A trout, going about its fish business
In the stream, breathing and searching,
Is distracted, then attracted
By the flash of the lure;
A fly, an easy meal, languishing on the surface.
But the real story is on shore,
Reeling.

Many times in my past,
My take on life
Was a puzzling grasp
Of truths and lies.

In my mind,
In my heart,
I thought I was middling smart.
That's what I've depended on,
Yet I was phished by the con.

It comes from the side
Of your weakest eye,
While you think you're helping
This other guy.

The hit is done with such aplomb.
That's the beauty of the con.

I'm still as smart as I thought I was,
But wiser now,
Just because,
I was the victim of a scam.
With reticence now,
I'm the lesser man.

He was slick;
I was tricked
When I let my guard slip
By a con's phishing trip.
But never again.
I promise this.

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.

The World's Times* chronicled
Crusades and Fatawas,
Jihads and Inquisitions,
Coups and Genocides.
     Such resourcefulness

The Construct.

Another Cathedral rises
In a destitute country.
     Do-able

We're told
From the leader's lips
     We'll always have the poor.

Uh huh! The poor!
That's what was said.
We can always put them to work,
And there won't always be work.
They'll need membership cards,
And birthings and burials,
Like always.

     See the pyramids along the Nile
     You get up every morning from your alarm clock's warning

Another temple
Will grow from
Rice paddies;
A synagogue,
A mosque will
Cinch tiles
On the backs of peasants.

I've had enough
Laundering by recluse
Single mothers,
By crooks posing as shepherds,
And Holy Wars
     so oxymoronic
     cleanses too

Any Divines
Benefitting from
Our labour and wages;
Our drachma, denarius and shegel,
Aren't worth the worship.
Yet the lenders are good
At getting their pound.

          *Don't drop a coin
          In a wishing well,
          Pay cash for a mass
          Where they'll ring your bell.
          Choose a charity,
          There's so many,
          That need a
          Pauper's Penny.

We have some neighbours
That require a fence;
They're a Circus Family,
Gripping tight
On the high trapeeze.
They fared quite well,
For a high flying group;
For as long as they held on.

They stay at home,
With their children,
Full-grown,
Whinning incessantly.

Uncivility spoiled them.

They have much to say,
But do little to help
The state of their family.
There's internal strife
Arguing one's right to life;
So a tall fence should be good for me.

They point fingers,
Lay blame,
Call us names,
Act inane,
And for what?
Their House is on fire,
They believe all the liars,
They'll watch it burn
With the clown.
Burn to the ground.

I wish you good health
Throughout your years;
With it you prosper
Behind smile's lonely tears.
Your conflicts,
Your fears,
Successes and failures,
Fade in pale wanings.
I wish you good health.

Distant trains still sound alarms,
Blinds are drawn, people yawn,
It's time to call the day.

The sun's turned off,
The moon's turned on,
The stars like pinholes
Blink till dawn.
The animals are bedded
On the farm;
Beneath this counterpane we're warm.

Today our work is done;
Tomorrow worries not begun.
But tonight I'll sleep
Like the seventh son.

The time is right,
To say good-night.
Good-night.
Good-night.

The place has changed
People the same.
Good-night.
Good-night.

The love was here
Before you came.
Good-night.
Good-night.

And now to sleep
To dream sweet dreams.
Good-night.
Good-night.
Have a good night,
Kathleen.

A life built
With the finest materials
Needs a well-formed foundation;
A deep footing.
Your piles are now beneficial.

I am alone. I am.
The sounds are not naked
Scratchings from outside;
No soft paws scurry in the attic;
The floors beyond are tiled;
The stairs carpeted;
The hinges like cloth;
The curtains drawn against shade;
The phone doesn't ring to vacant voices;
Half-burnt candles would burn
In the whosh of a hallway.
And yet,
I hear you breathe,
Hear the rustle of sleeves;
A light slivering beneath the door.
And I am
Alone.

Nietzsche postulated His death.
tRump proved it.
But gods are known to resurrect.

Time to go wild;
Join the pack,
Don't look back.

Time to animalize,
Drop the disguise,
Extend your claws,
Swipe your paws,
Open your maws
And bare your teeth.
Run down the street
With blinders on.

Go primordial.
Try commando,
Eat blue meat,
Crouch and spring,
Do everything
You can
Tonight.
Avoid the trappings
Of civilized man.

Take me to a theme,
Explicating love, when blue.
Hype the hyperbole,
Metaphors aren't boring,
And similes are true.
Take me to the meaning of love,
When love is new.

Letter your signposts,
Your verses aren't lacking,
Figures of speech are attractive.
Dole out the affection,
Infect with injection
Dilating, collapsing veined roads.

Take me to any theme,
With your GPS,
I'll obey all directives,
Noting imagery along your path.
If inferences go astray,
I'll backtrack your way,
To a predetermined destination.

When I get big, as big as Granda,
I can do whatever I wanta.
I won't have to go to bed,
Even though I'm nodding.
I'll stay up late, yawn and stretch,
Let my eyes dry, rub and scratch,
Staring at the late night screen,
And think of jobs in need doing,
Like raking, shoveling, weeding, mowing.
Thanksgiving isn't far away, then
Christmas comes and family stays.
Granda stays up late and thinks
Of doing something before he sinks.
He doesn't have to clean the harvest,
Stain a table for a daughter, or
Drive to London for a visit.
He doesn't have to go to school,
And follow everybody's rules.
For all he's worth, and we're not sure,
He's staying here for many more.

Love and disdain
Are two fruits
On the same
Clustered vine.
When picked
And fermented,
They make
Fine wine,
Or bitter vinegar.

A blade of grass is inconsequential,
Unless it's above you,
Or found on Mars.

One mosquito is unnoticeable
Until sounding in your ear at night,
Or infecting a nation.

A broken heart isn't uncommon
When it's someone else's.

Canada is renaming the Great Lakes.

Lake Superior..........Lake Canada

Lake Ontario............Lake Ontario (stays)

Lake Erie...................Lake John A. Macdonald

Lake Huron..............Lake Jacques Cartier

Lake Michigan........Lake Trudeau (that should **** him off... but we
                                   know we mean Pierre, not his bonehead son)

Lake Champlain....Lake Quebec (although not a Great Lake, the
                                 orange guy wanted to make it a Great Lake back
                                 in 2018).

We have our own cartographers.
Gimme the Sharpie.

Summer sands swim with them;
Their patchwork towels
Crowd them in.
Lying, shining in the sun,
On their bellies
With wet sand bums.
Shades of innocence
On their faces;
On their backs
With fleshy dunes,
Tanning lines
That start at noon.
They test the shoreline
Every so often,
To cool their curves
In Great Lakes waters.
The palpable heat
Rises in waves
From the hot, hot bods
On these Great Lakes babes.

I hear you lost control;
I'm ambivalent to your state:
If what they mean is self-control,
Hold on, don't abdicate.

Now you're in damage control;
A result of inner strife:
You also have motor control,
So move on with your life.

I hear you've issues with quality control;
And want exclusive rights:
Exclude me from your command control,
I'm not your copyright.

If you're caught-up in crowd control;
Can't find a safe way out:
Put yourself on flight control,
Then kick and scream and shout.

With Life there is no price control;
It's often on back order:
With Life you give and take control,
It's cheaper across the border.

So set yourself on cruise control;
Steer clear of power sinkholes,
Drive by the Freaks who need control,
Those ******* fill potholes.

Next Sunday
When he leaves
The tomb,
And it's sunny,
Before noon,
Should his shadow
Fall on a sinner,
We've six more weeks
Of a Canadian winter.

I have stashed my Glenfiddich
And Marlboros
In the basement cupboard,
While settling in,
At Ground Zero.

The things I'd do to be with you
Would put me away for good;
So, here I wait in solitude,
No sun, no moon, no light.

I've dug deep to break out,
I've climbed walls in my sleep;
I've dealt and knelt,
Held my hands out
To supplicate for pardon.

But I'm a repeat offender,
A schmuck and poor pretender;
A pled lifer for loving you.

I've been tested,
Yes, I'm arrested:
I freely confess
Being under the influence.
I'm compromised
By breathalyzer eyes.

Peeing's easy
When I traavel,
For five days to a week.
I can piddle
While you fiddle
Dancing down the street.

But things do change
When I roam
For five days to a week.
Suffice to say
On those days
My bowels work best
At home.

Birds don't rain down from heart attacks,
Or aneurysms: we should be waist high
In hundreds of millions of feathered bodies.
Where are they?
Not like us, who fall in the strangest places:
Stop signs, ball games, synagogues, schools.
And we cover them, step around them,
Chalk mark floors and sidewalks,
And eventually pick up the pieces.
But we can't perch on live wires,
Or fly between wind vanes.
Where are the bodies.
Domestic or feral.
Look to the sociocat,
Though innocent,
It prowls by nature.

I didn't grow
A beard and stache:
I'm replacing hair.

Great people die,
Just like you and I.
We all came the same,
Naked, with a brain;
Walked, then talked,
We're all the same,
But great ones do it
With their brain.
Size doesn't matter.
You can be a pea brain,
Or a nit wit:
Why, if someone says,
You've half a brain;
That shouldn't be
Cause for shame.
You never know
Who's got half a brain:
It's been proven,
Sometimes half
Is greater than the whole.
Use what you got,
Live your fullest.

I didn't wish my daughter,
My daughter,
A Happy Mothers Day.
Why would I,
She's my girl.
I am really ******
With Hallmark,
And am right to blame it
For my predicament.
I don't relish the idea of a
Happy Relatives Day.
I'd be orphaned.

We should contact
Hallmark
And put our rhymes
To work:
Best wishes for occasions
And any celebrations
Involving fireworks.
We  help you cry
At good-bye
As you leave the Church.

The Hallowe'en costumes are on display
By the window dresser.
As I pass I look to see
My oval face, reflected by the pane,
Wearing a Superman cape.
Tights too.
I look powerful in solitude,
But others see through me.

I shuffled to the next display.

There I was, in high stiff black collar,
Draping a black silk cape.
Count Francie!
I curled my upper lip for fang effect,
Bela Lugosi style,
Instead, Elvis in Vegas returned his Baby sneer.
Scary, but in a different way.
Not me. No Karaoke!

Next.

A harlequin mannequin returned my gaze,
Wearing a jester's cap and bells,
Striped tights with curly toes.
My smile was designed for such a fancy dress.
No joking.

Tomorrow,
I'll find another display window,
And choose whom I want to be.
I can be anyone.

She is the shadow of her shadow;
A hard green tomato on an October vine;
Like last year's silver tree tinsel;
The inescapable smell of a house housing cats;
A smoker's car;
An arthritic leaf, twisting in early December;
The runny nose of someone's toddler;
An empty gurney in a hospice hallway;
Or the last dark spike impaling dawn.
Hanging on and hanging in.
Not knowing. Not going.
Still here.

Why should I care you're there,
Or anywhere.
It was you who interrupted the night;
I watched you stare down the fire,
Scrape your initials in the ashes.
If it weren't for family,
The confusion and strained dialogue,
Like appearances,
I wouldn't see you at all.
Stay you do, everywhere.

So I tell a joke or two, one line quips,
And you were smiling,
While you're there,
Where I should no longer care.

What would be the aftermath of such a collision?
One wreck towed off.
It doesn't bother me in the least,
Our complimentary pauses
At the four way stops,
Or roadside memorials,
With faded yellow ribbons and thirsty flowers
Pinned to a styrofoam cross.
There is no rest, and little peace.

Today is your birthday,
How years do go by;
Though your eyes
Never change
As they heighten
Your smile.
Your hair's long
And sun-dyed,
Your cheeks blushed
And high,
Your lips as sublime
As Mona's beguiled.
Your frame hangs now
In another's hall,
But you're the last,,
My duchess,
To decorate
My wall.

I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.

Your skin is tight,
Your eyes are bright,
And yet
You loose your teeth at night.

I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.

You don't walk
With a cane,
Wear a diaper,
Or leave a stain;
Usually you
Recall my name.
But then you have
Some nose hair
Like late September grain.

I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.

You don't wear knee-highs
In Bermuda shorts,
Your moles are hairless,
You hide your warts,
Yet you don't play
Outside sports.

I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.

Your hair's not blue,
Your ears are hairless;
There's things about you
That seem ageless.

I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.

You swagger like an actor
On a curtain call;
It's hard to gauge
The age you wear
Since your overhaul.

I don't know the half of it,
But you don't look your age.

"Happy Face Variety Store"
Has new owners,
From Punjab.

They are way friendly.

I was renting the movie
Far From the Madding Crowd.
Ben, the owner's son, said:
Many people are renting movies tonight!

Yeah, the dog day's of summer.

Explanations and examples ensued.
The change in season.
Replace old anxieties with new.
The surety of autumn expectations.
The heat swirling in the ceiling fans.
The setting sun on Lake Huron.
All the dog days.

And then  Ashna said:
Like the dog curling up to sleep.

They are way welcome.

What can happen
At home,
When cleaning up,
When the demons
Turn on the juice;
The OFF switch goes click,
The ON switch goes next,
Suddenly,
They're loose again.
Defend well
Against harpies,
Dark pales and
Light darkies,
Pray
One
Stays off the juice.

Have you felt loathing
     in those green eyes;
Despised by idle talk
     of a loose,
     spiteful tongue;
Perhaps detested
     because of your flesh;
Or exercated, yes,
     be denounced,
     be named,
     face a near-****** future
     of lonliness?
And then,
You were hated,
But only because
Once,
You were loved.

Nana's house is on the market,
Perfect location beside the woods,
And a few hundred feet from the water.
I can hear the patter of feet,
The closing of doors,
The squealing of feral animals
Nana fed with peanuts,
The condo bird houses
And broken blue eggs.
The cries and sirens and confusion.
When Nana died,
She was sealed in the wall of a mausoleum,
But continues to escape
In the eeriest of ways.

It's as easy as, 1, 2, 3.
Understandable as A, B, C.
Undesirable as, Don't Take Me.

A simple ditty,
So listen, Kiddie,
There's no singing in the grave.

No foot tapping, finger snapping,
Lip smacking music where you're going;
But don't be in a hurry to get going
To a place where you're a gonner.

You won't be chatting with a Brahma,
Discussing laws with ancient Moses,
There's no sitting Buddha posing,
You ain't in blissful Nirvana.

You'd be  in heaven in Havana.

There aren't virgins waiting;
No loaves and fishes baking;
No bells ringing,
No Mecca wailing,
No roads paved with gold.

I miss those stories I was sold.

Whatever it is that ails you...
Whatever it is that ails you...
Whatever it is that ails you...

Was it us who failed you?

Stay a while, don't leave yet,
You'll find nothing you expect,
But you won't remember,
And you won't forget.

Thanks
For the party
You threw
For me;
Another decade
Was easy.
I wear
An outfit
You like
To see;
One, I believe
That suits me,
And accept
The accolades
Graciously.

In the spotlight
It's easy to shine.
Don't cover
Your eyes,
Some's a disguise.
And I do admit
To some white lies;
So just don't
Cover your eyes.

All you've done
Means much
You see,
But pales
When you
Have tea
With me.

Giddy-up to Goofey-land,
Saddle up the pachyderms;
Ain't Florida grand.
They click and cluck
Don't give a ****;
They kiss... kiss...kissing
And yet they're missing
The white hat way of life.
They know squat,
And that ain't a lot,
As they ride off
In all directions.

In Italy in 2017
A medical miracle
Will be seen;
A transplanted head.
They'd better get it right.
They didn't say which one.
Above the shoulders?
Below the waist?
Another ****-head
To dinkthink.
A hard-headed
Limp-brained head-banger.
Or did I misunderstand.
Perhaps it's woman's to a man.

I've got my heart on,
And it's *******
Me;
My sleeve isn't
The best place
To display it.

Byron underwent
Stent implants
For a few
Ailing arteries.
He soon waxed on
About his people
On the other side.
Friends and fans
And family
To kiss and greet
When he arrives.
I know he'll die
Of a broken heart
When he doesn't
Wake up alive,
He won't consider,
Instead,
That he won't
Wake up dead.

The news arrived
Of the new arrival.
We grant him
All the Rights,
Privileges,
And Responsibilities
Accorded to
A son, brother,
And grandson.
May his endowment
Of love and honour
Stand him in good stead.

I am He.
You, She.
We are moored
Inexplicably.

I bide.