Her eyes matched her hair, and she watched me sit down there, at a small table.
There were two black tables small, with four chairs each, her eyes shut, she slept.
Her phone at her elbow, tension, burdened ****** features, i prayed.

I left her, I walked out, found a man bent over, a humble posture
At peace, bent head covered, his tobacco stained fingers laced, prayerfully.
He was a blue jean Jesus, beard bore the same stains as his rough hewn hands.

I passed by briskly and did not look him in the eye, walked down the street.
The blonde pole dancer next caught my eye, she wore short shorts that bared her thigh.
Her habit called, the street she knew, "No Fear, Little Sleep, and Need of Prayer"

Nowhere to go
but up
           ergo ego
                        stringing me along.

©DWE012014

wispy clouds
on a blue sky
and a blood-
less sunset, lost on all for now
some despised boys in
cowardly mens bodies
have more bul-
lets than teeth,
yet the chickenshit bites
and mark and
grief they leave
behind, spent
casings litter the
halls of learning
peace, pieces, seething, see the thing
is now, lost on all for now  

so how much hate do you have to harbour, to ****** a child?

yet the clouds of
witnesses stay silent;
no, not the common
man, the common
women, who have
in common with you and
I, tears falling from, my eyes
our eyes, there is
horror, there is shock
there is mouths
open and no air is
getting to the lungs,
a silent scream for
justice, as no one
can bring the children back, memories do not cut the loses,
yet the clouds of
witnesses stay silent; those
seats of power
must be real com-
fortable at this hour
eschewing respon-
sibility, for there
is no gain by get-
ting involved,

the ultimate of pre-emptive fear,
how hard can they be to find leaving a yellow streak
wherever they go, crawling on their yellow bellies.

this is not to be read,
out loud for even the
sound and rhythm,
from anywhere in
world, would break hearts, my heart
cannot make rhyme and reason
about this crime,  see there is
an evil scaramouch, no credit
the pantywaist
deserves, takes on flesh and
payment is required.

What is lost on all for now..
What is lost on all for now..
What is lost on all Africa for now..
The value, the energy,
the beauty, the potential,
the future, there were
musicians, there were
geniuses, there philan-
thropists, there were
artists, * there were poets,*
they were children and
grandchildren, they
were going to be parents,
they were going have
children and that is
lost on all for now and forever.

Do you wake up each day, with your eyes open, then be thankful,
not that you can see, but that there is another day for you.
Then another and another day ... A life, whether alone, so alone,
or shared with sisters and brothers, grab it with both hands.
Grab it so you have its attention saying, not "look at me,"
but exclaiming "that everyday is a new and exciting adventure."

Mind there is pain,
That even bones weary of,
Even in love,
That will not fade,
In time, please,
Resist being jaded,
There is release,
Not in the mundane,
We all need, once a day,
Some  in  play,
All  in  time,
Even  in  love,
A shimmering,
Tear-stained smile.

Not in sadness, but in laughter,
that is harder than the trials in this life,
Not coerced or forced, natural and
naked with a contagious pitch, striving.
Not only for a moment, but for all Time,
real Play, as for the core there is Love.

She, dressed in black, gingerly moving each item of clothing, with care,
The road side gravel and dirt with concrete is her boudoir, straight hair,
dark and greasy, she moves to put each item away, how did they get there?

Maybe, her friend, taking watch at the street, looking north, with concern,
Glancing over her shoulder at her friend as she bends and each item returns,
to the black luggage and black bags,  where is her home, I can't quite discern?

Later, I  see her all alone drinking from a water bottle and she can't sit still,
bags are packed near the bus stop, several blocks  away and back up the hill,
No friend in sight, the bus did not take her, where to spend the night, she'll chill.

Somewhere.

Just as she always has had,
leather skin as tough as
it always was, but her
heart,
beating,
tenderly,
quickly,
waiting,
for night,
or worse
to fall...

She's not around,
suitcases poorly hidden
after, the night before.

Some  bags were
by the barrier
wonder where
they were?

Belongings here,
no one in sight,
but is she alright?

Wave your arms above your head
singing
sha na na  nana  na, I see the joy
when others are fit to be tied,
they can't keep their anger inside
controlled
yelling and waving their arms
madly
shouting at the top of their lungs
till hoarse scratching
sounds
are all they have left, they are spent.

Sha na na  na na  na na na
Wearied men and women wander the street,
Some are too, behind a steering wheel, pedals at
their feet, their hands lead busy lives,
texting,
talking,
dialing at will, cornering while drinking coffee,
phone by their ear and cigarette in their mouth,
who's driving the car?

Sha na na  na na  na na na clap clap
I can't carry a tune, hit or miss each note,
Given up on memorizing anything by rote,
Be a bringer and giver of peace,
Don't distracted drive for there are police,
Sing with me, drown me out, when I go flat,
You are the best,
You are the king or queen
of your domain,
and I yes, just tell me and I will make it so,
Make it so, make it so, don't let it pass,
make it so.

But, please do not hurt me, I cry easily,
I will hide my face, the streaks of dirt,
will be the remains of my pain,
marking me sad.

Sha na na na...  enough na.

somebody rang out the sky of it's blue,
leaving
the water heavy gray mist, to mope among the
trees, the brush, the cars, the people, the
streets with buildings and light poles until
the Sun,
surfaces,
highlighting the ***** dishwater hanging about
and no bubbles
to lighten the somber mood of the day.

oh but, this mist has moved up to fog status,
the soup you walk through, drive through
breathing in the
odor of all that has passed this way and left
behind what the fog has bitten out of them,
or they paid as a toll, so the fog doesn't
demand it all.

until someday the water table will get excited
again and let the droplets fall,
and fog becomes mist then nothing at all,
and returns the blue to the patch of sky,
which I spy with my little eye.

Are you real, or are you fake,
you have a name for a names sake,
you wear it like on a car,
with all the vanity you have and are,

what do you do here?

Are you reading looking for code,
you decipher the earnest viper,
behind all this ill intent, some just vent,
others write of love, but those are not
the ones you watch with your
vinyl gloves typing away at the job.

what do you see here?

You mock some, you enjoy others,
I am sorry you grew up lonely,
no sisters or no brothers, an only
child with a penchant for mystery,
when you went overseas you got dysentry,
even that word loosens your bowels.

what touches you here?

warm words, with tears streaming,
emotions that rise and fall with the sun,
retire early and run words with us,
you will have fun, pour those bottled-up
emotions and expand your self worth,
c'mon give it a try, experience re-birth!

what finds you here, today, lonely one?



©DWE122013

the sound of water, tells of waves,
each one thunders,
rolling in not even the wind behaves,
on my bed the pillows
soften the sound, hold my head and quiet the waves,
no longer
do they pound, the round curled ocean fingers,
roll and land,
with weight clawing at the sand covered rocks,
little by little,
taking it all away to leave only the sound of
the water rolling.




©DWE012014

how to write poetry?
And rea(d), And rea(d),
Observe beauty,
write the life you see,
with honest integrity,
Vulnerability with
the woe in me,
out in the open,
Typing,
Writing,
Sketching,
Etching,
Carving NOT,
a niche,
Every word
written here,
is a piece of me,
the letters and words and sounds
are not tattoos,
but decorated, ornamented me,
piercings
and truth be told,
Let me know if
I am on the Button.

Veneer with oils and salt saline,
surface warming to a sheen,
Sun also rises too break the
morning,
fabric shapes change
like billows stoking a fire,
until the fuel is spent,
the grip seems to not let go,
to join the day,
stay euphoria stay,
slowly fading away,
Sun still rising into a cloudless sky,
parting,
is to greet the day,
richer for the moments of play.

©DWE102013

watch the sun rise, shield or shade your eyes,
                                                           ­            it will be eleven thirty
on the East Coast when this yield will fade to cries,
for just a little over twelve hours
ago some one, yes one, lost hope and to get even with
a score, in a battle with his inner dark place, maybe the
rent was due, maybe she had let him live with them or
was about to ask him to leave,
maybe, maybe he never asked for help or none was
offered, maybe he lost his jobs because of his temper,
or maybe he was a man and did not know how to
ask for help or maybe he snapped, or maybe he
was going nowhere and the family who let him
now wanted to him stay,
or go away, we may never know,
or may we never, no, never leave families in such a place,
where the wreckage happens
                                              and cost them all, the innocents,
their lives.

Green moss thick and dark, grows slowly
The wild flowers rise and reach, to catch the breeze
Lichen lie low a laclustre collect, on the rock and lee

There are no walls, the barriers and possibilities are natures' ways
The birds sing among the Wisteria, to attract the mysterious
The wild flower petals open sun-wide to receive the bees

The tiniest things of nature, can confound the human mind
Insect, animal, and human are not the only occupants
The birds fly to chase and catch a meal, then return fastidious

E'er so often you may imagine, to see with disbelief, smallish things
Clear blue above, yet does your head not heavy grow, give in
It is not your tired eyes, that fool with faerie sized inhabitants,    

Did you see the Twinkles moving, from the corner of your eye
Breathe, soft and become the meadow grasses long and tall
Clouded vision, any friend of nature, finds a pillow, live long

I have been to this very meadow, seems just recently,                    
Green moss thick and dark, grows slowly
Skin so soft petals enrich all dreams, on waking without the fall
Lichen lie low a lacklustre collect, on the rock and lee




© DWE20150416

Complex rhythms simple rhymes,
We all need places of respite in times.
like these.

I have a voice but singing music is not,
Where my gifts are and can't be bought,
or found.

I have found a place of ultimate rest,
I don't take enough time there, blessed
to know Him.

Information pours like an incessant odd storm,
absorbed or reflected terabytes are now the norm,
measure God?

sit still as the leaves fall from the trees
did you listen for the noise on landing
                                     and the breeze
gravity is such a force when a leaf falls
                          of course it accelerates
                          at nine point eight m/s/s
Newton said it first,
                               Einstein had it right,
watching the leaves free fall within sight
                                                           ­      man is the pinnacle of God's creation,
        physics gives reason, for our delight.


©DWE102013

sun in my eyes, standing there,
on the platform,
as her train pulled away,  
hoping a cloud storm,
would rain hard,
as to stay coping with forms
of sunsets flashing
red hues of warning,
with each passing window
burned the optic nerve,
into my brain,
with each passing window,
pain welled up and exhaling
as the last car of the last train
carried all my sadness in the
eddies and backwash
in a breath of air,
gravity is a strange thing
when you fall for someone
and they leave,
you are drawn in, by the vaccum,
and may not catch yourself,
or have the will to stop,
from the four foot drop to the tracks,

thank goodness
my grandparents and
my parents put
that harness on,
that they had for me...and (my brother)
in words
"All the love
from horizon
   to horizon"

memorize
by rote,
what you wrote,
take a note to,
                      jog the mind,
                            the mind,
                                a minefield
                             or is it yours?
don't bother
to memorize
anything, anymore,
                                  evermore (there is he raven, again)
                                   evermore,
the world is at
the disposal of
your opposable
thumbs, fabulous phablets,
mephone, myphone and iphone,
costs more time
to memorize,
but what a
surprise when it will
be gone,
as someone will
find out how to pull the plug.
              how to pull the plug,
                                                evermore
                                                 evermore (what is he raven about this
                                                                                                      time?)    
Trust your mind,
until you are too old to
remember when you
started forgetting,
that you never smoked,
but today would be
a good day to smoke a
cigar, and between,
distasteful puffs and the exhaled
cloud, is a fog to the mosquitoes
of spring, you spout scripture,
from the mind - mouth connection,
while expectantly looking up heaven
word for direction, because, still my
beating heart there is faith, in your memory,
not in your fingertips trying to
reach out and under
                       stand,
technology.

Ages past I was once a prized rose,
prized by a Beastly prince
prized by a promise since
filled, prized by a Beauty who chose
a simple request to be brought a single rose.

Please let me stop, to catch my breath
look not upon my petals withered
my thorns still own a fine point tapered
the Beast would not forgive the Merchant's transgress -
ion, so I was privy to a ransom demand, He then Beast, obsessed

that Beauty was to come of her own free will
otherwise Beast would the merchant ****,
(and remember I still lay on the ground, stock still
  not wanting to incur the wrath or step of ill will)
either of a Beast, my Master, or the Merchant, and his own disasters

to have arrived a thorn's point, a life and death balance, no act
no wonder once it was all done, I aged slower than the rest
but for Beauty missed her family and the Beast was in fact

Still a beast,

some say I was put under glass, some say under a magical spell
I was possibly picked up by beauty and she was pricked by a wicked thorn under her skin and a tiny drop of that love's blood sustained
me, think what that type of love, could do for the Beastly,

prince,

read the story for yourself, take a dusty book off the shelf
learn and live the lesson for your self and share your love,
like Beauty proclaimed hers,
and the Beast received then became the Prince,
from ugly, and the families all, filled the great hall,
Beauty had a marriage Banquet, the next day
I saw it all from my place, now let me retire, I fade faster
and in the end The Prince, his Beauty lived happily ever after.

Mind the thorns when you lay me to rest.

White, pale watchful friend of those who abstain normalcy,
Often ridiculed and blamed for uncontrolled lunacy,
Overshadowed is the light you give, by the blame brutally,
cast your way.

Round, tonight but the rest of the time your shape shift changes,
And people treat you with hardly a care, like distant strangers,
When there is no moon at all, they limit their verbal exchanges,
to the weather.

You are so full of yourself tonight and your ghostly white countenance,
The sirens are busy, noisy travels north and south moving to accidents,
People doing strange and dangerous acts, driving badly is evident,
with a darkening night sky.

Some nights you just drive me crazy.

Chicken Little looked up at me and said, "The sky is broken and is falling down."
I looked at chicken little and said, "you keep stopping and we may drown!"

Chicken Little heard a thunderous report and looked at me and then the sky.
I looked at chicken little, shaking so and said, "its just a garbage can moved by a guy."

Chicken Little looked at the dark, dark clouds hanging nigh.  Then once again at me.
I glanced her way and said "well, you are the one that said you had to ***."

Chicken Little walked quickly, nose to the wet grassy ground, stopped to ***, hurried.
I saw her heading for the door leash in my hand, her bladder empty, she almost ran, worried.

There was no thunder this night, the clay does not let the water drain, so fast, puddles
muddle, where to step without a splash, but Chicken Little the dog can rest at last.

We came in and closed the door, leash hung in place and coats left to dry,
with a shake, from the fur covered head to her tail, loosing water every where,
'why, she was total dog again,' I quietly mused, 'more than Chicken Little ever were.'

Hearing plugged with fingers,
sounds
still spill
into a skull bowl
full of salt and water,
saline, what can one crave,
praline robed in dark chocolate,
the last light and frivolous thought had,

two
orbs glazed,
Signals phased,
body of
piece work,
mind over matters
most,
flashing, all the colour,
then comes the red,
then comes the green,
                                seen in observed beauty,
then comes the black,
then comes the white,
fading like the night,
to remember...

The first time of everything
Oh
and just remember the scents
and tastes
touch

eyes that drink it in,
eyes that glaze, eyes tempted sin,
walk, drive, hear or see,

        scent or feel,
what has this to do with me,
is it all the outside objects of desire for poetry,
is it for a friend,
is it at the end of the day, in a wild free-
verse way, is this a dress rehearsal for after-play,

in love,
of love, gone astray
of self-image, renovation reconstruction,
but you can no longer see the dysfunction,
but,
but;
the broken exploded pieces of your heart,
are lodged in every nerve, you can only writhe
to your pain.  

you have meter, you have mitre, cut the rhythm so
close to perfection, a pentameter of frustration, first
name, iambic.

Will you be content,
with the content,
language sounds
hard and rounds,
soft supple syl-
lables slipping silently,
off your tongue,

the strongest muscle,
a double edged, an implement,
sword for word play too.

Poetry is special, as those who strive
to write it,
they may be life lessons shared
to right their ship,
poetry may be long,
it may be short,
you may
write in
privacy,
and no one will
ever read your poetry,
but if they do, you may know, that their
life has changed, and they may never thank you.

And as I often do and this is not an insult but
sometimes true, though I write poetry from
that awful place of woe in me, I seldom
see myself a poet. But my Muse I believe
and it tells me that I am.

thinking about all of it lately,
when is the next day like the last
payday,
when is the next day like the last
kiss
we shared,
when is the next day like the day
most feared,
No where to go,
No where to sleep,
No where to eat,
No drink,
No one to love me,
most feared see?
no pillars to support
life as needed,
oh but I am not being clear,
Another fear,
using big words,
so there are biological needs
So insecure about personal safety,
so shy to ask a friend to be a friend,
(and don't bring up the f - word (family) or SI)
respectfully don't address my self-esteem,
when it and I are in the same room,
lastly actually realize there is creativity,
in the moment, but look at me, do you see
any of it, mostly tell the truth to me,
I will accept the facts you find.
If I am not available I am looking inside,
so knock most loudly, if I am not present
or aware.

©DWE102013

I had a 750 Suzuki Katana, gray machine
learned like a young man 350, then 650 then that 750cc of course
in the mid eighties, paid cash but then my mom expected the worst,
I was in the army, I said Army, military single man
I could handle the motorbike well enough,
I knew my limits,
too slow one day
on a sharp parking lot turn
and I earned a
cracked signal light casing,
too early in the
season an April Easter trek
home, turned
around in Manning Park,
near that summit,
snow and ice made it dicey
and the police wanted me to prove I had
chains and snow tires for this late season
fall of snow is
all, so I turned and went back to the base,
too much competitive spirit one day
and I thread the needle between a moving
car and a parked car, well how to say this,
with the driver's door opened wide,
in that instant I passed by at thirty miles an hour
my Life Cycle almost stopped,
my thoughts were driven to,
maybe I should go back to
bicycles, instead...
but I won the race
back to the base
and both the admiration
and admonition of my peers
whom I beat.


©DWE102013

Wheels turning 'round, asphalt below,
Wings a flappin' up and down, in blows
Wind as a friendly fowl plaything ... Fly!

Wander the streets, on feet, restless, seek...
Ways to strengthen the heart, lungs deep,
Breathing, an exchange of fresh for stale...Air!

Water pulled and pushed, streamlined, the mind,
Wanting to believe, what body won't accept, finding
Joy, in going beyond what the senses signals send...Stimuli!

Live
In
The
Moment

No monuments, never be found standing still,
Unless the time to collect and assemble what
It takes, to shake the foundation, to make a plan,

For
Peace
For
Acceptance

Of who, you are, ...of
Who will, you become! So free.

me to tears
people and their belongings
unheeded longings
away from fears

moving

interstellar orbs
doing this for the sum of all hobbies
in the darkness naked bodies
all the space two could absorb

moving

fast running in circles
age rejects the skin wrapped tight around the bones
the mind keeps ticking like a bomb that nobody owns
chasing own tails and squirrels

moving

digging up forgotten nuggets
helping them find a nut!
they stole your marbles, but
you have a gun and no bullets.

you moved.

The sound of your silent voice,
speaks loud from the page,
after all it is a real choice,
to fake and rage
on the road,
at the machine,
not required to be unrequited,
step closer and let me goad you
to get angry,
with what is said,
how words alive were made dead,
so they fall victim to gravity, depravity
then slip into the malaise,
of a hundred thousand other words,
and a thousand thousand poets who like birds
take flight, *****,
after they have written rhymed verse or worse,
prose,
it matters not,
none of this matters, it is rot,
crumbling from my fingers and onto a keyboard,
washing up on beaches around the world, the seashores,
what are poems for,
what poets do you adore,
when you read their words,
you see their hands, stained
with pitch black ink,
liken their one utile hand to a squid
gripping a pen, twisted tentacles,
that reach out a grab your heart and
your head, but how, most of them are dead,
or should be,
oh to be a modern poet,
write some words on paper with lines,
add a treble clef and you'll do fine,
if it is hard,
find a bard,
he will string the words, with
thread attach the notes, measure
what you said on a scale,
add it all up and there you have music theory,
explained by a math murderer

relentless, incremental,
running away,
play ...,
grains of sand measure
both the stars in the universe,
and the stars in the universe
measure descendants and...
all of this is weighed against, what?

some where today a man flew home,
some where today a woman will open this,
with intention to read, with soft eyes and
a warm heart, and more savvy than that word
knows it has, by definition.
some where  a man puts his hand in a river
and comes out with words, not water

there will be many babies
                              maybe born in zones of conflict,
than my country has people behind bars as convicts,
which some people would take as   a    good   thing,
                                                          ­                bring
peace to the conflict zone,
as for the convicts they are on their own, what current
wisdom would and just as quickly ask, but who is gonna pay,
for all this insanity;
no wars,
no jails,
next you'll tell us there is no shortage of whales,
                                                         ­                 but what of their song
why has a choir turned into three whale voices singing a quartet piece?
why do we measure space and dig into the earth, you know the Earth,
no I am not going to do the obvious thing and rhyme it with a birth,
settle lightly like falling leaves when you sleep,
don't keep your fingers texting to go deep,
into the technological pool of this age,
mock whale noises,
news cast without real news, what a blast,
stand real still and sense where the wind blows
stepping outside, your castle walls and open the windows,
is more productive than hitting the refresh button,
oh don't worry, I am no hurry to start a conspiracy with this,
I'm not in the know what is for show, a closet conspiracy theorist,
anything goes,
anything goes,
I can converse on any topic as long as you say the words, I'll move my lips,
and you make the sounds, it will be the result of a well oiled machine,
trying to save the planet from the very pinnacle of creation
that caused the fall
man...kind.

You say to me, it has to be this way,
" Cause you say it best when you say nothing at all"


©DWE102013

the staccato of warning shots were lost on the captured still water,
of the aquarium tank, I am he the tank, so please don't blow my seals

you grow on my transparent sides
like algae, ******* oxygen, override,

all the good that came of me,

I am left with the green, but not worth a dime,
in the real world, misery has hurled compromise

to be worn like sack cloth while my *** sits on ashes,

to keep me company, I read out loud sounding every vowel
though the consonants are all I can see, bubbling to the surface,

throwing in the towel
is mutually beneficial

for the good and the
bad in me.  I am done.

Change the water or buy a new tank, and this time
buy some fish to keep yourself amused.

Hear the rain
fall, here the rains
drop, where there
was once grass and
clay soil dry, yet now

the pools of rainwater protest,
with all the little droplet hostages,
the collective have not the resources to,
from here escape!

To true though grounded too, due to weather, any possible help the unfriendly breeze, has wind-instrumented away.

After you read this, I drought there will be
a dry eye in the house, and you'll all pool your
resources, to make me Maui's most wanted poet for
awhile.

Sophisticated,
Complex solutions to impossible problems
Artfully thrown on my daily canvas.
A montage
A collage
Of choices, of failures confused with, Right or Wrong,
For me, when
Layers upon
Layers, of
Life experiences coloured by my desire to communicate,
Who I am, in the Safety, in the Mystery, Out Loud


D W Elverum   June 2012

Fern the fern liked everything light green,
She liked the shade and was never mean,
The mixed basket, Rachel Equality loved every colour,
Different shades of every one and size, larger to smaller,
she likes to hang with them all,
"Snowflake's" white petals were loved by fuzzy bumble bees,
it was a pollen, the attraction,
though we do not know what her name stems from.

I remember the cold air, salted from the Bay,
The large sea lions, both young and old yell
at each other as they stand on each others ground,
Slippery wharves, their islands holding heavy harems.

I can still feel wind and see the bridge so large, it was
called Golden, Gate to the setting sun and ocean
beyond, I can still see kites colouring the gusting wind.
All dancing as men women and boys held onto each kite
like it meant harnessing the force that pulled taut their twine.

I smell and taste the food, the wine too, where the heat
rises with the land, walking among the vineyards, how
each grape tastes differently, weak brown grass blowing while
lush colours are reserved for the grapes below a wrathful sun.
  
One day I will, we will go back to see much more,
experiences and travel will be measured by senses,
teased and explored till sated, memories will be
added to the life journey, but my heart is mine,
and His, more memories will pour in and be absorbed.

Thank you San Francisco.

It matters not the hours,
The quick five minute showers,
to rinse and wash the sweat away,
from the workout or just the day,
rinse the dust of worldliness,
to finally rest in peacfulness,
let quiet be your hepa filter,
bring you away from off kilter,
body breathing, absorbing calm,
healing those weary bones with balm,
yup
a time balm,
my pillow, my friend,
my head is full of poisoned thoughts,
wrong bill of goods the I cheaply bought,
I need a time balm,
if when it goes off silently,
and there is nothig left of me,
the self that came through the door,
at the end of the work, plusiers choses,
tying my smile back to a grimace,
clothing fused to my skin,
I have become the job,
help me step away for my job is in trouble,
it tried to rob me of my soul,
my pillow, my friend, add a bubble,
push the button, light the fuse,
for it is noisy in my head and refuses
to go quietly and seriously
I need the relief, not grief,
of the time balm.

©DWE012014

I walk my dog a lot, you see
twice a day, long walks with me
she likes her breaks to stop and ***,
on every other place that bears a mark
could be every thing in any green space,
or park, roadside grass, curb sign post;
thirty times or more a most.

But she is more special than that,
she pulls with the heart of a champion at
the leash or harness, she as one gear forward fast,
her four paws calloused, brace like a storm
is in her face, she is game like, that is the norm,
her shoulders lean in and her chest opens up
she is ten years old and behaves like a 22 pound pup,

That is my dog.
that is my girl.

Most days of the year we have no white stuff on the ground,
Truth be told rain by the bucket will be readily found,
Spring rains, lead to summer showers, autumn falls
both leaves and drops of water, winter moves and the call
is the same, what a shame more rain, with out any snow
we can't go and purchase a sled so in the end
that is, me in tow behind; this man's best friend,
my dog.

MUSH!

Mystery loves company,
you are known by the company you keep,
hold this one to your chest,
                       do your best to not let it go,
                       like the shadow that creeps from the base,
                                                  of
                                                 any
                                                object
                                                  at
                                                  all
                        taller and longer, the black goes as far
as to become fuzzy and warm, the night will keep you from harm,
if you are the biggest meanest thing out in it,
and your shadow swallows all, while others wallow,
begging for pity, forgetting  
                           for letting their shadows stay at home,
alone, how I don't know, it is a mystery to me.

They are bare,
they bear branches too,
the branches are bare,
that makes them naked,
not quite naked though,
there is a skiff of white in
plain sight on the trunk,
and if each branch was an
arm there is a layer of snow
to stay the harm of a cold wind,
there is also a lining of snow,
in every crotch, don't you know?
where one or more
branches grow from the trunk, the crotch
so maybe they are not so naked
just more beauty, in the mystery
that was seen by these eyes.


©DWE122013

Butterflies and dragonflies,
Weaving trails on unseen paths,
Bees that bumble, buzzing beautifully,
In the light and heat of the humid day.

Flowers' centres are a delightful repast,
To the insect kingdom that wants summers' bounty
to last, spiders hold it all together with the webs they spin,
The acrobats and airborne members leave mere morsels
for those below.

Those whose many legs, walk and only,
leave a microscopic footprint,
Devour, carry to store these remnants of
the phylum's failures and death,
They eat to live for the moment, they store
not for themselves but for the next generation,
For in their lives of living for the moment,
they too want to know if the next bite ............
will be enjoyed by them or will be them......

trois cent soixante cinq jours
that have been spent by each and everyone,
blue sky, rain clouds, every where under
                                          the same sun,

the same sun, day in and day out,
rise to set to rise
                         AGAIN.
so dark right now I sit at my desk and
see only me in the reflection of this
window in the co-pilot seat
                    dog at my feet,
she has my back, nose toward the door,
nothing comes in without her noticing
oh where was I,
so many places already have welcomed
                          2014,
so much traffic on the the boulevard,
sirens singing there urgent call,
get to your parties, get off the streets,
be safe, be wary
fire crackers,
fire works, you bet it does,
the stars will never be so close
until they explode above our heads, nearby
next year is nearly here so close, nearby
friends few, family too, nearby,
God bless all of you, nearby
tangle of lives, tangle of signal,
tangle of words, emotions mingle,
oh to be cold to it all then only death, would await nearby
that is not how the old leaves and turn color,
and the new arrives very soon in Yonkers,
which is not very close or nearby,
this year has been an education, by any measure,
these poems all, quatre cent quatre vingt deux
que j'ai ecrit en 2013 has been that pressure,
valve or release and meagre creativity, nearby
close at hand,
to prepare
the soil, to let me toil,
as I wrestle and roil with sentiments
instead of sediment, nearby.  


©DWE122013(finale)

Rainwalking
black umbrella, dark as the sky,
over head clouds moving slowly by,
dropping misty curtains as they go,
unveiling what my four eyes see
ahead, beyond the spots.

sidewalk walking,
glass topped bus stop,
straight ahead and slightly left,
blue sky tarp,
covers two shopping carts,
mirrored squares decorate the front,
hiding more belongings,
bust show your expression
       if you dare look, yourself,
in the eye as you are judging him,
homeless, and using,
a corner of a bus stop as a storage depot,

temporary,

until a complaint, brings the transit police,
and a pickup to steal it all away,
oh and they brought their tazer, "just in case..."

"next stop, 94A and King George Boulevard,
                                           Surrey Memorial Hospital"


©DWE012014

Shut the doors and throw away the key,
if it was that easy see?,
Close up shop and send 'em all home,
will they take to the streets and roam,
like zombies?
Out of work,
no job,
because a couple of people, don't see eye
to eye, must be fun to have so much liberty,
but no money.

I know I won't ever get it so don't be mad at
me, is it a crisis or a case of mistaken identity?
As it seems to be happening or in the news
regularly, every election or every year, hey
talk I'll listen, and maybe you will feel better
                                                           and
                                                            see
                                                          the answer
                                                          real clear.
"Oh, say can you see... "

if this night, is a canvas black,
when the holes, take me back,
when there was hope, pin ******,
of light,
to see,
of hope,
to dream,
of love
to show, how
my hand a brush to warm
the colors of the night,
paint to make things right
between you and I,
not as a cover to hide my
flaws,
but freshen,
                     life,
             freshen chance,
certainly
humble me,
to be blessed,
to stretch out with you
beneath this night this canvas