There was a time
when you could move mountians
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 thought 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.


© 2005

It's been so long now since
I've touched a pen to paper
But life goes on  and still this crazy world keeps spinning 'round

I wanted to say something profound
But the words wouldn't slip off the pen
I tried to follow life around but was told I had to stand in front

The next time I think about writing a poem
I'll know that if I really had anything to say
People wouldn't listen anyway

Bull reeds
and culverts,
tall and golden
sweet grasses and such.

Azure,
December droplets
of glittering star shine.

A walk along
the flood plan,
wondering why
houses breach
the swamp and sky.

Why is it that
some fools
build houses here
knowing full well
you're in for a flood
every spring when the snow melts.

colder than
the well diggers *****
off the brass monkey(on my back).

crouching over like an old man
taking the shape of a question mark.

can't wait for spring at break(my) neck speed,
if i was in the possession of an ulcer,
it would stand up in protest
and begin to bleed.

© copyright 2012


All Rights Reserved

I said, oh
you're in sales.
She responded:
Are you kidding!
I could sell ice to an Eskimo.

Oy vey I say,
you're pretty pretty
and that's a fact.
That will go a long way
towards your hitting the mark.

I hope you are able to stay honest,
give a sucker an even break.
Please feel welcome
and make yourself a tidy sum.

I myself was not cut out for sales,
my pitch wasn't good and all,
but I couldn't hide the products drawbacks.
I was all to willing to let you know
exactly what you were paying for.

I went to an open mike tonight and me and a fella stepped out to burn one, when we finished I double check to make sure my car doors are locked. He say's to me.. "You got a touch of the O.C.D. eh, don't worry, all musicians have it, it's a good thing. You know, practice practice practice. "  I kid you not... true story!

On Vancouver's eastside
The ******'s roam
Cafe's drill holes
In their tablespoon's
Curved bowls
So they don't end up in
The pocket of an addict
Looking to cook-up a fix

Cobra's breath
through yard iron teeth,
sullen swank and sway.

Shan't no man stand
where WILL be loosed,
'till gait and gravity
sound pounding shoe.

With in no glass wall
to splinter and fly
'till distant point
not seen with thine eye,

pass behind
to settle in cell,
being recalled of fear
or a rainy day,
casting visions
of a cruelest Hell
of infinite symbol,
sound and smell..

© 2005

Isolation pushes me out,
yes, it's nice to meet other people.
But when the stones start flying
I'm at the end of my block,
but on the other hand,
I can really love hard,
I can love harder than a rock.

While you were feeling
a bit like a head trip
I must admit
I wanted a few benefits
with that friendship.

You don't have to tell me baby,
it was going no where,
I guess it's true..
' in love and war.. all is fair'.

All I wanted was
to have some fun
'cause if it isn't any fun,
then I'm long gone.

You know baby
it hasn't been fun for a very long time.
Now when it's down to hanging with you
it makes me fell like I'm dying.

So what's so hard about blowin' you off,
be by myself and collect my thoughts.
That's what's been missing all along.
So it's bye-now...so long.

I imagine this and I imagine that,
hanging with you
sure does lack,
so the deck is stacked
and my bags are packed.

You rub me wrong, yes you do,
and I rub you the wrong way too.
You are who you are.. ain't no margin for error,
just don't come crawling back
like some god- awful  night terror.

© 2000

All Rights Reserved.

Sitting outside
on the deck
this spring night,
having what
I tell myself
will be my last
cigarette.

One lone
June bug,
in all its
bug ugliness ,
bashing its self
against the
patio door,
bounding
off the glass
to the outdoor light
and back again.

Two cats
peering out
the window,
their heads bobbing
up and down.

They turn
to face each other
as if to say...

"That ain't no ******* bird".

Water under
the bridge,

rolling
and
tumbling,

kissing
the river's
edge,

trees
bend
in a breeze.

A  lonesome
moon
calls out
to the stars
ignoring
their
true
light.

A *****
strikes
the earth,

over turning
a crawlers
night lunch.

A bottle
of ***
shared
by two

who steer
clear
of the fires
orangey
fingers.

Fingers
to fry
the catch
under
the
night's sky.

sitting
in the
  executive
   boardroom
    the c. e. o.   on
      speaker phone                                                            ­              
       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
                                  
                                                                ­       an eye.. end

morning's first coffee,
always the best
unless you buy cheap.

you find the level
that water rises to
and then you do your dealings.

drink, a symptom
of the cool
that eases into soul.

your landlady
knows your dealings
better than yourself,

she'll jump out
onto a limb
that has already blown away.

she'll kiss your tracks
like her lips are her brains.


© copyright 2005
All Rights Reserved

between what is
and what is to become

sitting on
a large grey stone

eyes skimming
across the inlet

never have I seen
an ugly sky

the horizon the horizon
how many times

have I penned
that word horizon

looking for the ears to hear
to come from beyond the horizon

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.

Trying so hard to
Avoid those corners

I hugged myself
In the jacket when they
Said this is yours

I bit my lip
While plugging
My ears

Trying so very hard
To push this stick up
Into another gear

My mind has
Gone and got me
Under the gun

I'm about
To shoot it off

Go out in style
And call it fun

Someone
That doesn't
Want some thing
Would be a relief

It saves on the sorrow
Saves much of the grief

Crazy mixed up world
A threat to ourselves

Bumping into a morning
No giving fair warning

I built up my own sweet hell
And on this I dwell

'Twinkle twinkle little star
how I wonder what we Are'.

For the price is high
and the burden is heavy,

look this way to find
a broken stream that

tells of a high price.

look that way to see
only cement wall that

tells of a heavy burden.

All this fresh and driven
headlong into the heart.

No spilling the beans
in sight of the hungry.

What gifts the poor are given
though there is no tarry,

no time to enjoy.

Living breath taken lightly,
with out giving it a thought,

go around and take it in
that Jesus had his doubts.

Must make haste in the
making of waste for

the time has gone when
to look for busy really is any thing.



Al Rights Reserved @2005

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 are able
to leave well enough alone.

© copyright 2012

just like
you
to
not
always
hate them,
the
death of
infatuation
kills
the manners.

© copyright 2012


All Rights Reserved

summertime brings
high heat and humidity,
so much light you want to catch it all

in an air-conditioned room
then step into the street
to be smothered by the humidity

it's like  extra gravity
pulling my inner workings
closer to the ground

it's like dense smoke
relieving me of  my ability
to take  deep breaths

here i am complaining
a canadian complaining about our summer
i see it in others, mainly the elderly, but still

I became
bored
so off  
to the
Dog Park
with my cat

I say
don't worry
he won't bite

And a Shepherd
herded my call

I offer up something
and you don't care..
You tell me that I am unhappy
like it's a sin.

Why would I continue
to let you in
only to have heartache on top of heartache
with no one but my self to blame.

You're better off calling
your
"same old used to be".
It's more likely that
he will have something to do with you.

Because I won't, it's been a slice,
enough is enough! Getting rid of you
is like shaking off a vice

And as for your friends,
well you can have them too.
Everybody gets lonely sometimes
but I won't be thinking of you.

Sure I wanted to play
and that's why I did,
But let's face it...
You can't stand me when I'm drunk
and I can't stand you when I'm sober.

No matter how you choose to say it,
it's just another way of saying it's over.

I know you know that you didn't fool me.
I knew you knew that I just wanted to play.
You knew you knew just how to ***** me,
so what fair was it for me to stay.

Your *** was good but your strokes
didn't count for much.
It wasn't just my pleasure,
though it sure felt good.

If you could have ****** my brains out
I might have stuck around.
But all your choice just brought me down.

I can be so brutal
or so you say you can tell
but stop and look again
this could be a match made in heaven
for two angels straight from hell

We could sit here
and stare the clock down
stare it right off the wall
or dust off the top hat and spats
and strike out on a crawl

Now I know what it is to be drunk
and I know what it's like to be sober
I know what it is to be young
and quickly growing older

The safest bet by a long shot
is to keep time hung up on the wall
make believe we can predict
just what way it's going to go

Shake  those dice
and give them a blow
by the time they hit the velvet
you know how it's going to go

We can do it up just like a drug
you don't have to convince me I'm already sold
it's back to throwing out a life line
drawing some heat out of this late winter's cold

A glimpse into more than the globe
No passing fancy a glance into the Universe

Like seeing the patchwork patterns
On one hell of an acid trip

Feeling for the first time a kaleidoscope
Of wavy sounds weaving out and in and through

Knowing but not knowing that I am  much more than ego
Finally seeing it's not me but just a part of who I am

I tell myself why or is it that I ask myself why
Just for a brief moment the Universe showed its hand

All  of those seminars and self help books
Just as bad as those Christian evangelists

Preying on the lost or ill and confused and asking for the hand out
That they are sure to find in a game of numbers translating in to cash

Like a dog with a bone a seeker of the 'what is' I twist and turn
I sometimes pretend that a new beginning waits at the end to begin again

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.

No news is good news
Just as long as I am
Lying here with you
And though we're fools
Still I want just to hold you

In my mind
Are these green green fields
The fog is everywhere
And I'll always remember 'cause
You were there
You were there

Terracotta woman
My Celtic Queen
You work with clay
Giving form its birth
To shape this day
You have turned to the earth
Terracotta woman
My Celtic Queen

When I get home
I want to unplug the phone
Turn the lamp down low
Because no news is good news
Just as long as I am staying here with you
And though we are fools
Still I want just to hold you

I've heard some of the best,

hung around

with Priests or pastors

shared our records
spoke poetically

wondered about it all..

doesn't change the fact

we were all entertainers.

You can have a pistol in the small of your back
And still have your heart upon your sleeve
While mine slips into my palms before it jumps down my throat
My fingers draw across its strings now you know exactly where I stand
One plus one is two but did you ever feel one plus one equals one
You have to face it sometime and maybe now is right-and-ready
Full on there-you-go maybe tonight's not the night, let's not

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.

Sliding through the cracks
Screaming monkey on my back
Nowhere to go nothing to do
Sitting in a bucket of crying some blues
When a love is nothing just some fact
You pass that crossroad and you can't turn back
In the hutch a bottle of gin just a way to hide
Doesn't fix the problem just dulls the inside
Climbing out the well dripping from the dunk
I tire and rest a bit no breeze to blow the funk

Back to the
subtle pool
of dark and deep
that law below
illumination.

Wriggling,
slippery
scales
in a pool
so deep
it is hard to see.

Down the hall,
in the realm
of control,

pulling into light
a dark shadow,
maybe  two,
but one.

Pull it close,
to touch it
in mind.
To know it
and own it
and to let
it go
into a
watershed
of tears.

To eat  
its self
and
its own.
To be chewed
by its kind.

So deep
and dark
and
subtle,
this
fooling
pool
of mind.


© 2005

Take a carny ride
at high noon,
or in a midnight sky
under a crescent moon.
You can hear
the moonlight say
that the night is a good deal,
while 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 that
everything
doesn't happen at once.
Then, all at once,
they were able
to leave
well enough alone.



end © 2013

The shadows fall and
all in all
nightfall
will soon be upon us.

The campfires
smoking
giving the darkness
a grayish tinge.

This Split juts
out into the Fundy Bay,
now with the sun gone
it will grow even colder.


Low laying clouds
mingle with the smoke,
if you remain quiet
you can hear more that the crackle
of the burning wood.

From behind the trees,
something eerie
to make you shiver.
To let you know you are in the wild.

A stream runs through the woods.
The fresh water for the morning coffee
has already been drawn,
plastic jugs and canteens full.

There are bears
and coyotes and deer 
out here,
but in all the time
coming out to
this breath taking cliff
I have never run into either.

This time I have come
with a purpose other than
the fresh air and sounds of the ocean
far below.

My father's last wish,
to have his ashes
scattered over the side
to the rocks and water.

This is where he grew up,
the small village at the base of the cliff.
I was born here and I never called it home.
Now I am proud to come from such
a beautiful place.

My mother, a native,
my father, an import from Boston.
So much history needing to be sifted through.
So much a mystery when it comes to my Dad.

A plaque will adorn the small cemetery,
with my fathers full name,
-Irving Richard MacPherson-
My mother already buried there.

He never liked his name
so he called himself Richard.
Now I find myself choosing Irving
over Kenneth for mine.

I will die and when I do
I will join my father
in the vastness of the Atlantic.
Such a beautiful end to a good life.

Like the sour
taste in your mouth,
or the canker sore
on the tip of your tongue.

The sweet taste
of mother's milk
stopped up
for formula.

Poor child,
a curse that
leaves him
clutching
for a latex ******.

Under a
Canopy of trees
Seeing the sunlight
Through the leaves.

Born to create
Within myself
The Universal debate.

Standing
On the corner
Lips licking my chops
Hoping for a drink of water
Waiting for a cool breeze.

Out on
The ocean
Not sure of the date
Going by
The compass
I'm sure you can relate
Looking toward the stars
To help me navigate.

Up high
Above the clouds
In a widow seat
I look across it all
What it is
That is healthy
What is is that's diseased.

And I need to state
The awe of it all
Fills me with grace
And brings me to my knees.

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.

Instead of showing you
A picture of my meal
I'll just describe it to you
So let your mouth water
With every word and be thankful
You're not going to bed hungry

March came in
like a tired Zebra
being run down
by a pride of Lions.

But no, not now,
she's going out like
a ***** old Mule
kicking in the stall.

As you know, mules are *****,
you couldn't have said it better yourself.

Spring comes in March,
I'd like to know who ever
thought that date up.
I've been shovelling snow
while it's ten below.

I went out and bought
a rake a ***** and a ***.
Wishful thinking on my part
the ground is still hard.

I'm going to plant flowers
And raise a high fence
so the Deer's mouth will water
but it will get no feed.

Good riddance March
and your frigid temperatures
I don't want to see your face
for another year.

So ****** cold
and yet to hit deep freeze.

We love long Johns,
we love long Johns,
we love foot longs.

Have to use a pair of tweezers
to pull a hair out of
a hot bowl of soup;
when asked 'what are you doing with those,
I answer 'what do you think I'm doing,
they're pluckers,plucker'.

© copyright 2013

All Rights Reserved

Dismantle government
Let the rich help

Divide us into
Four Hemispheres

North South East West
Four strong Four bold

Take what we know
And squeeze out

All the good from
What we are learning

We adopt and adapt
Walk before we run

All humanoid
One planet one sun

You tell me
one thing one day
and another the next

Then you turn around
and wonder why it is
that I'm perplexed

Well I can't catch a break
with this ringing in my ear
a scar that refuses to heal

Oh Beelzebub I beg to
make friends with you
so as not to fear you

Wait a minute no
you can't have my soul
I just want to be whole

I want to take down the veil and see what I am
No putting my whole up for sale
I just don't want to give a ****

Skin deep in her cold green sea,
a dark and gnarled sky above.
On the curved horizon a side reads:
She believes in angels but she can't believe in love.

Insane in her reverie, wings sewn cross-stitch
down the spine of her back.
Rattling panes that the wind blows
are just a reminder of all that she lack.

Saw teeth across metal is music to her ear,
the shriek of the tea kettle full of insolent childhood fear.
Rude eyes shout; forget the devil, he has no bite.
She knows better though and she's not going down without a fight.

Her attempts to speak of the things she has heard
are the sounds of a cat who has sprung on a bird.
To spread her wings is to spread her legs
and embrace the power the darkness has made.

Oh, the suffering of heartache after hearts ache
while pulling the wings off of flies.
She can make you laugh, she's pretty smart eh,
but it isn't the same as being wise.

Every bit of her life, it occurs to her,
yes it does, it just occurs.
Now is it being selfish or just being blind,
if fooling people well is her way to unwind.

Winter snow is so high,
to jump out into it
is to jump into the sky.
The woman downstairs
has no where to go
as of tomorrow.
What will the universe grant her,
does she need faith?
Spirit people floating
like snowflakes in space.
The woman downstairs
thinks worried thoughts,
contemplating the street
and its harshness.
Could I be witnessing
a fall from grace.

© 2011

If the world
was my cloister,

I can't get away
as i sit here
and I think
and I realize
I don't know a lot
of anything.

All I thought I knew
was a lot of nothing.


With the world as my cloister.

It leaves me thousands of miles to move
but I can't escape that
the world is my cloister.

If it were true
and the world was mine,
there would be more chanting than ranting,

Less greed and more charity.

If the world was my cloister,
vision and empathy would be
King and Queen.

Hurt and suffering abiding side by side
with love, grief and joyfulness.

What do you do in a cloister with so many people..
You try and live together.

You try and dream together.

for a moment
i wished that i was
sailing over the ocean,

far away from land,
far away from the world.

but i stop and think again
and i remember that
i don't like water,

hardly even to drink,
maybe to mix with scotch,
but then, only in its frozen state.

Don't go poking them
    What good is that.

Don't sit on the sidelines
        when they try to take
                    you to the mat.

We can all make changes for the better
if only in our small part of the world.

I won't give up on Peace
  even if it kills me to do it.

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

Grey
skies
chilly
temperatures

Alibis
for
your
sweet
alchemy

Allegorical
punchlines
setting
up
shop

Breathe
deeply
my
dear
friend

Every
thing
is
subject
to
change.

Spine twisted recompense
and all that was, is not.

Fortune buried in  a field
and I stand on the wrong
side of the fence
with my plastic shovel.

Wisdom brings responsibilities pain.

If I should hold too tight hugging
the kettle
I shall burn my arms.

What good to burn my arms.

Better to cut them off
and go through life
eating with my feet.



© 2005

Evening's long
shadows
lay peaceful between
a walk in the neighbourhood
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."

This game played
between the ears.
My own arm
beating my own head.
The small cry
is the small fry,
so the bully
bellies up,
filling his hole.
Always in need of more.

Beside an ancient well,
with stillness
under a dark sky
with diamonds.
There is no natural,
nor any contrived.