I drove under the overpass.
That would be an underpass.
Yesterday, I drove over
The underpass.
That is the overpass,
Above the underpass.

In squash, 99% of the ball
Is In-bounds on the red line,
But still 100% out-of-bounds.

In tennis, the ball
Is 99% out-of-bounds,
On the white line,
But still 100% In-bounds.

And, if I stand on my head long enough,
Our world seems up-side-down,
But really, it's right-side-up.

Life is like that.
Isn't it confusing?

Will be leaving soon for Orlando,
Away from the cold in Ontario.
Will I return?
I really don't know.

A wacko may secretly board my plane;
A radicalized lunatic far from sane.

Or Canada geese, heading south,
Might take our fuelled jet engines out.

Some random lightning shot from the sky
Lights up our cockpit,
And the pilots die.

The landing gear is up and stuck...
“I don't think I drank enough!”

There's mad rage on the road
Between
Orlando and St. Augustine.

There’s snub-nosed guns in too many bags,
And the pubs are teeming with cougars and *****.

The Matanzas flows with gators and sharks,
I'll make note of this as my kyak embarks.

A drunken driver could do the job;
Or I get hospitalized
From being robbed.

An Early Bird bone might make me choke,
Or an errant golf ball holes out in my throat.

Perhaps nothing happens, I’m too suspect
Of the possible perils from my Florida trek.

Is it worth the risks. I’ll let you know,
When I get back to the warmth  of Ontario.

When you’re alone,
Or with others,
Enjoy the poems
Between these covers.

Poems of love and hope,
Praise and pride,
The times we laughed,
The times we cried.

Through the years,
From birth till now,
We grew in number,
And thrived somehow.

Your natural talents
And acquired skills,
Fill my pages
With timely thrills.

You weren’t entitled,
You didn’t squander,
You earned the prizes
For your endeavours.

Read now how it came together.

We'd never call them losers
Because they couldn't stand;
We'd lift them up from off the ground
On worn out knees and hands.

We'd never call them fools
Because they wouldn't talk;
We oohed and ahhed with all their sounds,
And they did it as they walked.

We heard a blend of sounds spew forth,
Like spilled out alphaghetti;
They roared with oral prowess,
Like lions on the Serengeti.

As years passed, and they were graded
(And most certainly not by us);
They might return with D's and E's,
We'd never judge or fuss.

This is how we treated them,
Our children that we raised;
I hope that our puzzling world
Will forgive, forget and praise.

You couldn't love me any more.
I don't love you any less.
More or less?
Which is best.

Why believe?
Too many, way way way too many
Have unwavering faith
In feckless politics and so forth.
A marginalized few benefit.

The median line.
Below this line lies 50% of us.
Not their fault. Genetics, etc.
Going down from the line,
Things only get worse.
And because of age and nurture,
Liars, thieves, conmen, predators, schemers, lowlifes, maggots, mysogynists, bigots, racists get elected.
Age and Ages undid
England, France, Italy, Germany, Spain, all of the Middle East, Africa, the U.S.A...... and now.... Canada.
Egoists, Idiots, Ejits, Fools, A-Holes, Harlequins, Clowns, Ventriloquists....
Are running... Ruining  my world,
Relegating us.

I saw Mammy yesterday,
Sitting, smiling and relaxed.
Idling wasn't her usual way.

Then your Dad walked into view,
Lighting up, talking loud.
He wasn't comfortable in a crowd.

Nana and Bub shine in glorious colours,
As do the constant sisters and brothers.

There's Marlene tucked-in on the couch,
With an infectious smile that leaves no doubt.

Jim's feeling his cups. He's crying out.
But can't explain what his pain's about.

Da's holding Eucheria in his arms,
Pretending to water our dead brown lawn.

Sweet Maura teases with a sharp handled comb,
Sneaks in the side door when returning home.

Sister Sheila in heels gives herself a lift,
For without them she's about four foot six.

And Kevin my older rebellious brother,
Tells biker stories that made us shudder.

Sean has all the talents and skills,
With looks and smiles that really ****.

Gerald too had similar traits,
But dwarfed us all when he'd read and write.

They laugh and cry,
Smile and tear;
It's as if
They're all still here.
I captured each
On video tape;
Healthy, alive,
This side of the Gate.

Yet someone's missing from these scenes,
Someone who's rarely seen.
A Son, Brother, Husband, Da,
Uncle, Nephew,
And Granda.
That someone's Me.
Quietly filming
With my camera.