Sights set beyond starry skies
Close enough star where daylight lies

Sleepy lids waiting to catch it in its rise
Brand new day to try on for size

Travels the tree line
eats what it finds
Cousin the Dog
chows down Kibbles n Bits
or some other such ****.

The lone wolf howls
not before mealtime
This beast roams,
has numerous homes.

Howling Wolf
A lucky day, a pack
A fight, a ****
The spoils of crafty laid plans.

The moon glow catches
his front row,
At peace with his place
But not the human race.

Slithering  through life
Wearing a botched face lift
Head  held down
Face shielded by hands

You aspired to be a model
Now you drive your forklift
The uppers get you though
You like it but not the fumes

A wife beater shows tattoos
Colourful  meaningful
Filled with the shadings in life
Scars on the backs of your hands

Thick fingers wrapped around a shot
Make it a double, no, two, to wind down
You walk to the mirror and look
Tears fall lightly, you want something more

What tells us we can't, is 'us'
Resolve to make your mark
Step out of the dark take your stance
Push that fear aside and don't look back

Sitting in the
Executive boardroom
The CEO on speakerphone
It's all fun and games
Until someone loosens a tie

Down at the
Local watering hole
Enjoying a round of darts
It's all fun and games
Until someone
Loses an eye

There was a time
when you could move mountains
with your smile, and the earth
was such a beautiful bridge.
Now Ursa dips deeply into
the dark well of sky while
little sister plays hide and seek,
perishing thoughts that
ride down with bitter cool.

How can you or I claim innocence
when we have both been here before.
Shall we cast down our glance in shame,
having lied through eyes of stolen charm.
Our birth is breached
as we cling tight to earlier yearnings.
And the wailing wall sounds
a whisper to the cry in my mind.

Those times when in spirit
our fingertips would brace,
prying open closed hearts
that had been slammed shut
by a life swung hard.
What fear brings this memory,
doesn't every tree stand alone
until you look below the ground.

Over our head
creeps big time,
the only thing that is.

Freshly folded moment,
to alive to  die,

Witness  to  the  break
in the softer water's wave.

Now, back,  forced to see,
no  salve  for  the  blind.

Sometimes, oh to be blind.

One   is   eleven's   rhyme.

Wine?
You ask.

Cork or
Twist top?
Bag or Box?

Can I have a beer?

An army of frogs looked on,
Their tongues darting, throats bulging.

Belching out frog speak, they were
Wishing for kisses or at least a licking.


When you do the right thing,
You always do wrong by someone.

Not an insect in sight you see,
Frogs are their plight.

And I, well, I sell their legs
To dozens of eateries.

My fine mesh net scoops up the officers,
Their eyes, tearing up, their troops follow suit.

I'm counting my way back to town.
I got a **** load of frogs.. a **** load of legs.

Under nourished being of a human being,
Gobbling up the cobble stones on a stroll through town.

Mispronounce the words on the page
Of a book you mistook for the gospel.

Someone will shoot you some bones,
Then when all alone you'll draw your comfort up in a spoon.

You lay waste to a world that everyone puts such stock in.
Thumbing your nose at rich and poor alike.

Trickling down through the roots, your behaviour stains loved ones
With a work that blackens the eye of love.

I cannot turn my back but I will not be played while being betrayed.
I'll leave it to you to lift your own self out of the mire.

Your 'now' passes quicker than a blink of an eye. The time was now ten years past.
I see you, but I won't follow, leaving your slug trail that has the texture of spent ***.

Hollow eyes out of focus, viewing no pain that matters.
The death of you will stop your need.

Alone and unwanted, your sums worth tallied in the red.
No surprise there they will say, and so will I.

She will smash
every wine glass.
They are all broken,
but not her heart.

She will walk barefoot
from room to room
while her feet are bleeding,
but not her heart.

She will drink him up
until her body aches
and her head hurts,
but not her heart.

Living
an idea,
the idea
expressed
through me.

Getting
lost in thought,
wrapping
my head
around this,
around that.
Finding out what
can and cannot be.

Pushed
into a dream,
a world full,
twisting,
turning
winding,
pulling.

Expanding
lungs
finding
a voice.

Crawling
walking,
talking.
All the while
discovering
this matter
of choice.

In the
twilight,
fragile bones,
dwindling
tones,
blue grey shading,
the last breath saying,
I'll be coming home.

Avoid
those corners,
bit my lip
plugging
my ears,
always
shifting
to second gear.

Wanting her
to **** the chrome
right off my trailer hitch.

I 'll be the warlock
to your little witch.

Pray tell, what's that smell,
it's gone and stunk up
your brand new ancient well.

Same-old-used-to-be,
a reminder, there is lack.

Waiting for some stranger
to give me a whack,
someone stranger than strange,
have them dress in black.

As you slowly slide
into memory
and I am
left to bury
my dead dream.

I can't help but envy
the one who holds you now,
because it isn't me
to have and hold you now.

As you slowly slide into memory
and I am left to bury my dead dream.

My heart is aching and my spirit yearns,
I have to comfort myself in believing
that there is still so much to learn.

As you slowly slide into memory
the thoughts crawl by, I shudder and sigh.

I can't hold back the tears
as I let them fall, I tell it all
to the one who really cares.

the
trees
the
fields

the sky

always
reckless

forever
shy

stone
cold
sober

soon
to
be
over

a
mistake

egg
on the
face

never
knowing
one's

place.

addicted
to caffeine
and nicotine

a childhood
full of wonder
and pain

senseless
education
stained with lies

better
drugs
downtown

take
that chance
feed the need

let us go
for drinks

and talk
about other times
when we were friends
and how you made me feel

it's
an idea
whose
time has come,

a myth
who has put
in the time.

some
witches
brew
a
burning
love,
and
voodoo
too.

let's
shoot
out the
light
and
vibrate
into the
darkest
of nights.

three
hundred
and
sixty
five
days
of the
year.

fire
works
explosion
juxtaposing,

a fresh
new life,
a brand
new year.

When he was yet a child
he would tell these stories
that were off the page.
People would call them lies,
they would raise an eye.

His imagination was
something to behold,
as quick as the snap
of a whip, he'd conjure
up a tale,
nothing was off limits,
nothing too big a size.

He played with parables,
he relished surprise.
It was left to the imagination
to fill any holes,
to make light
any dark shadows.

Around the next corner
some new twist would appear.
If one was to lose track
and start to fall back,
with a wink and
a whisper he'd say
"Wish you were here".

Just the spokes on a wheel,
smoke rings in the wind,
life is passing by,
one moment you turn around
and it's your day to die.

Make your peace,
rest on your knees,
open the palms of
your hands
and let the metaphor  
fly out the door,
your dove into the sky.

what shade has come over me
to leave such a trail of steel,
this thing i live is a run-away-train

i feel so obliged to follow it,
dragging me, kicking and screaming,
didn't i once engineer this life gone insane

pulled along behind, face hid in forearms,
ka-knock-'knock-knocking my head on every railway tie,
what shade is this that has split beans brain

by the wrist i am chained to my run-away-train,
with traits of a hell-hound, out of control,
nothing i can push to stop from being pulled

bound to lose faith at the very least,
though risk of life and limb be the final price,
what shade is this film that i have cast myself in,
what shade is this play that won't go away

Order up your pain,
order it in degrees,
knowing full well
that the ordering
in its self is a disease.

Free me from these
greasy chains of disgrace,
stop me from hurting,
bring me to my place.

One time or another,
everyone misses someone..

While I toss the dice,
trying to decide whether
to miss you or just get used to
not having you around.

Either way, it all seems nice,
I smash that link... there,
I'm no longer bound.
It always takes a little of something
to bring me around.

Living is free but not always easy,
I'm here to enjoy what comes.
It doesn't always sit well with me,
what makes it priceless is having friends and family.

The walls
plastered with
photos of 'our time'.

No sudden moves
and a need to sleep,

all *******
in twisted sheets.

There is
some kind of
Voodoo in the air,

yes there is,
and it's got me good.

I smile and say
"I love you"
but you don't care,
no, not like I think you should.

You came to me
without a label,

I pried you open
expecting something sweet,
only to behold a can of worms.

Addicts
swimming
around in the sea,
whispering
                "Hook me, hook me".

Good-bye,
so long,
solo I fly and
when I'm gone,
no need to look back
or ask myself why.

I have more power
than that crazy old Boogie-Man,
you see, I made him up,
he's in my mind.

A figment of my imagination.

As useless
as **** on a bull,
looking
none the worse
for wear and tear.

In the end
it is what you are
that determines
what you will heal,

You have to locate
yourself before
it's really real.

For a moment
I wished that I was
Sailing over the ocean,

Far away from land,
Far away from the earth.

But I thought again
And I remembered that
I don't like water,

Hardly even to drink,
Maybe to mix with scotch,
But then, only in its frozen state.

Show me how to love,
what it's like to have Family.
You meet us in the middle
so there is no extra mile.
The Love bombs you drop,
expanding out, with a Love explosion.
You touch us and we know it,
I can feel your strength, you make me wiser, stronger.
When you lay there, dying, not being able to talk,
I could feel you and you knew your time had come.
The day you slipped, two times an Eagle flew circles, just outside your window.

"All Aboard,
All Aboard".
  
The Porter calls,
All aboard this train
Bound for nowhere.

Leaving the Atlantic,
Passengers  headed West,
Going as far as you can get.

The long snake rock and rolls
While you sway back and forth.

Turn to your window and see,
Look, miles upon miles of Canadian Prairie,
So flat you could watch your dog run away from home for days.


Every whistle stop you dash to the closest liquor store
The  cost of drinks making the trip  just tolerable.


Steel wheels and the clack-clack,
Those wheels whistling down the track.

At first, in the distant... mountains.. still so far away.
Then you reach the foothills and the Rockies start to reveal their awe.
A clear day it's best to ride in the Fish Bowl, a most beautiful view to behold.

On and on we go, the steel pushing forward.
On to the lush country pushing for the Pacific.

Do I have sucker, chump, mindless consumer

Written on my forehead.

Do you think that it is fair to charge twice what the product is worth

Yet pay your staff minimum wage.


I tell you what.... swallow this... and I ain't talking about a bird, I'm talking about my bird.

You lose, I win.

wisps
of
smoke
blown
into
the
wind

tattoo
piercing
pushing
a rock
over
a hill

a candle
a torch
a floodlight
a flamethrower

imaging
projecting
thinking
breathing

When at times
It's just people are gone
I stop and think awhile
Wondering did I do wrong
I can't help that
When at times
I live life like a child
Sometimes fearfully
Sometimes wild
I can't help that
Sometimes I'm Judas
Another the Christ
I can play the Tempter
And I can pay the price.
I can't help that  
Sometimes I'm living
And then again I'm dying
Sometimes I'll hurt you
Without even trying
I can't help that.

build my house
water my trees

When still a child
He told stories
That people called lies.
His imagination
Was something to behold.

With a twist like a knife
He would create a world,
Nothing was off limits.

He played with the parable,
He played with surprise.
His mind told tales,
That would reflect in his eyes.

His spirit would soar,
The love that he showed.
He knew he had everything,
That it would never grow old.

He spoke the truth
Hidden behind lies.
Nothing was off limits,
Nothing too big of a size.

He'd leave it to imagination
To fill any holes, around every corner
Something new would appear,
He would often blow a kiss
Saying wish you were here.

Sometimes he'd leave you
On the edge of a cliff,
Then call them back
To see what they missed

Sometimes I feel it, yes I can
I'm wrapped around your finger yes I am
The way you do my head it's just no good
The way you do my head not like a good girl should  

She'll slink up behind you bro
She hid in the garden don't you know
Everybody said she was before her time
She'll sneak up behind you and commit the perfect crime

But I find that it's alright yeah it's okay
I'll get what I need just for today
It's alright yeah it's okay
I'll get some of what I need just for today

She'll slink up behind you bro
She hid in the garden don't you know
Everyone said she was before her time
She'll sneak up behind you and commit the perfect crime

The coffee is going down and I'm waking up
I got a **** load of joy enough to fill a truck
Down by the waterfront I'll take the plunge
I went through the nineties I lived through grunge

But it's alright yeah it's okay
I'll get what I need just for today

it falls
on all
rich poor

needing to be
shoveled
away from
the door

looking so
beautiful
until

the traffic
makes it
not so

white rain
men
carrot noses

in need
of a tissue
until
he blows it

white rain
I cant complain

seasons change
that stays
the same

A Poppy abreast,
       stamping us all
          prisoners of war.

Will there ever
    be the day when
      there is no Warrior.

The blood red Poppy,
   symbol of death, sedation,
     pain relief, numbness, remembrance.

Will the poor flower
   ever recover, being cast
      in  a  most  Heroic  role.

I long for the day
  when there will be
      War    no     more.

No longer,
   any more,
     Prisoners of War.

You tell me one thing one day
and another thing the next.

What takes the cake is
you turn around and wonder
why is it that I'm perplexed.

Even the ugly has its place,
what is ugly to one
is beautiful to another,
that is , once you get past the face.

A silent psalm does surround
a starry angles glow,
wiping the tears of fears. Stand tall when you can.
And see that it is you that has you bound.

While here, in the mechanics of the mind,
as it matters. Some of us just aren't
mechanically inclined.
So while many move forward, hordes are left behind.

A Book talks about this big war of Spirit,
and its stress is that it is no game.
No politics physical or not can steer it,
there will be no passing the buck, no pointing the finger in blame.

No longer am I walking with my head in the stars,
my feet are flat,  right on the ground.
I put my ear to the track and hear
that heavy chunk of metal, with its painful mournful sound.

I can say that there are other planes,
yes, I can think that if I please,
though every breath that I breathe,
I'd rather announce to my world that I'm just not out to feed.

Like it has a pain or purpose that arose out of some need
of something that just had to be said.
That sleeping dog that you kicked only had a snack of grass
before he laid down to take his bed.

You had been nudging him with your boot and now
he is awake and he yelps and then vomits on your shoes
before he commences to growl.. and that godawful Hell will be back,
and it's going to extract One Blood Curdling Howl!  

The Universe is saying in no so uncertain terms
That I had better hold back, that I had better take heed.
It isn't just me that gets cut,
no it isn't, no, all others bleed.

All those ****** good loving deeds
that hath spawned better life that I don't know about.
On the other shoe, all those hurtful, hostile things,
those things that gave Hell for many to carry... hell for many to tell.

Never is it one cause, one reaction,
and oh, my thoughts and actions,
and the shame that comes,
coming in fractions of degrees.

Then, a breeze broke the solid heat
and quelled the sweat and quenched the thirst.
You can toast the twisted souls
or you can have them cursed.

evening's
long shadows
lay peaceful between
a walk in the neighborhood
where the windows are looked at,
not through.
and the air
is not shattered with alarm.

behind
the church doors,
in the pews; a congregation
is dead.
i take them downstairs
to be buried.
the preacher is undisturbed.

"where the dead lay
the crows will gather."

beside an ancient well,
with stillness
and under a dark sky
with diamonds,
there is no natural,
nor any contrived.

i lift my arms
and take flight.
my dreams
spread eagle
on the back
of my mind.

Fooling clouds
cross my view
passing hurts
and pleasures.
Blue on white
on white on blue,
'till black has
broken through.

I dreamed that
it finally died last night,
that it was truly over.

Waves of guilt and fear
to carry me away,
until I could see no longer
that place I started from,
and I no longer knew
that place I headed to.

Now, I gather stones
for my tomb,
while with willful eyes
study my peers,
lips pursed tight,
they have closed
their hearts,
closed up tight
to my falling tears.

Yes,
it is I,
it is me I cry.
Feeling condemned
by the unspoken lie.
A lie to weigh heavy
on my bent back body.
Heavy as Christ's Cross,
responsible for all souls lost.

Then,
I stumble
and I fall
as I carry
the burden upward
to Golgotha of the Skull.

The ShadowLand,
where grief clings
to my name
and to their person.
Asking of today
to stride with a limp,
and of yesterday,
to crawl and beg.

Forgiveness
would be
the task at hand.
A ticket for
some far and distant shore.
Safe passage away
from ShadowLand.

Bent,
but unbroken,
while the pain
of its death
runs deep.

Not until
hatred is spent
and words of
kindness are spoken
will forgiveness
be complete.

Only one way to forgive,
that would be completely.
Only one way to live,
that would be completely.

Anything less
misses the mark,
comes from the head
and not from the heart.

And so it remains
that for me to be free,
I cross the threshold
of forgiveness
standing ready
to turn the key.

I stayed up all night,
Looking for the  Sun,
And then it dawned on me....

That deserves  
A rim shot at
The very least..
Or maybe,   Even some slow,
Low,    slide  trombone, muted for style,   with a plunger.

This place is as close as you
Can get to living on an island.  
Almost completely  surrounded by sea.    
A  rocky  coast,         cliffs scrapping the sky.    
Strong riptides, with their brother, the other one,
The one and only, here he is...   the infamous, Mister  Undertow.
            
The land's well worn mountains are now hills,  
Windswept over centuries.  
The hills,  the harbors..... the Valley,
Stretching  more than three hundred  miles,
Blooming with fruits,  orchards of all kinds  
**** lands, and cattle farms and other livestock, and history.

When I was a child I couldn't stand it,
All my friends couldn't wait
To quit school and head west,
Armed with a larger wallet for
The big bucks that were to be made.

All that was found was greed and fear and stony faces.
People leaving their families back home,
They might as well have been going off to war.
They ***** the land and squeezed its oil sands,
All the while there eyes growing maniacal.

Big dollar signs is all everybody could see.
The leaders and the rich pushed and pushed
And ****** and ******, Wanting more and more.
They scraped and scraped until everything was black.
Black as black can be, black as the dark side of the moon.

Now, I look ahead,
And I look behind,
I see that I slipped through the cracks.
I encountered no war.
I wasn't faced with the prospect of
Blowing someones face off,
Or getting my self killed.
I like to tell myself that I
Would rather go to prison
Than to  have to shoot some one.
I wonder if I would have the guts.


When they come from "away"  
They call us Blue-Nosers
And think us quaint...
Better a Blue-Noser  
Than a Brown-Noser.
I  tell  myself,
Better to be free
Than to chase Money.

Hello!
Well,
I... uhh,

- I'm Still
hoping to cross
that Spiritual Sea -

So, uh, here I go!

I suppose
it's a case of
running into the Truth.

- Just how little
is truly within
Human grasp -

And yet, just
how desperately
I continue to hold on...

....nonetheless....

...We take this
big long walk together,
of that I am sure.

From Darkness
into endless Light.
The deeper the solitude
the surer it seems.

                               Father Graham

That day
it's either ask
a friend for a favour,
or sleep on the roof
of some City building.

The daylight affords
City parks, City benches.

Hit the Soup Kitchen
for a morning sliced cheese sandwich
along with a weak cup of tea.

Sneak into the Mall
Food Court wash rooms
for a freshen-up.

A ****, shower and shave
without the shower and shave.

One foot in front of the other,
one foot on the street,
the other in the gutter.

Killing time, looking
for friendly faces
to *** a smoke from.

Feeling no permanence,
no point, no purpose.

A bruised and broken ego,
avoiding any eye contact.

Pity-faced glances
walk by on passing heads.

Not two cents to rub together,
looking for any best-old-ex-friend,
in the hopes of sofa surfing,
or maybe just a cup of coffee.

Sitting at the kitchen table,
a game of cards on the go.

A fruit bowl that's become
a "catch-all" for all things Kitchen.

A calendar up on the wall with
dates written over for appointments.

The time it goes so fast,
October all planned out.

Summer has gone, got up and left,
not saying so much as a word.

Last year Winter started in November,
it snowed as many Wednesdays as it could.

In the back of my brain I hear the radio play
some sappy tune that the DJ was calling "classic rock".

This chair I am sitting on is too hard
and my **** tells me to get up and walk.

Hurry up and win I say to myself
so I can retreat to the Living room.




irving2014

without
any money
I won't
get too far,

but I'm
on  a tab
all night,

drinking my gin
from a mason jar

you might think
it's kinda funny,

the way I rock my boat,

but you can have yours
and I'll have mine,

I won't be made
out to be a scapegoat,

if you cross my path
I'll give you a sign,

I"ll put my
pedal to the medal
and watch me unwind.

if you be sleeping
under the bridge
it's not that I don't care,

it's just bridge is
a whole another game

and you won't see me there.

maybe I can't
hold a candle to you
in some respects,

the way
you sway
in and out
and along the line,

I'll be
topping it up
with premium,

putting it to the test,

this dream I dream,
this dream I find.



irving2014

Standing in a field
with big blue sky,
while the rain threatens
the children on their playground.

Swiftly my thoughts,
charging from here to there
and back again,
it isn't a matter of relaxed.

Slow poke in the ribs
that knocks the wind
across the open field,
moving towards the horizon.

Play is an unforgotten
movement that pushes me,
and who is to say
what is or isn't play.

Hold out your hand
to receive this bleeding heart.
Time to move to where the wind blows
over the horizon, if that can be done.


irving2006

Eight-Forty Five,
sitting in a lawn chair
in the drizzle.
A lot of talk about
cancellation.

Hundreds
of crossed fingers,
the air is thick with mist
and muffled language.

Off goes the first bang,
behind us a kid
shouting out
play by play...

Two barrels,
rapid fire,
on and on.

I watch the spikes,
and hear the
thunder claps.

I imagine
I would see
just what I am
seeing
had I put
my finger in
a light socket.

The thin
spindles of light
reminding me of
road ****,
porcupine
for certain.

The night
draws to a close,
people pushing
and shoving
their way back
to their cars.

Labour day,
2014,
not that
we need an excuse
to have some fun.

Any night
of any day
will do just fine,
the ohs and awes
all over...
'till the next time.

Shank that darkness
    and let the
        light bleed through.

Bringing up
    the past,
overturning a rock
      while the insects scurry

Tropical storms
   brewing, just a
      blow-hard knocking down
         weaker trees,
    pulling the plug
         on the power,
           scattering memories.

  Up all night,
    beating the early bird
       to the worm,
Caressing the morning's
      dew dampened grass,
           chuckling,
laughing to keep from crying.

Cornwallis Inn,
Gothic Stone With
Marble Floor Ways,

A Small Lounge Area
And A Bar Alongside.

Road Weary
And Thirsty
We Belly
Up To The Trough.

A Drunkin' Patron
Pulls Up A Stool,

Too Drunk To Even
Pay Attention To The ****** Gestures
Or Our Body Language.

He Overstays
Any Sort Of Welcome
That I Would Have Given Him.

I Told
The Barkeep
I Was From Town
But Haven't Been Here
For Decades,

That When I Had Left,
The Town Wasn't More
Than A Ghost Town
In The Making.

That The Land
Of ***** And Orchards
Would Dwarf The Town,

Making It Only
A Spot On The Map,
Like The Stain
Left By A Barfly
On A Hot, Hot Day.

The
whispers
turning
into shouts,

Hollow rings,
the Sandman brings...

A night life begins
when eyelids close,

wakefulness
riding
shotgun
for the
sleeping self.

A
paralysed
body,
a parallel place,

eyelids
flutter in
some spasmodic
gypsy dance.

So many years,
the span
of a lifetime
spent living
in dreams,

living
through
a slumbering soul.

wind
blows,
curtians
fluttered,
flapped.

truth,
fiction
muttered,

the breeze
slacked.

rain
falls,
panes
close.

Soft
rhythmic
in
art
iculate
riddles,

droplets
stream,

tapped
memory
flows.

Con
den
sa
tion

dampens
sill,

time
drifts,

I
remain
still.

grey
grey
gazing,

hyp
not
ical.


rain
rain,

go­
away

come
again

some
other
day.

If you
Want to shoot
From the hip
Make sure
You're not firing blanks.

Anyone worth their salt
Will tell you to be yourself
Then step aside to let you find that self.

Run from those
Who claim to see  
The truth too clearly
And with those that want to
Meet me I say...

"Meet me half way,
Then there is no extra mile".

Leaders
Have in mind,
To lead.
Preachers..
They want to preach.

Story Tellers tell stories,
Some, fact filled,
Others are sprinkled
With truths, still others
Are boldface fabricated fiction.

Looking within to find
The answers I've come to know
To be genuine..
And with Wisdom comes
The pain of responsibility.

A responsibility
That resides in the acts one does
Or the lack of action
One chooses not to do.

Others don't hear you
From where you're at,
They hear from where
They are at.
  
Either it's
'Pearls before swine'
or a gentle reminder
to heed or discard.

Knowing a whole lot of
Not much at all
I remain eager to learn
More of The Mystery.

My aim is to walk
Shoulder to shoulder,
Not ahead of nor behind
For in the moment I can see
where once I was blind.

"Don't Worry, Be happy"
So easy to say, at times
So hard to do,
"The Proof is in the Pudding
and the Puddings in the fridge".

And with that,
The last quote
Will have to do.

looking
across the waters
as you stood
upon the shore,

a warm feeling
your only comfort.

shadows of
a distant past
so long before.

memories
now fresh
of love undone,
the mingling
of two hearts
that beat as one.

sights
and sounds
and vague imaginings
that passed so long ago,

a time of love
so seldom had
that few have come to know.

me,
i was fine
up until the time
that you gathered me aside,
speaking of matters
so far from thought,

of how
your mind
amd spirit fought,

of how you cannot
accept the time
although you heart
has recieved a sign.

Why
do you
unplug my ears
and open my eyes

if not
selfishly
to console your fears
and subdue your sighs.

were
you tired
of being lonely
standing in spirit
by the sea,

are you
crying out
for you only
or are you
calling out for me.

what purpose served
in judging so quickly,
so swiftly,
so much.

why
make us
within arms reach
when you remain
so out of touch.

you run
at the sound
of love's
unfinished call,

then turn
on your heel
and unsure
of you direction,
you stall.

hiding
in your craft
you paint
to appease
you muse,

the oils
they dry so slow.

creating visions
of what you choose,
still,
not always
of what you know.

ships and bluffs
and the face of love,
the canvas
again and again will change,

images of
a sea so rough
and a love
determined to remain.

paint me
out of the picture,
paint another man over me,

it will not change
that it was me
that stood aboard
that ship
below the cliff
that you stood upon.

behind you
the rolling highlands
of our beloved scotland,

while below you
the thickness of mist
hides that we list,
and are going down.

then waves crashing
and men thrashing,
don't you know
that i have drowned.

your
tears add
to the
vastness
of the sea,

i know
that although
you cry for you,
you also cry for me.

paint dries faster
than the tears
you have shed,

for a heart
cannot master
a love
that is not dead.

i wish
that you had
been spared
the wait,

knowing what
it is to grieve.

you felt you only
standing at the gate
though hand in hand with me.

if
i could have
kissed you cheek
to take away your pain,

for i
would do
anything for you,
even die again...

Take a Carney ride
at high noon,
or at midnight sky
under the Moon.

The Moonlight says,
the Night is a good deal..
and the Night  says..
the Moon knows
that we are here
to pack a wallop.

But the Stars ignore
the Moon's stolen light,
knowing that they
will soon be dust,

While they spend
wistfully useless hours
wondering if
the only reason time exists is

So everything
doesn't happen at once..
then, all at once,
They were able
to leave 'well enough alone'.

We took a long drive down
To Jawbone Corner where
A flashing red light
Acts as a four-way
I'm with my girl, her driving,
Me delivering foreplay.

Down in the Valley where
You can be at rest or
You can be at play,
Newly Weds and nearly Deads,
Draft Dodgers from Yankee Ville
And my family lives there still.

Apple blossoms with
Their assualt to the senses,
All kinds of distractions,
Too many to mention.

A Sunday drive
That lasts all day,
Cape Blomington stands
Oh so tall,
You can get down
And forget about it all

As you coast in to town
And lay your money down
At the local pub,
Checking it all out
To see what's what
In the way of fun,
Where to next
Under the mid-day sun,
Where to next
Before we're all done.

Way up
In these clouds
Just as my expecations
Did fall ******* my head
Full of those child like dreams.

Remembering a future
And ignoring a past
That could break
Any fragile strong-man
On any bright new day.

Why can't I
Make you leave me alone
Even here,
Up in the blue sky
Above the white clouds
So far away from home.

If you're going to ride my ***
you could at lease pull my hair.
She was pushin' 55 when
the bumper sticker caught my eye,
she was at the controls of  
a disturbed yellow Datson
with Nova Scotia plates,
a combination of rust red and bright yellow
sliced down the middle with one wide strip of black,
heel to toe, and tinted windows to boot.

1970 Northern Canada, hundreds of kids
thumbin' from East to West and from West to East.
I shared the Impala with two young ladies  from Ontario,
and  the driver was friendly as hell, as well as being deaf...

The Datsons bumper sticker now a pleasant memory..
Today there are fewer travelers and many being unemployed ex-cons and dyed in the wool Hobos harboring severe alcohol and drug problems... you could say that it's no longer safe.

My travelling days are  over..
I left them 30 years in the dust.
I really have seen the last of those,
today when I go, it's not long before I want back..
I miss the ocean, and the Atlantic  is my choice.  
The Pacific smells of dank wood with all the tall furs
and the logging industry.  Give me my camp fire on the beach,
I'll wash the salt away before I jump in the sheets at the days end.
My skin being golden brown from a close enough Star.