In my New Day I arose from my
screen-tent-mole-hole-flimsy-bomb-shelter-for-my-soul
and walked down to the banks of the mighty Missinabi River
at the Mattice Landing
with dog’s leash in one hand and my right hand
leading lady’s in the other hearing and feeling tall grasses
swishing against my pant legs
and the crunch of course sand under my feet that once trod fields of green tall grasses swishing against my pant legs in the meadows and rocky woods of
my childhood and youth where I spent summers working

at my Auntie and Uncle's farm in
Canada's Northern Ontario region and in the woods and along the banks
of the Lackawanna River just over the **** behind
the house of my childhood and youth in the Anthracite coal
region of the American Northeast which is light years away from the land of my birth where I now live in this Northern Ontario port in the middle of a deep
                                     cold sea of countless
                                     converging
                                     never-ending
rivers
lakes
trees
swamps
bogs
muskeg
and mountains of snow
where snow white and black flies fly freely.

I am always trying to go deeper into the trees and bush
burning deep inside my heart of hearts to follow the Moses
that is in all of us.

This eternal Voice in pebbles crunching
under foot and tall grasses swishing and canoe parting
waters that flow deep in my mind and spirit--once only
winding past burning villages where humans **** and pillage
--but now also following a more
pastoral             idyllic           and super-natural course.

A vagabond never quite understands the working-class
woman and man living their small dream with their offspring and slice of land.

I thought they were all ostrich with head in sand.

But I now see that we can't all afford to brood as I often do over the daily news.

They must rise early the next morning alarm clocks not set on snooze.                                            

work ethic
family hearth and home
days of scent
of freshly mown grass  
barbeques                                          
campf­ires
tea kettle whistling  
coffee maker brewing  
children playing  
TV and music blaring
dishes rattling
in sink or
swim in the lake

Loosen the watertight mind drum and just dive into the
crunch of pebbles under foot treading fields of green tall
grasses swishing against pant legs...

Not only wishing
but going deeper into the trees and bush burning
speaking to our primeval consciousness.

This eternal Voice in pebbles crunching and tall grasses
swishing
The whooshing sound of wading in a stream streams
through my soul as I savour the body taste of wet gritty sand
between my fingers and toes crouched down wet-crotch deep waiting long enough for minnows to tickle fingers and toes as mosquito’s pin-prickle skin

Watching creatures much smaller than I gliding
even walking on calm still water which we humans can only dream of doing in our motorized sleep.

I think I now understand:

To not be constantly mourning the plight of man isn't being ostrich with head in sand.
I must keep gunning-off the haunted deeps alluring stare

I must taste life
    Smell and feel life
        Enjoy life outside of my troubled mind

against the backdrop of the latest holy war
and the imploding creations of our kind.

I am just an image,
Like a flickering candle waiting to die
Like a glimpse of the sun on cloudy days
Like dead roses on my mother's grave
Like dried plants in the flower vase
Like the reflection in my lover's gaze.
I am just an image,
Like summer evenings spent on your porch
Like the first kiss that never happened
Like the scent of your perfume
Like the first time I saw you
Like one sided love and hopeless dreams
Like days that never end and nights that end too fast
Like thoughts that scare me
Like withered and dried sunflowers on my grave
Like my coffin's reflection in my mother's gaze
Like the life I wanted.
But at the end of the day
I am nothing at all.
I am just a  flickering candle waiting to die,
Just an image.
But all these memories that make
Me me are like fleeting winds
That pass away too quickly,
Sometimes too short for my liking.
Without all these moments, I am nothing
But just an image
In someone's eyes.

There was a princess
lost in and dazed by springtime sweetness.
Picture perfect gowns and rolling meadows,
In her Kingdom
Spring went on and forever.
People wished they lived at such a place,
evergreen flowers and the youth of nature.
Wished they could experience it all.
But the princess was locked inside her palace,
woe the young woman couldn't touch the flowers.
She sat there in her gloomy chamber,
looking outside to the greenest grass.
She was sad and numb but she danced in her room,
wore spring gowns for there was spring at her heart.
She breathed in spring air from within the cold walls,
An ever longing desire in her eyes to touch the spring flowers.
Little does she know for she is spring Herself,
So she touches her heart.

awareness or
the lack thereof
there is a self,
regardless of
the stupid things
you wish to be
and all those masks you hide behind

a sens of self
is all there is
it’s not a gift
that you receive
it’s that,
the only thing there
is

that’s all you got
that’s all you are
enjoy and swim in it
till dawn

it’s more than life,
it’s cheating death
it simply is,

the sense of self.

Silently I cry
But no one sees my tears
Want to screem, but I'm to shy
I'm stuck in my fears

My eyes full of sorrow
My mind full of worries
In me the invisible pain of horror
My past drained with dark stories

I lost my trust in all
'cause no one understands my thoughts
The system and friends let me fall
at the police, a pile of my useless reports

Into alcohol and drugs I fled
Trying to escape the reality
and with indifference I was fed
This all formed my deadly personality

In the end, no one cares about me
I wander through my dark fantasies
For what was done to me, I've to pay the fee
my death is caused of your all  ignorencies

When you fall in love with a mean man you’ll find yourself truly believing that you deserve the misery. The fighting, the hurt and the crying feels all too consistent. Uneasy becomes your default setting as you find yourself walking on eggshells to avoid the anger. You’ll forget how you once loved the sensation of skin-to-skin contact the more you catch yourself flinching at his touch. When he points out that you’ve gotten distant you wont even notice how guilt melts into consent as he takes what he tells you he deserves. It’s alright, he loves you. 
If you’re anything like me you’ll believe that you’re not enough. You’ll believe that it’s your fault when he starts a fight. If only you could do better, then he’d have no reason to be upset. You wont believe it when your mom tells you it isn’t healthy to come home crying every time you see him. You wont believe your friends when they tell you that you deserve better than a possessive man who won’t let you out of his sight. Worst of all, you certainly wont believe yourself when you’re brain is screaming that you cant take it anymore; because your heart is screaming even louder, “He loves me!”

Yes, I am not whole,
Neither did I admit to be perfect,
But my existence sparks out the ordinary,
Is it my personality,
Is it my beauty,
That radiates it all.

Yes, I'm not whole,
But what makes me unique?
I'm full of imperfections and flaws,
Are those what make me so mystique.?

They say it's not just my personality,
Or my outward beauty that outshines,
Or  how I carry myself?
And maybe it's the light in my eyes?

But I'll tell you one thing,
Embrace your imperfections,
Your energy is contagious,
You lift up those around you,
And make them feel courageous.

The beauty about you will be known by those that appreciate you,
Even after they denied me reason why i spark out the ordinary,
One thing I know for sure is,
I radiate positivity,
I don't depend on their judgement,
I stand on my grounds,
My energy is just contagious,
And that is what makes me whole.

my body moves from point to point
- endless paths and promontories -
swimming cross-current
at the edge of a great fall.
consciousness lays wait below:
a sense of self;
awareness larger than itself,
older than my life.

traversing growing spheres from time to time
- moments made by difference -
racing at standstill
down a vast and shattered pane.
decisions marked in lines:
a shift in form.
evolving minds beyond our space
(a)part (from/of) all that is.