We have only ourselves.
Our universe
Is on borrowed time.

I have something systemic
That's not an emotion I know.
It's more than a feeling,
It's a metaphoric something,
Not literal, more figurative.
Empathy is close;
And it's certainly not sympathy,
That's too aristocratic and snobbish.
I could compare it to an older sister
Moving into her own bedroom;
Or an older brother vanishing
On the first day of school.
For example, I visited my friend, Oafy
In the nursing home.
He had his shoes on the wrong feet,
And he didn't care,
But I did. That sensational something
Is the gist of my systemic something.
It's human, probably universal,
Rational, not inane.
Mothers, I understand, sense it.
Fathers, being one, too.
Humanitarianism is a big part of it;
So is altruism,
But it's bigger than charity.
It's a connection with all the senses,
But real beyond cognition.
It's a field-tested faith,
But I don't know what to call it.

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

I cashed in my hard-earned youth
On you.
I'm emotionally bankrupt,
Overdrawn on account of you.
There are insufficient funds in the vault
For future investments.
Besides, you have the combination;
So, I wait for a safe *******
With the velvet touch.

If you've lost someone,
Check out the Personals.
Keep your eyes to the ground;
Only tourists look around,
There we'll find the jetsom
Of someone's empty pocket.
A book of Vegas matches
With the middle ones missing;
Neither left or right-handed.
You'll not be found.
There are tissues,
Stained with mascara,
Lying
Beside beads from a broken necklace
That gilded your skin.
You'll not be found.
Blowing across the path
Are shreds of paper
From the note she wrote,
Swirling towards the river.
Chase them to the bank,
Watch them float
Towards the falls.
The meaning is smeared, blurred
Then lost.
This is what finds me out.

When I lose something,
I gain.
This isn't Karma.
Let me explain.
Lose greed,
Gain charity.
Lose despair,
Gain hope.
Lose hate,
Gain love.
You see how it works.
Lose anger,
Gain peace.
It's exponential too.
Lose a negative.
Polarize.
Be positive.

When you find peace in my arms,
Deny chance.
I craddled seedlings to the table
By weeding.
I made undirected costume changes
And revealed a mask beneath skin.
I opened doors for children and the aged.
I played, and sang along.

When you find comfort in my arms,
Deny luck.
I helped lift the disenfranchised,
Extended deadlines,
And refused entitlements.
Causes wore away my soles
Carrying loved ones both ways.
We buried hatchets between friends.

When you find love in my arms,
Deny coincidence.
I learned from teachers
Love is manifest in sacrificess
Wrapped with obligation.
My arms are tired,
Yet I will embrace all.
And thus, I caress you.

Have you found a new mythology.
The ones we knew died off.
Hammers, thunder, nails,
Multi-limbed gods of gold,
And phoenixes have turned to ashes on my tongue.
My eyes don't dilate, my throat closes.
Once we were blessed, but now,
John A. is a white supremacist.
Not since Dunkirk and Troy have wars worked miracles.
A Hard Day's Night and Help are formulating a following
Surpassing Jesus (John, Ch. 1. Verse 1).
Look to the Walrus.

When you speak
I break the conversation contract.
I hear nails on chalkboards,
Babies crying,
Or a mosquito in my darkened room.
Anyways is not Anyway;
Quote is not Quotation;
Anythink is not Anything;
Who is not Whom;
Whom is not Who.
It's hard to listen,
And I don't apologize.
English has gone to the dawgs.

There was the first look,
     It snapped by in a second;
There was the second look,
     It was alluringly fecund.
Like reading page one again
     On the face of a friend;
Don't close the book,
     Take a second look.

It just doesn't feel like love
Without the palpitations
And loss of breath,
When you still had a shine
Like an unwrapped gift.
I don't feel the tingle
With your presence,
Or the anticipation of your call.
It just doesn't feel like love
Until I see old pictures,
Hear old songs,
Pause home movies.
So, I will bring ribbon home,
And tie a bow,
Wrap you like a new gift,
Like someone I once knew.

There's no need
For anxiety.
Congrats.
You are
The Daily.

Not listening!
Any jack-***
Can carry
Heavy burdens
Without braying.

Excuse me,
Could you please
Watch me
Take my picture.

Let it go like a red balloon
Released to celebrate;
Follow 'til it dissipates
Into the vacant blue.

Unhand the kite string,
The struggle with elements subsides.
Let it go as if it died.

You know you tried,
Some things broken aren't worth fixing;
Admit to yourself you don't like it,
That one day never comes.
Do not expect a certain result,
Life happens as it was meant to unfold.
Just let it go, like gossip, like fear;
Dependency is detrimental.

Tear down the museum of victim mentality.
Stop comparing,
Stop people pleasing.
Let it go.

Weren't you told,
Some time ago,
A picture's worth a thousand words.
Well I can show with a click or two,
A thousand pics for each word you choose.

They come on like small shocks,
Like faulty neon lights,
Gauche in purple, and bright.
Memory. Blinking OFFf and ON.
I follow them like the swimmer,
Thinking to rest on the lake buoy,
But finding it too slippery;
Not panicking, but worried,
Then turning.

Stuff and things get sold or razed,
Re-zoned or re-engineered.

I can't walk those streets and places,
Not in life or memory.
I'm better off
Staying out of the lake.
And under the neon light'

Turn up my colar to the cold and damp.

I assume the alleyway is there,
Where we left it;
And the five towering pines,
Like young brothers,
Slap branches at one another,
And grow in the winds.

The same ones
Are always the anarchists.
The dissatisfied,
The disenfranchised.
They share the same beliefs:
More power through struggle.
We are the same too -
Collateral damage.

My words are hard to handle;
They shift and shape in time.
It's  cool to be rad,
To chill and veg sublime.

Some just reach and grab the crotch,
And twerk while in their ******;
Majorettes smile in knee high boots,
Flirting with the lenses.

Some other words come easily;
The ones used every day.
Texting's being phased out
With a smiling yellow face.

I have fewer words today;
This makes life hard for me;
The many times I write Love
Is nearing Eternity.

Yet isn't this all I need-
That one Eternal chord;
Love is love forever,
Never ending as the Word.

You know you shouldn't ask that question.
You know you force me into a lie;
And in the middle of my patent answer,
You cry.

You know I couldn't be mistaken.
You know I try to see your surprise;
But before I can finish my lie,
You cry.

There doesn't seem to be any escape.
We act together with little debate;
But the answer is always the same,
I lie.

What's not to enjoy
Being alone,
Unshaved, slippered,
With kettle on.
Outside, the elements,
And all that's with us,
Continue on.
I'll rejoin.
For now,
With self and tea,
I'm me.

It's early in the day.
The birds chirp Spring awake;
The trees are in their underwear,
They've yet to brush their teeth.
The rain will wash their faces;
Right now they're a disgrace.

He moves slowly in the morning,
Scratching bark and boles;
He ambles to the frozen lake,
Before donning fine green clothes.

Spring is waking up now,
Sap's running from his nose,
Spring is waking up now,
Rubbing blurry eyes,
Spring is waking up now,
And winter's in repose.

You've always said:
You told me that already.
You're repeating yourself too much.
Have you early stages of dementia?
And yet, you want to hear,
I love you, everyday.

Strip veins and bury
bulbs and hatchets.
What of winter?
Think of May
And Mary and water
That washes the sweat
cascading between
Your eyes, and down
Your nose, and across
Your belly.

Look deep into the eyes of
March.
So deep that it alienated
Another's life.
Pedal to pagan sands
of worship.
Wear dark glasses.
Watch Mary cup the wines
of winter, squeeze the
harvests of summer.
Worship the vericose veins
that clutch the last leaf
on the last tree.

The girl at the check out
Clutching the chips and dollar
Gives me an ache
Like a warning shot
In my stomach.

The boy keeping up
Behind his brothers
Gives me an ache
Like filling a balloon
To capacity.

The ******* duel-bladed skates
Bundled like the Michelin Man
Pushing a chair
Gives me an ache
Like a rip in my father's heart.

The one on the hall floor
Eating before his locker
As the gang's off to McDonald's
Gives me an ache
Like an airborne ball
As the buzzer sounds.

The one in the corner of the class,
With cuffs pulled down
And a tattooed razor blade
On the back of the neck
Worries me.

Between autumn's offerings
And spring's wings,
Our winter lights are everything.
Crisp sky nights string tinsel streams,
And crystal air heils winter's dreams.

Poplar trees that snowed in summer
Are treasures held in winter's slumber;
Their branches hold in silhouette
Crowning stars that brightly sit.

Here dreams of flight and fancy thrill
Shimmering eyes on a gift-wrapped hill.
Shorelines once rubbed with reeds,
Are splashed by our moonlight beads.
Knolls wrapped in wreaths of herring bone,
Like sirens call us out from home.

Stars held in place with poplar fingers
Ring our ponds like carolling singers.
There nestled by framed winter scenes,
Our winter lights glint red and green.

These lights, that through our windows stream,
Bring to mind warm Christmas dreams.

The disembodied radio host asked:
If you could live a past experience,
What would you choose?
I searched my far and recent memories.
What would it be?
Some thought ensued...
Then some more.
A week's gone by. Here's why.
Seven days ago...
I'd like, I thought, to bumper-jump
In four inch snow.
Then six days ago...
The tender, innocent, inviting experience
Of my most amazing, surprising and tantalizing
First Kiss.
Then five days ago...
My university years. They happened once.
Then four days ago...
Achieving a pleasing place with my avocation.
Then three days ago...
The first born, second born, third born. Daddyhood.
Then two days ago...
My happy and contented first day of retirement.
One day ago...
A Guiness and a shot of Jameson. Grandahood.
And today?
What would I like to re-experience...
Many more days
Like today.

I don't have
A portrait
Draped in my empty attic;
But I have
A rear-view mirror
To reflect back all my antics.
I see them strewn
Across the road,
Drivers swerve
To avoid these loads.
I've littered streets
With vices,
Discarded sharpened axes,
Hewed at those
Who've loved me
With remorse;
Regrets, I carry
In my trunk,
Like junk
They take up space.
I haven't room
For my spare,
Emergency flares
Or personal cares.
So, I stare straight
Out my windshield,
Convince myself
I'm healed,
I buttress nerves of steel,
And continue down my road.
Like all good drivers
I check my mirrors,
And there I see
Red lights draw nearer.
I should take up
Portrait painting
To cover up
My shame.
I am guilty;
I've not
Been framed.

In the middle
Of a farmer's field,
Newly plowed
And sprouting yield,
Three turkey vultures
Shared a meal
Of something black
With great appeal.
They cleared away
Winter's offal,
Doing what
For them was natural.
I eyed with awe
How they conspired,
Before feathers splashed
In smoke and fire.

I came to see an alligator, lizard or a toad,
Drove along the waters to the Tamiami Road.
We took our time to see the myths all about the park,
But still I wanted desperately,
To hear the gators bark.

Watched the dawning day arrive
Above the mossy trees,
Watched the night herald morn,
Tasted the salty breeze.
We lived a captive life
Along the shell shod shores;
Traded time for trinkets,
Shopped the main street stores.

We oiled our bodies near
The alligator swamp;
Waited bated near
The large tortoise hole;
We didn't see the turtle,
Didn't see the shell;
So looking for the gators,
Remained our only goal.

We heard one lived in the lake,
Invisible in his lair;
Eating shanked golf *****,
Go on look, if you so dare.
We watched from a distant bank,
With each kerplunk,
Our odyssey sunk.

We searched further down
The TamiamiTrail;
Studied bees in their hives,
Awed by the order we saw there,
Made us more alive.

We wandered lost in orange groves
Perfuming winding trails;
But we never saw a gator,
We never saw a tail.

So, if you want to see some gators,
Skip the Tamiami Trail.

Did you have a place
As a child,
A spot to hide
For a little while,
Until your fears could subside?
A shack, a tree, a copse or cubby,
A niche away
From your toils and trouble.
Reach back through the mists of time,
Re-visit that place and there you'll find
The peace you found
When you were a child.

I keep well abreast of the news.
It's hard not to. Can't quite turn it off.
I'm not sure I would.
It's everywhere.
So many sources bring it to me.
I bear up.
I write about it... constantly.
It's painfully intriguing.
I rubber neck like a bobble head
At all our goings on.
And I'm selfish.
I want things to work out
Without my money.
I'll give away all my prayers.
I've been offered money for my vote.
Keep your cash.
I don't trust the YMCA. or the Credit Union.
Too many pick-pockets.
They'd sell children at half price for a gallon.
The homeless already have the prime real estate
When the money runs out.
But it's not about money.
And by then, it won't matter.

I'm not a somebody
You would know.
I'm a nobody, really.
And, as a nobody,
I don't win or lose,
Cause nobody does a **** thing.
I didn't arrive or leave,
Thus nobody is here.
Nobody says anything.
Nobody was accused, so,
Nobody admits to the act.
Nobody was saved.
Nobody deserved it more,
Or less.
Nobody spoke up,
Yet nobody would shut up,
So, nobody was chosen.
Nobody wants to go,
Yet nobody desires to stay.
Nobody was blamed,
And nobody got the credit.
And,
While it's common knowledge
That everybody is born,
We would be wise to remember,
Nobody gets out alive.

I add one word: Let the [orange] blowt king tempt you again...

This life must fail
In order to pass
Successfully on.

If I heard you say
Let's steal away
Tomorrow;
Let's drop the pretence
Of lies;
Let the missing years
Fade to memory's mist,
And put to rest
The best years
Of our lives.

I wouldn't ask,
But let tomorrow's
Light come soon.
It's a day
Ahead of me;
I'd look forward
To midnight
And to noon,
Savouring every hour
In between.

I will wish
Today away;
Say good-bye
To yesteryears.
To all their fears,
And late night sweats
And tears, and
Embrace tomorrow's
Promising surprise.

Let's steal away
Like looters,
Thieving all
That's left.

The collective elective
Threw a bag of human waste
On the White House steps,
Torched it,
And stuck around to watch it burn
Live,
On TV.

Crosses white, poppies red,
Remember how, remember when
Pale petals fell from blooming roses,
And padded paths where freedom goes.
Fierce fires doused a would be hate,
To quench dry hearts, yours and mine.
Their love and duty burned paper chains
That shackled in war time.
Wise eyes, bright minds, aged souls, young hearts,
Traded rockers for grassy beds;
Gave up gray for blue-black youth,
Now honoured among the dead.
The rose that's guarded by the thorn,
Against the reach of many hands,
Does the same in all God's lands:
Yet still the life sap flows.
This time of year is here again,
But remember how, remember when
Canadian pulses beat taps then.
Remembrance Day must never end.

When I uncapped my pen,
My favourite verse flew out.

No bells are ringing.
Rumors are swirling.
Was he drunk or drugged;
Talked with girls about boys;
Thought a failure at home;
Seen sitting alone?
Was he ill-at-ease;
Had a terminal disease;
Was he love-sick, forlorn,
Or just out of season?

          He paid the toll.
          Switched on the flashers.
          Made a splash.
          No tell. No knell.

          I'm told he surfaced,
          Yelled something
          Like, *Don't ask.

We know them best by their first names,
Names ingrained on our brains;
Mouthed by millions being slain,
By the viral ego of the politically inane.

Adolph, Idi, Kim and Pol,
Francisco, Mao and Nicol.
Other names have come and gone,
None rise so high, as Despot Don.

Tens of thousands die prematurely,
The man's bereft of human morality.
Preoccupied with re-election,
He risks a healthy population:
The aged, sick and compromised,
Won't cast a vote when they die.
The word is out throughout New York:
He ain't famly, de foykin joyk.

Dear Dear:

I heard you're not well, and I'm sorry as hell. Nobody, not me, not anyone we know, could see it coming. Was it metastasized kindness with a primary worry; some say eroded patience and promises, a tightening of throat, are systemic symptoms of a body of hope.  I can send you the quote:

                               Drs. say excessive and extensive heart
                               failure is brought on by an over-exposure
                               to caring, and hence, is co-existent with
                               the rapacious spread of the disease.
                               Fortunately we've isolated the hosts.

I was sorry as hell to hear you're not well, and I asked,
Why you, not another?
But your immune to such an infectious question.
And Dear, I'm sad to say,  there's no remedy. You're  stricken with being a mother.

I oftimes write
To ensure I still can.
Ergo. This.

Here lies a liar
Because the liar lied here.
Now the liar's stable,
For the liar's inable
To equivocate and lie.

That's what they call themselves,
They make tea and meals,
Clean up after too;
Use the washer,
And everything else,
Things that guests don't do.
I wouldn't call them house guests,
They're way more than that
To me;
Guests will knock on my front door,
These ones walk right through.
I know each one intimately,
They're family to me.

Hmn………………………..  I see what you mean. I'm thinking on it.
Mn. .................................……I'm not sure I agree.
Mn hmm....………………… Totally agree. Yes, let's go forward.
Huh....……………………... Whaaaaaaaaaaaat
Uh huh...........................……...Ok. I'm listening, but let me talk.
Tsk Tsk....……………………I don't approve of anything you say.
Um.....………………………..Let me think about it. I'll get back to you.

The world across the street
Is a world apart
When you're four.
Cross, and walk
To four corners.

Four years of high school,
Perhaps followed by college,
We yearn to commence.
But for the rest of our lives
We relive those vaulted years,
Pining for them
To re-commence.

Then came the real world,
Of life and family.
I became a man.
Achieved all I dreamt.
Now I'm in danger
Of re-hashing
Lived events.
New reaches are needed
To excede new grasps;
The future's ahead,
Behind is the past.

I ripped the curtains
Off the window,
Tore the carpet
Off the floor,
I kow what I am looking for.

I emptied cupboards
And sideboards,
Cleaned out the basement,
Checked my stores,
I know what I am looking for.

I searched the attic
And the shed,
Was it all
Just in my head?
I hear you,
Feel you,
Know you're here;
I know what I am looking for.
Yet Poe's one word keeps haunting me:
*Nevermore.

Thinking for myself was one of the first things I did.
I had original thoughts.
It was like *******.
Done alone, in silence. Easy and reliable.
If help was necessary,
There was a pictorial in National Geographic;
Last years Christmas Catalogue,
Or Supergirl,
Flying skyward with one knee cocked.
To think was to develop, to grow into maturity.
Best results were achieved by turning off.
That's hard to do, but doable.
Unplug your podcast ears;
Turn down the Foxbits;
Start your own Blog.
We can think for ourselves
To avoid Jihads, insurrections and revolutions,
Unless,
We think them necessary to clear our heads.