Can't believe my eyes,
you were there and you took me by surprise.
We were laughing and making jokes
and then you told me you had to leave by tomorrow.

I tried to tell you everything that's happened in my life.
It was bittersweet and nostalgic, and I could only blame bad luck,
that right after I said -
"I want to tell you everything but there's not enough time,"
I woke up.

Trust is not given, but earned
And old bridges must be burned
But you cannot close what was never open
And life tends to favor the over-churned.
From time to time, if you may
See a whole universe in front of you
And maybe next time, per say
Pick someone by the way they look at you.
With gentle eyes
Or with contempt.
If they light up when you smile
Or when you agree with them.
Sure signs of a surely scattered lover
Should come clearer to you than this.
For instance:
          •If they seem like they don't care for you, believe them.
          •If they tend to make other plans when you schedule dinner with your parents, leave them.
          •And, if they let you go to sleep unhappy at night, retrieve their belongings from your apartment, scatter them into the streets and do not allow them to open your now-closed door.

The bridge on which he stood
could be walked not more
than two ways they said.
"Lies" he claimed as he jumped off,
hurdling towards the greyish
hue of concrete reflected in his
now not so far faded pupils.

Once upon a time,
I had a story I could tell.
But, now the facts have changed
and as I suppose its just as well.

For you see, I say my story
it is one of scattered dreams.
And, I was looking for an ending
that would sew up all the seems.

But, somewhere in the patchwork,
in the throw rug of my mind,
there was a loose thread
that I just could never find.

So, when it comes to taking action
you know why I won't take part.
For, all it takes is one good tug
and my patchwork comes apart.

A  poet was given
a life sentence today.

He'll be going the way
of Bob Marley and Frank Zappa.

I saw him perform
over the last few decades.
Hip he was and always will be.

In the ranks of Canadian poets,
his peers being  Gordon Lightfoot,
Leonard Cohen and Mister Neil Young.

He wrote about the Canadian Prairies,
about New Orleans sinking and nautical disasters.
All with soul and intellect.

A friend said,
"You didn't have to
Know know know him
to love love love him".
And that's true.

With a heavy heart I ponder the noon news.
I recall the day I heard of John Lennon's ******.

The only time I ever cried
over the death of a celebrity.

Thoughts and prayers out to you Gordie,
and your family and friends.

Ironically tragic for one so Tragically Hip.

I  wish that today, I could
demonstrate;
reciprocate
everything you once gave to me;
your blue-eyed glance,
your firm grasp on my hand, &
your love
is still worth 1000 poems
& I'm so sorry
that I cannot
illustrate
that through more than just
these few
short
lines.