The muck I made
        stuck to me boots
water and soil, I grow roots,
enough to stay put in one place,
look me in the eye, and stare me in the face,
dare to go where your dare takes you, a disgrace,
the lies,
the gossip,
takes hyssop,
                          to cleanse this vessel soiled,
                                          by those who toil,
with evil in their hearts,
sparks that start,
let them believe they are actually alive,
it is sad,
it is me that has to break it to them,
it is they who have died to the truth,
it is the circle they surround themselves
that has drowned them
it is the honest life that has left them behind;
                                            bereft without hope...
they will fall away,
they have gone astray,
from what it is to be human.
Drama drama everywhere, only salty tears to drink.
Don't treat me like the animal, you have become.
It is a misadventure.

The skin, feels touch a cool gentle touch,
                         it has not felt one as such,
since the last time, replacements arrived.

It is such a tease this breeze moving slowly,
                    one minute and creeping lowly,
begging you to chase it close to the ground.

Suddenly changes swiftly, forcing curtains out,
                                     of the way, oh don't pout,
the breeze will come back and get you to play.

Reaching up to the sky to stretch and tire you out.

You'll be a dried up leaf chaser, catch sand in your face,
one second slow next fast and faster to change the pace,
what a delightful tease lifting curtains moving branches,

                                                    Exciting flowers to dances,
                              go ahead play along take your chances,
        not a cloud mover, it is just a breeze, trying to please,

Trying to put you at ease,
                                           after days on end of summer heat,
                       still stale air and relentless heat,
                                   be polite and sit still, offer the breeze a seat,
             resistance is a bold stratagem, but your
weak, open your arms embrace them,
          easy as pie, it is a breeeze.

Everything ingested in this life,
Talkin' food, talkin' trash,
Talkin' *****, talkin' flash in the pan,
Talkin' employment, talkin' deployment,
Writing poetry for enjoyment,
Reading poetry as a dénouement,
All I get lately in my feed is discontented,
Children of a higher need,
Boys my age, Boys my age,
Who prove they are not sage,
As to have their testosterone,
weep onto the
electronic page,  
where growing up is hard to do,
gland gestures, put in words,
no sign of feathers,
the birds have flocked off,
to find another victim.
It is called poetry,
Not immaturity,
Again into anonymity,
Maybe you don't know
Which one of your personalities is in control?

Hours pass,
so does memory,
and I can safely say,
you have all heard,
the question, like this
hey you live in the Big Apple
back in 1989 I met these four
guys, nice guys from Jersey on
the train going through
that real big train station,
do you know'em?
if I could remember their names, I bet you would recognize'em.
OR hey you live in Ontario,
I was in the army and I had this
friend he is six foot seven, nick named Too Tall,
you can't miss'em, blonde hair, blue eyes,
he was posted at CFB London last time I heard,
his first name is John, do you know 'em?
I spell his last name if you think it will help?
And in 89 when I got out of the Army, needed
to clear my head, took my wife and son,
for a walk way down south, on the good old
Appalachian Trail, met this guy along the
way, he was famous, I guess, trying out
boots and socks for some company with
Wing in the name, and some colour like Red,
he signed his name on some of their ads,
I, for the life of me can't remember his name,
do you know'em?
there I go again,
watch as I wax and wane,
trying weave my
minor misadventures,
like some debenture,
into story lines,
not to sell a bill of goods
fully true, see?

It is late somewhere in the world,
I have said too much tonight and hurled,
back in time and found memories with grime
and grit, and spit to clean my hands to
get a better grip, on who I am.
but better who I am with want, to be...
and what is your story?


©DWE102013

It is not your face we need but your heart
shaped words, it is not that you write of love,
but you write with it.

It is not that we only are satisfied with seeing
only your hand in the quietude of, and still,
for a moment, it is not
we only think you have one, but two and
the other is holding the camera, so still.

It is not that poetry is done easily, it is that scrapping of
the dross from the surface, let's us glimpse what is beneath,
it is not pure,
it may be molten,
it is not sure,
it is far from frozen.

Oh that dross isn't a loss it is the ugly, happy, sad, crazy, lazy, beautiful,
maddening, inspiring, the list is endless, no need to defend this, this dross never
goes away from the impure state, but leaves an essence in the write.

In time, it is not
for us to judge,
but with a friendly nudge,
and a hand shake,
so that that face unseen
is close enough to greet,
and that smile to be seen
how sweet,

breath at the speed that trees bow low,
tears disguised as bullets from clouds,
sting, when they find their mark,
the air so damp it cries to be wrung out,
all this calls me to my bed and
I wrap my arms
around the gentle soul, that I love,
                                                        it is not a dream I am home.


©DWE30092013

Continue...

The sky broken up by steel lines, are they still there?
The peace shattered and shattered and shattered, and
                                                                   no glass falls.
            Tears, droplets red, as well as, instead.

Take away the senses leaves a dry taste in the mouth.
The weak are the insensitive, and numb and seen it all
                                                                                 before.
       Robocop gets beat up by the Transformers.

No not the ones attached to the poles attached to those wires,
but the ones attached to arms and legs and make arms and
                                                                                  the mouth,
                                           MOVE!

While soft shoe, dancing across the house floor without looking down,
          so if there is a trip and stumble don't let your face grow a frown,
                                                                                                   permanent
                     not like a one act clown embezzling emotions.


From the crowd.
For the future.
Stitch the hole, with a suture
twenty hundred pounds of laundry,
washed twelve loads of  linens in the
wash-house, now all is quiet as a mouse,
all are stained
all are pained
all too many
down the drain
when will we ever
learn
when will we ever
learn

I know it is not a solution, but lets start giving everyone a gun
and stop making bullets

you wear a hat, add an e, now you hate,
you tear down, add an r, now you drown in self pity,
you get your nose out of joint, add an i now you just make
noise, add in your passive aggressive *****, silent reading
becomes noisy.

The door stood open,
I closed my eyes, hoping,
what was out there, "Stay",
right where it was, at bay.

I raised my rod from my side,
pointed at the threshold, decided,
I would battle if it came through,
the open space, vulnerable, I knew.

I could not close the door, for fear...

At the foot of the sill the blackness lapped,
like tasting blood, shaking, I was trapped,
metal sill became black as it began to spill,
into the house black touching the tiles, I felt ill.

Suddenly...

A scream shook my house, and a sword pierced
the blackness, slicing, chopping then forced,
into the house, inside the frame, Daniel Day Lewis,
stepped in from out, spinning in black riding boots.

It was only then, I knew it was a dream.
He only picks his movie rolls,carefully.

Elusive elephant elegantly eating.
Lioness learning landlocked locales.
Limber leopard leaping lightly.
Intimidating irate iridescent iguana.
Exercising eel elongating effortlessly

You know your old when,
you buy a two bedroom with a den,
and it never empties out.

You have dragged emotional baggage,
cleaning your ears to discover cabbage,
busting at the seams, zippers are stuck!

For the first time in your life, you have a plan,
right?, oh no, you got this far on fruit and bran,
okay cereal killer, bust a move and your hip.

Have you smiled yet?

I really want with certainty,
to give you three steps, not wishes, for eternity,
it IS really important some how.

Not that this is the end,
could be drawn out like torture,
what would you give up, in forfeiture?

I've tried to do it on my own, painful right to my bones,
I am not powerless, nor am I a legend in my own mind,
Some One did it for me, and he found me, in a bind.

Have you found Him yet,
hit refresh, until you do,
don't believe in just anything,
even some lies can be true,
that baggage, it may be your strength.

rain pelted and fell from the sky,
glancing often as no one went by,
four wheels rolled by often,
the rain did little to soften,
the rumble, the thrum, sounded like thunder
but it was the noise of the "Jake" brake under
the hood.

so many big wheels lifting up spray,
mudflaps did not get in the way,
of the geysers, of oily mud, and water
too slick to stop in such short order,
tons of weight, need to wait after the halt
their turn so, you hear the thunder waltz
into the air as "Jake" doesn't stand still
until he has sung his bass notes.
                                             By rote.

Still no pedestrians, too wet even for a
well structured umbrella but the
skid of brakes is seldom heard,
not a word except by "Jake"

Thanks for the brake, "Jake"


©DWE102013

Does the night appeal or is it day,
Does staying close or going far away,
taste better, take your time to digest,
oh this isn't a poll.
just let the answers roll
from the tip of your nib
to the lined paper,
what causes you to fear and what, feels safe,
which is worse homeless man or war-torn waif?
do you prefer white or red,
beer in a bottle or in a glass,
milk chocolate or dark (only 5.7 grams per day)
are you a survivalist or an escapist,
do you drink too much water or not enough,
I can ask a million questions,
okay I exaggerate this stuff.

think for the moment if each choice was only between two,
would there be a pattern, or would you be able to undo,
decisions made that let your cards show before they
were played?

My life keeps me humble,
                        as I jumble,
through my day
                     and mumble,
to myself,
not in jest,
not in play,
I am not certain,
who I am, who am I?
                         I bumble
about the place
as busy as a bee,
do not stop to
look in a mirror
       at my face.

There is a chance I won't recognize me.
I walk quickly so as
to appear not to stumble,
      my stomach rumbles,
and squeals at
different pitches,
bring on the whale
song, sing along
if you know the
words.

This what the pace of life does
leaves me jumbled, I dabble in
dark chocolate, too many times
a day, I love the taste of red,
just a glass or it may go to
                                my head,
I get my heart
pounding in my chest,
wish it was from
working out and not
be stressed.

Enough of me and how are you?
You look good, time pays you
a compliment, love what you
have done with your hair, excuse
me for a moment incoming jumble.

I walk my dog, or does the dog walk me,
fix a leaky hose or just turn off the tap,
the roof creaks over head, are there
rodents in the attic, even in this heat?
The clouds that hang in the sky tonight,
will bring rain to jack up the humidity,
some one some where in their stupidity,
will be flying a kite, Ben Franklin style.
I hope he does not suffer for his enlightenment

So down the Hydro easement in a "house known
to police" something exploded and burns of the
second degree caused trauma and the air ambulance
came in low over our kitchen, shaking the walls
and dog, both have recovered nicely thanks

So they took the burn victim to the hospital
to get fixed up, wherein I ask is there a cure for
stupidity,
humidity, getting in my head,
if I did not have a portable AC
by my bed, not very green of me, eh?
Ooops now you know I am Canadian,
sorry, confirmed, I will just jumble my way
off to bed, I will let you get back to more
important stuff instead...



©DWE072013

Just a little ditty, not too witty,
when my youngest is now of age,
in the United States,
but has been for two years in Canada,
                                   it doesn't matta,
                  so Happy Birthday son
as of midnight you are twenty one,
in human years
not dog years
you speak of dreams
        and you stream
   ideas   of a   better world,
while I do NanoWriMo
you talk of Nano Technology
where you will go to University
                           in Ontario,
after you go to Australia,
I hope we don't fail ya'
by casting love clouds of doubt,
or just stand by and shout,
like some cheerleader,
but really listen and hear ya'
    for you have leader ship skills
and intutive creativity with a proclivity
that will help you sail for years
in the world where small is becoming huge
if you can just find the wind
if you can just find the wind

Few words
Count the cost
of the loss.

Just tears.

fields of dollars,
make someone rich,
                       that subject is taboo, write of sunshine and fluffy clouds,
  at the gas pump,
    cell phone providers,
                                      whoa, smell any conspiracy in the air,
     stinks of family lineage,
       where even the skeletons are well dressed,
                                                        ­            especially those in the closet,
          who never did come out,
           even after they retired from politics,
                                                                ­    don't water down your investments, invest in water rights, and oil rights, and undermining other's rights, you'll make a killing and be rich,

there is an killing, in killing
there takes a will to consider money above all things,
there are those that give back,
there are those who attack,
the vulnerable for their money,

losing all can **** dreams,
losing all can change retirement plans,

wander in the killing fields of the greedy,
                               will leave you needy,
protect your heart,
protect your mind,
don't be blind,
or when you sleep you will grind your teeth,
in a personal rebuke,
protect what little you have,
lest you become a fool and become separated,
in the chaos as life churns you up and spits you
to the streets, because
of liars and cheats.

They sing too lightly to be heard,
their fingers pick pockets that
are wired today, they **** softly,
with your hard earned currency,
your green streams away
from your corpse in the copse
of electric trees.

Tearing cellophane
                                 drops it, silver foil follows
C-stick lit, habit

There is no night like the night,
you truly understand friendship,
not a boat with a rudder,
that might guide you, if you knew
where to steer
not a ship with an anchor,
that might hold you fast,
in any storm
but the warmth and comfort
from being close,
even though the distance between,
cannot be counted in steps,
but measured in the depth
and meaning of each moment
together, by laughter and tears,
sharing of hopes and fears,
and the encouragement to dream.

decay not in sight,
yet life lives not,
there was no blood spilled,
yet redness shows,
this is not a happy place,
stop looking at the face,
expecting change,
expecting,
unlimited endurance,
pruners saw blade,
in place,
in relief,
begins
to cut and saw,
away, every branch that is dead died decayed,
on the inside,
with each branch that falls,
tree snow dust from the saw
falls flawlessly,
on the boots and steel toes,
the litany and woes of the tree
about to fall in many parts,
is no different than the man,
with the pruning saw in his hands,
yet one is still alive to live within his means
or to catch and release, his vibrant dreams,
as for the tree,
a stump remains and the roots tap the soil deep,
a legacy,
a slow return to the Earth,
giving back to the engine, the hearth,
that fuels itself,
while fools,
uproot peace of mind,
drinking till they go blind,
spouting toxins and waste,
into their own yard,
good bye tree, your future, your seeds
                                                 are freed,
as your saplings will outlive this man.
You can see, clearly
that with those,
knotted wooden eyes.

There is garbage in and garbage out,
more of it stays in, leaves doubt,
what to think of life and there about,

the cost of msinformation

when you lay down your head for bed,
and your stomach is full, there is no dull lull
in the energy, inside see, oh there is a problem

the cost of winding down, the clock that
goes tick tock, ticktock, all night
as you glow in the dark, from metabolic sparks,

fitness hits every attribute of your life,
physical,
emotional,
spiritual,
social,
intellectual,
mental,
vocation, in no particular order,
adapt or become fossiled grizzle,
life will go on while you fizzle
out
of
existence,

It really is about knowing when you are full, and of what,
It really is about knowing when you are empty and need a refill,
of what won't make you ill kept, ill tempered, ill so others do not
keep, their distance... by the way
how are things in NYC to night? One week to go...till that Big Game
What about Australia and all points between,
and how is that other side of the Atlantic doing,
I won't go further than that because I have to riot,
and I am having one writing this.



©DWE012014

Slightly sweet cinnamon to tempt my taste buds,
Warm comfort found in breaded swirls, fresh,
from the oven to my plate, my lonely appetite to sate,
I won't eat them, those dozen all...at once,
It is too late at night and no time for stunts.

it starts with one
sometimes,
no it does not stop, unfinished,
then another is
added,
that is now two, colours or media
background
three takes some time and becomes four then
five has some texture
or a hint of glint, ummmm, six
or is it the other
way around,
finally the focal
point
is placed, the same process, not just for show,
but the mystery
my friends,
lies in the layers,
(and in my prayers,)
for the artist,
life is a test,
if you miss it,
okay,
or interpret it
off and away,
she will stand
             under.
masks
help
her seem
normal
to the
madding
crowd,
layers she has
but is there
how many, try to count
till you can
find who
she is, so
meek and so
mild,
created creative
one of and not
the only, God's
child.

Run a hand along the arc and wooden edge and a splinter
leaves the grain
sharp, is the pain
marked by a drop of blood.

Pedalling fast two feet, two circular wheels
no hands, straight faced delivery,
no guts, no glory,  youth and temerity,
gravel bits where rubber meets the road.

Trembling hand, no two, follow softly,
the rolling of the satin surface, accepting,
pressing for more, hands directing hands
where to press in to the curve, yearning
becomes burning, so much to this learning
                                                        ­     curves.

the way the teeth get out of the way of the tongue,
the sounds come from the throat and below,
maybe it starts at a big toe?

the sinus chamber is more plus than
minus, adding to the echo that only
you hear, no fear built in reverb!

read the long and the small,
stories, poetry and all aloud,
hear that voice, it is yours,

BE PROUD!

play with your voice, become a vocal
acrobat by choice, assembled a vocal
ensemble with your chords,
all the poems and words, you horde,

for reading
when with
your light
alone at night
you read a million words
to learn to love the sound
of your voice, shaping
words, adding emotion
to a two dimensional framework
and making it a verbal ballet!

All the pattern pieces were made with individual care,
Woven together, the journey through life women share,
But there remained some loose ends, unused threads.

They were the ones that did not get used,
Not part of the pattern, not fused, they refused,
To be set aside, they bided their time, knowing...

Just as the women had been brought together over a dire need,
With prayer, they assembled the quilt pieces knitted without greed,
No gossip filled the air, a sense of urgency to complete the work.

Each piece was attached to another, using the left-over threads,
The many became one community, tied together with the short threads,
The rejects now held the whole quilt together, instead,
Of being discarded.

It takes all in a community, to make one quilt, one banner, one voice,
One future, from patterned pieces to a hand full of loose threads.

Legends are made to be broken, especially if they are human, mythical,
Lyrics are made to be sung, when there are no words it is just, musical,
Lovers are made to be together, broken parts, heart songs beating, magical.

Boulevard paved, cloud runnin' chase, to clear thoughts
Mindfulness, craved pounding in, raining pain sought
Free me! bound points pressing in, thorns? BE GONE! bought
padded Dr. Scholes soles.                 

Trail's bridge truss, wooden way leads to peace climbing
Lean  in shoulder first, dig, dig, pistons legs pump hard
Muscles in tighter bundles demand  enrichment
Slopes up, roll down, pleasure

A Remembrance,
Of a Day,
Quand Je Me Souviens.

Vitality spent,
Courage displayed,
           Fear allayed,
               dismay, at the lives                                        lost.

There were scholars,
                                there were youth,
                                                          ­  there were the uncouth,
                                                        ­                                           there were aged,
but never mind all that,
                                       as a matter of fact,
                                                           ­          any one of them,
                                                           ­                                     deserves my respect,
For an eternity.
On this Eve,
I learned, my freedom, is not of my doing,
I learned, I can choose, because they did lose,
                                                           ­             their freedom, their lives, their dreams,
I learned, what sacrifice, what SACRIFICE,
                                                      ­               more than sufficed, to provide hope,
                                                           ­                                                  to cope,
with wars and rumours of wars
                  and rumours of wars, that breach my peace of mind
                                                            ­                 that I am blind
                                                           ­                                          to the peace that passes all understanding,
for I will never understand war,
but I thankfully understand
what was given away by choice,
                              not to rejoice, in what I have received,
but They are, the reasons, at least eighty six million four hundred thousand reasons,
I do not huddle
in my bed waiting for
the bombs to stop falling,
to start calling for my loved ones,
I do not clench my teeth as
I grip my rifle to call out
"All Clear"
until the next time I am gripped by
the fear it may be me or someone I
know, who will need to be
let go. Thank Them, Catch Courage, Found Freedom, Love Life, Pray Peacefully
There are more but these are the learned Lessons on this Eve.





©DWEfor11112013

My pen, the shovel, you have one too,
that digs for nuggets,
of gold and finds coal.

Messy writing shuffle,
pen and ink, hug its
place on my paper soul.

The trick is like finding truffles,
writing to spread the fungus,
add heat, duress, be an atoll,
and
you may
produce a gem
a diamond in the rough is
still a diamond.

I did not run away from home or family or my present past,
I knew I had to leave, stagnating me was where I once and remained at last,
So I left, my home town, an acting out clown, needing to find maturity.

I joined the service of Queen and Country, only to learn that I was a failure,
To my dreams of absurdity, made decisions and choices hoping to find a saviour.
Only as an immature man can do, yet moving forward, aging as we all do, each day.

That changed and with more, than care that I became self-aware, not of my limits,
but there were others, differences too that I did learn and experience hints of fitness
possibilities, alone I would fester in my own skin, it was because I had wanted to win.

A career of eleven long years traded in for love and a 3 year marriage, in fact,
A Saviour found by the lost, faith found, He covered the cost, a propitiatory act.
Leaving a Gain, moving with a repeat Nomadic cycle, chasing work to find a Home.

Three hundred thirty nine months later, almost a year of months, we have been wed,
The memories are many and not the same but we grow much closer together instead,
You bring colour, and vital vibrancy to our life, do I bring you reason or rhyme?

I will keep this short and sweet and cut to the chase,  next to you I see life
differently, even when I look in a mirror at my face, through trials and strife,
and purpose, I am His to serve, my rough edges are highlighted by lasting joy.

Grow up!
Reach Out!
Become aware,
                      of your surroundings,
Go ahead share,
                          your daily doings,
but first find a spot,
one square foot, not
in the center of a
busy Boulevard,
twelve inches on
all four sides with some or all of both feet inside,
and look down at the ground all around,
then raise your eyes and discover the surprises that
wait at waist level near and far, then take a risk and look
at the distant distance, the haughty horizon
so far away and appear so tall, feel smaller?

Then wait there till the sun is gone and
watch the stars appear one by one and
soon groups and bunches, light the night
does the moonlight make you think on
how it all started, your hunches, might
be yours, hang on to what is right for you,
might be a mistake, maybe genius,
keep breathing or you
maybe missing oxygen like venous
blood flow from your feet which are
now rooted in the one square foot
you stand with your two feet,
life in the square foot is where
you start, start small,
with large amounts of wonder
see the lightening, wind and thunder,
be filled with awe,
like a thirsty cup dusty with time
and emptiness, parched to experience
anything outside the ordinary
inside a square foot of life.

Then walk away plant a seed,
and just remember to tend the
growth from time to time,
the beauty of life in the square foot.

©DWE092013

tattoos on both arms, shoulders wide,
shaved head with a scar
that scar was a jagged edged
piece of art
hung in the Gallery of Violence.

her mouth moved and it smelled of smoke
which tasted profane, her hair was clean
her dress was nice, in a rough way,
a piece of life,
living where few people Tread with Willing Hearts.

another stood on the corner, every one was rushing
to work in the early morning light,
her heels her legs, advertising near the job site,
dignity ignored,
stepping into the next contractors Pickup Truck that opened the door.

two hit and runs minutes apart after midnight
one younger was injured slightly
the other died from his unsightly injuries,
disregard for human life,
incidents related, no, they have caught and arrested one,
driving without care because of Where They Were, in Whalley

This just in, "Life Is In My Face",
could be anywhere,
but just down the road from my place,
all of this is too real,
how kind I rest, in the surreal?
When Life Is In My Face,
bending time, filling space,
raindrops like tears evaporate,
like the peace, like the tranquility, like the dignity, like the safety
of another city night, raining, raining
straining it seems, to get a rest,
from the beast that is easily aroused.

I stand because I cannot sit by.
I cannot stand to watch what I look at.
I watch and cannot see what is really there.
See?
I stare at my fantasy without reality.  Events unfold and stories told, through
characters merely imagined, to keep that part of me from wintering through everyday
of my life, like a single dried-up and curled-in leaf still attached to a nearly empty tree.
Feel?
That cold creeping closer and in as age frosts my rough-hewn surface, an exterior not
even my mother could love, anymore, anymore.  The veins and arteries act as they have
been treated, neglected and broken down, they leak and it is more than, just slightly salty water,
drip, drip...drip.
Hear?
Am I listening to life around me, those voices are more than noises and sounds, they are filled with
words, which echo and rebound that taste of meanings that I must really take care to understand.  It is
not all about me, as I am not talking about the voices, the all-important voices, in my head.
Taste? Smell?
Oh Comfort, to find comfort from with-in rather than with-out, when none other will, fill that palate we all share and the air we all share, that I  breathe.  My blindness has a cure, my insensitivity can be repaired, and my hearing could pass any test, but I must get past the stench of my selfish failures and the textured memories of the stale-dated repast.

We spent days together when we cried,
We spent months together when we laughed,
In my absence, laugh until you cry.

We spent years together struggling to make it work,
We spent decades together raising children,
In my absence, laugh until you cry, and can't stop laughing.

We spent every second learning to love one another,
We spent every hour as best as we could, no doubt,
In my absence, laugh or cry, remember me, I may not open
Heaven's gate for you, but I will save you the window seat,
like always.

It was black, just black
          before the attack
                                  by everything I feared
                                   my lips in the mirror
trembled and quivered
as snakes found their
                                  way into my mind,
                                   out my ears and into
my home, the spiders
climbed on the outside
                                 of my frame, no need to
                                   bite or spin a web,
I had woven my own trap,
  my floor became ladders
                                         and I was thirty three
                                         feet above anything real,
there was no one to watch
     but alone I saw all eyes
                                        were turned on me,
                                         I started to cry and drown
in my tears but then the
worst happened and I frowned
                                                   as I was comforted by a clown
                                                   who put his hand on my shoulder
             and said "don't worry, you'll be a year
older next time, there will be much more to fear."
Like Clowns...

the peace of the woods would feel empty with out the caw of the crows,
even this piece of the woods would be empty of sound, if trees were to fall in rows,
for there is no one here to hear, they are in their cars, their offices, their homes,
for there is none alone here to hear, they being social on their media, darlings,
scavenging a life or schmoozing but staying distant from the crows and starlings,
they leave a lot of junk behind
for us
it is not in the searching but finding
we fuss,
we feathered ones are eating what they do;
for one day we will be as smart as them or
they will be like us,
no home but a den, a nest, a pit in the ground that they share with one another,
being social without the media, once again,
like it was before



©DWE2013

shut it down, shut it down,
but it will not,
try on a bed, one pillow under your head
                                                            ­       not two,
how about a cot,
                          no naps on the spot,
                                                           a glass of warm milk or two,
warm water won't make you ill what if
a warm shower instead,
                                      a routine, hour by hour,
                                                           ­                until it is that time to stop,
stop caffeine, after two in the afternoon,
read Moby **** or War and Peace, be with you as you rest,
maybe eat earlier instead of late, no deserts after eight PM,
praying may help, read a Holy Book with time to listen to God
for your soul or physical stretching too, failing all that,
systematic muscle relaxation from toes and feet
                           up through each muscle group
                           to the eyes and face then fall asleep,
                           clench the muscle full, then halfway
I know I am repeating my self,
this is indigestion for the lack of digestion of what I said before,
count sheep,
count rocks.
count horn beeps,
try electrical shocks (with your doctors approval),
oh did I forget medication (ditto see your doctor),
left side, right side or back side,
change the bed direction,
or how about a quiet music selection,
less video screens, I am not even talking games,
phones and tablets are to blame,
tap your chest over your heart, in time, in beat
breathe so that the emphasis is on emptying out,
the lungs will on automatic refill themselves,
dust your room, empty shelves (before bedtime)
warm the bed or have *** instead,
write out a to do list so when you
sleep you won't lose what is
important to you,
like sleep.


©DWE012014

"little bird, little bird
why don't you run"
(said the orange cat as big as the sun)
"little bird, little bird
you don't cheap a bit"
(said the orange cat stalking closer than close)
"little bird, little bird
why do you dance
and skittle so?"
(said the orange cat raising a clawed paw)
little bird
looked the cat straight in the eye
"lean closer cat to hear my
words as I am too weak with despair
if my wings were not clipped, unfairly
I would far away fly,  but you
were so entranced
with me, I forgot
to introduce
my friend
the dog!"