
drops that find their way into
                                                 the lowest part of your shoes,
and not into your heart,
the drops tap dance across
                                              your umbrella until the clouds
lift and go away by tricking
the wind to carry them away,
                                           to dampen spirits of others, to their dismay
unless they are human sponges. ( Important but rarely seen part of the
water cycle)

The ball of fur flying across the road,
Barely made it and stubbed a foot and toe,
As the car did not know, never slowed,
Into the bush the juvenile raccoon rolled.

The bumper and glare of headlights in the dark,
Blinded my dog so she did not pull or bark,
I saw it all unfold, told my dog to "walk"
It was after the spot we passed, she went crazy as a lark.

Nose to the ground, like a terrier on a scent,
Told she was late the raccoon had went,
No worse for wear, probably still running hell bent
For home.

empty fields filled with noise,
echoes of the past misted voices,
desolate landscapes hide still life,
left behind like unwanted dolls
each one hurt then mortally harmed,
why are only loved ones alarmed,
fathers not given a chance,
                                               to protect
                                               or sacrifice a life,
mothers not given a chance,
                                                 to stand up
                                                 with all of the love,
                                                  and their own life,
sisters and brothers and all the others,
                                                 to reject en masse,
                                                  against diminished worth,
each victim, born by birth, like you,
each and everyone, now, in the arms of the Son,
if there was a drop of mercy for every fallen tear,
even with all of that, there is anger and there is fear,
and questions that scream from the heart where,
lifelong pain is the thief, that steals parts of those
who remain,
in pain
and disbelief,
that it happened to someone they knew,
that it happened ever at all,
that it will happen again.

Where goodbye, was...

And again. Happen.

That love could not save them all
from these acts that took them away.
Undeserved death.
By men who aren't men,
Or by a coward dressed as a man.

Once the news floods in
and
the spinning begins, and
never ends
never ends never ends
never ends never ends never ends
heaps of hearts lie cut on broken dreams,
sleep is a dream where a scream
is an alarm that went off too loud, too late, too often.

That won't turn off.
While Peace and Hope are near, and always seem,
out of reach, cause stains and burns like bleach,
come with cost where there is loss and the vibrant
memories,
already begin to fade.

there is no saying goodbye to an addiction,
each day may be a new and exciting adventure,
you succeed, one day at a time, in affliction,
reach way out, open hand and up high, a joint venture
stinking thinking,
stumbling steps come in flights of twelve,
don't punch the pylon, and stare down cars,
shout at the sky if you must,
he who hears you can trust,
then the particles so small,
they turn inside your head and all of your nerves
into a cosmic squall and
you stand in the eye, watching
LIFE chaotic go by,
you see yourself live
and you see yourself die,
some one swears at you,
and kicks your feet,
someone else yells
"get off the street",
you reach out and up, but no mercy,
                   no maker to meet,
if this is hell
you exist in it,
now if some one would spare some change,
you could stop tripping over your own feet,
if they let you on the bus.

Looking, but do I see what you go through to breathe,
The things you do while wearing masks, makes me seethe,
NOT at you but the world, your situation, what lies beneath,
Your hands shake involuntarily,
Your approach each day warily,
Did you use up your spoons, before the end of yesterday,
How will you get out of bed to see the weather this day,
I know you slept, did
each nightmare creep up on you, when you were off guard,
I am there,
I care,
In the dark,
I did stare,
none, the wiser,
you have your cocktail, of pills, of drugs, and they help you
if you have an average day,
This is for you ,
on the days you are through,
no spoons, left
hours yet before your
head comes to rest, then
nightmares consume,
your time at rest,
I pray, and
I pray, and
I pray,
the vultures will be swept away,
by the jet stream and
leave you,
while I stay by your side,
because I want to, it is
right so to do,
forever.  This is for you,
I see so many who do not understand,
their lips move,
as they mouth the words,
or they type, their intent is
clearly in the wrong.
THIS IS NOT EASY.
You are brilliant,
you create,
I ... am in awe
of your therapy,
your art, your beauty.
This is for you,
in respect, in love,
I express, and
from above,
He sings over you.

Each rising sun,
A promise,
Each passing moment,
A hair's width,
                           Each breadth of a breath,
Exhalation or,
Inhalation,
Pause to recognize joy,
                                    JOY,
Signs of the seasons,
Coming or leaving,
A season of believing,
A reason of lifelong passion,
                                      fashioned,
After
Christ,
Are we there yet?
The journey is not easy,
The Winds not light or breezy,
Attest to the spirit Fire,
Earth not meant to be home
But the elements;
Of faith, make you whole,
Of love, embrace brokenness and hold them,
Of charity, it is better to give, and give, and
Of hope, until ...
And then the greatest of these, until, is Love.

from one hand
throw all the seconds and minutes into the air,
do this at night,
when the stars are out,
when those pieces of time touch the stars,
that dust, that magic star dust, falls to you
                                                  and to the earth
time stands still,
as if your will, can freeze for a moment, too
rearrange the parts of your day,
go on make the bad things go away,
pile all the good, close, right near,
be prepared,
                     too disappear, for when,
you judge good and bad,
you may lose the best you had,
you can cast the worst away,
which may have made you more human,
that tick of the clock, you threw away.

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

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

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


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


©DWE122013

Needed.
got to fill up,
gas tank, water tank, body and soul,

gasoline, water, food, but what...

I know, I know,

but does it show that I know that fuel for the soul is...

sigh,
sight for the blind,
that is a miracle,

how do I tell you what I know,
deep in my heart, awe and
                                     o
                                     n
                                     d
                                     e
                                     r

something you might find in my Haiku,
IT is not a secret, you grew up maybe,
even, knowing this, picture a dove,
a large gentle hand in a glove,

fuel for your soul, is love,

ignited is passion...
fuel your soul, BE

fuelish in April,

a goal.

New Leaves are out and so are the thorns,
they festered all winter, entering spring,
with new resolve and a pain to bring,
right through the side of the shoe worn,

on a foot that is not tender, or sure,
in a foot that has tread more miles,
a shout, a grimace, no more smiles,
Old legs dropped out, falling a blur.

The game of thorns, a new season.
Stay tuned, for there are more, thorns.

Dog walks are good for many things,
she wishes I would, Everyday!
whatever the weather brings, night and day,
should suffice, to this hope she clings.

Alas and Woe,
there are days that I go out
without
her.

I reach and bend and bag what others
leave behind, take from the ground
and out of the grass;
candy wrappers,
plastic everything,
empty roll-up-the-rim cups,
and the ever present dangerous,
shards of glass.

Cigarette packages, no buts,
emptied envelopes, doggie bags (take out food)
and the other kind too!

Pack ‘em up.

Pick ‘em up

Who threw ‘em out?

There is no garbage
can at this bus stop,
people walk and
drive their cars,
with open disregard,
that where they drop
their refuse, I consider
my front yard! So keep
your garbage for yourself.

Now where was I?

Ah, yes off to walk my dog,
part two.

DWE 2013-04-05

grasses brown up nice,
this time of year, Sun slices,
through the spaces of
branches and the love-
ly leaves, shadow seekers,
and sun bathers wait on,
the changing dark shape,
to place their bodies and at
by the end of the day
such justifies the means,
while buckets of water
empty and fill and liquid
pill fertilizer, is a miser
of plant health, wealth
and chaotic growth,
you can't control your
eating or time,
so why should a ****,
heed the call to stop,
why should a plant,
slow down instead,
cant toward the Sun
you worship or hide
your hide from, and
your dog or cat, just
lays about the place,
licks your nose or face,
serve wine over ice and
take a couple of ice cubes
from a heart, that there
is never a chance of thaw,
at the temperature of dry
ice and dry eyes that will
not shed tears, will not
shuck fears, like oysters,
on the life that is a beach,
shoals,
rip tides,
confide and confounded,
leave the corpse in the sand
until the waves have pounded
knowledge of gardening and
gardens of life, go on live
beyond the strife, soften the
take on ****(s).

The table cluttered and crowded with stuff, in the now empty home,
Each item had a story and together, made enough pages to fill a tome,
But on the floor all by itself was a lock of hair in her tarnished pewter comb.

The fine dust coated all, as no one was left to brush the dirt under the rug now stolen,
The wall-paper curled down from the ceiling, in disrepair, "oh how the mighty had fallen",
Was scripted in red lipstick, on a mirror faded and cracked and aged, not gilded but sullen.

Emptiness filled and all that was left,
No treasure, the present was bereft,
Four decades of waste and theft,
Then a grey hand reached and caressed,
The tarnished pewter comb, the lock of hair left,
While a voice saying quietly, "it was for the best."

tear at your skin
until you get in
and fix the thin
excuse for being
human.

Self loath if you must,
but how can you trust,
the thoughts and ******,
that what you guess
to be real.

all humans have flesh,
daily life is a test,
and how you pass,
is sleeping and waking
then opening your eyes
take your next breath.

Be ******* yourself
sure, but let no one
else concur, remember
though, curing concrete
only gets harder with
water, even tears.

So maybe just maybe learn
from life and dance, be limber
to absorb the punches,
the mockery of your artistry,
light a fire to your life,
as there is no match to you.

Other than the passion you always knew
you had.  Confident not sentimental,
beautiful and experimental, your picture
in the dictionary under GENIUS.


©DWE092013

Whoaa, why so blunt, harsh hard-hearted heathen,
hear me out...
chase the dragonfly as it weaves trails to places
you have never dreamed...
                                             or have you?
pick the cherry tomato right off your vine
brush it off and bite down and let the juices
                          stream,
down your granite chin.

In your life were you ever gentle,
I mean soft with kindness,
      in love with blindness,
if you held your hand out would
all the animals long to be
close to you
or would you be all alone
through decades of cultivated fear
                       and evaporated tears,
from the heat of your raging anger
                  your looks like daggers,
skip down the aisles of grocery stores,
even when you are with friends of yours,
have a sock fight and be willing to lose,
sit on some shady chaise somewhere as
the sun sets and just drink in all that
is around, no needs no wants,
no haunts as the skeletons return to
their closets and leave you to be free
to laugh to cry to share to pry
your hands off the greed that chokes
every breath that could have been full
of
life
oh be gentle friend be gentle
their is enough spirits of malice
that yours, your spirit need not
be numbered among them,
oh gentle giant not by stature
not by might but by how God
sees you within His sight and
sings over you,
gentle humble friend if
we had the time to break bread
instead of speed records or
hearts misled by, "that is how we are wired."

Gentle

you can still be a man of courage,
you are a man of strength
you are a gentle man



©DWE072013

sky covered body,
grass stained back
broken lawn,
dampness hung
in the air,                                     "please get it over"
               clung to the copse of bare
               tree branches, their knuckles  
               held a veil of tears, streamed
               one to another as each one was
               shed, became a curtain
               but not a sound,                        "please get it over"
                                             distant mountains,
                                              like gods, towered,
                                              watching the spectacle
                                              while knowing they
                                              were spectacular,
                                              there was no equal,
               the black shape, moved
               on the asphalt, where only
               desperate green hints, grew
               hardy, alive, hardly anything
               moved until the dark shape
               stood still, unsure, idle.

the hands removed
the white stain from the
grass and placed it on a
bed of noisy wheels,
that was swallowed whole.                  "please get it over, I can't see"
by the idle blackness.

All moved slow,
there was no hurry,
no worry, unseeing eyes
stared at the blue sky seeking
God and that mercy had
come and gone, there was no warmth
the cold left, circumspect, all else,      
was corpse that was not soul.                      "get it over, please"

Lifeless left, the car moved on,
the mountains shook their trees,
and the branches near stopped ,
shedding tear shaped water drops,
the grass began to lift slowly as
soon as the weight was lifted,
                                                   some life returned to normal.

I know where womb
became breath of air
and I was born
in a hospital there,
place was north of flat,
with wind erosion,
Growing up was not easy I know
with glasses I was an
easy target, until I had single eye
surgery, muscle band
sutured, wore a patch for my pirate
eye, no sword in a hand,
I know what tetanus is and why I
had to get a shot,
Rusty nail through and through a
sneaker, hurt a lot,
I know first love and know too well
rejection, spread like
an infection through my life at that
time, unless I biked,
then the only ones faster than me were cars
and planes and trains
and birds, some dogs, other bigger kids
on bikes, this I know.

I know this is about to get repetitive.
I know how important a good goalie is in two sports.

I know what bullying was and bullying is,
I know that negative self talk is a disease, still looking for the cure.
I know I was once good, no GREAT at the Pursuit of Trivial things.
I know I have a short term photographic memory, what did I just say?

I know there is a difference between jokes and humour,
I know some-one who has cancer and tumours,
I know what it is to watch my child-ren be born, and
admit there is beauty in my part of creation.

I know
many things. I know what fitness is and what it isn't.  I know friends who have had eating disorders, and how it becomes their personality.

I know what it is to be an adult child when parents divorce,
I know what alcoholics behave like to live to drink another day and another and...

I know I graduated high school,
I know how to drive different vehicles,
I know how to operate from a motorcycle to heavy machinery
I know Cadets and I know Canadian Reserves.

I know what it is like to receive a dear Darrell letter, when many miles
are between, and young love, ends.

I know safety rules with weapons, I know how to properly salute,
I know I once knew how to build bridges in the company of many
men, we will call them Field Engineers, UBIQUE, and a unique lot
they were, I knew I was a jack of all trades there and master of none,
save one, I was a soldier first and an engineer second, now are we
ready for the explosives...

I know how to coach volleyball

I know marriage, I know that relationships are really all us humans
have of value, of value, I know how to rant a poem, I know communication and the frustration of speaking in the wrong tone,
I know to look for awe, I know that my house is cluttered, I know my dog is old, and though she is not spent yet, that day will come sooner,
and tears, those ******* tears will flow, it is just a **** dog, don't you know?

I know love.   I know respect is earned.

I know when a black cloud moves in and hangs around the head and heart of the one you love, it breaks the little bones in your ears, it pulls
hairs from your nose, it gives you aches and pains and drains the living
energy despite how much you pray it away or pray to be strong, or pray to accept it, or pray for her every waking hour, and too even if you just go along for the roller coaster ride of your lives.

I know Christ Jesus and Him Crucified,
not by anything I have done but by
the love of God for me.

Now you know what
I know and what I am
willing to share, there
is much more, for each of us, didn't you know?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice, smoky and warm
her hands soft and comfortable
in his hand.

Her tears, wet and salty,
his cupped palm catching them
and her laughter.

They were the final gifts
to one another on goodbye,
hands together and
sharing laughter,
smoky tears...
            fears were washed away.


©DWE092013