We’ll light the wedding candle
Each year upon this night.
Remembering why as years speed by
We first stood to make this light.

Not for a love that’s ever true
Or a smile that ever cheers.
Not for the sick or crummy days
Or to share and conquer fears.

It’s for the days we forget to love
and when aggravations start to weigh.
It’s for the times we’ve both ******* up
But have chosen to love again a new way.

The candle will burn and the wax melt.
Someday, the wick will sputter and gutter out.
But it’s just a reminder and can be replaced
As long as we remember what it’s all about.

He was a man of many ideas
He brightened up even those in their darkest of times
By shining his whimsical offtimes and sometimes "outrageous ideas"
Now that he is gone, the "out" in the word describing his ideas
Now seem "in" and "new seas"
To try and sail partial paths of some of his intellectual "ideas"
To honor a "never ending" flame
By not allowing society's air blowing
To put my life's flame out.
In utter disbelief that he is now gone.
I know he is up above me and watching me.
"To see if I can make it?!" I shout
"That I can. For your honor, even more!"
I'll achieve my successes and let go of my crazy doubts.
"If you can make it this far, I shall go even further."
In your honor, my friend and spiritual brother, "to  victory and to the beyond"
"Thank you for entering my world...."
For one never sees another's true beauty until they pass.
Not this student.
All along, I have been the one who listened in class.

I open my eyes, to warm tea by my bedside
It tells me that you love me
You rose before I
Already welcoming the day,
Feeding the birds and having your cigarette in the dawn
Because you know I’d rather not see you smoke,
But I do not mind that you do.
As we eat our breakfast to the sound of radio 2
I attempt to beat my top score on the morning quiz
You chuckle to yourself at how silly I am for getting frustrated because I am sure it was the right answer
I insist on washing the dishes whilst you sit with a coffee
But then you dry them and insist that I now sit.
As mid-morning approaches, we walk, hand in hand to the shop
Like every day
To buy fresh milk, and bread and something for dinner.
We comment on how the local pond is looking untidy
And stop to pick up some litter we see antagonizing the ducks

The afternoon spent in the sunshine of our garden
As I dig the vegetables and you tend to the potted plants
Watch the birds flirt with each other around the pond
Today is Friday, fish day. The day we’ll eat our tea from our laps, like every Friday
Then while away the evening, in silence, relaxing from the day
My arm reaching over to your chair, holding your hand, and there it stays
Until bedtime
as we swap books and turn out our lights at the same time.
Saturday comes, repeating Friday, it is what we do
it is familiar, and comfortable.
Today, I work on my wine making
as you sit opposite me, cross stitching, in silence.
Tonight we shall catch up on the latest foreign drama
Swap competed books at bedtime
and read, until we both turn out the lights.
Together
Sunday.
We sit, in church, with hand upon hand
And give thanks
For the last time
With your final breath taking you to your knees, to the floor, out of my arms

Tonight I eat dinner alone
Your bed side light does not get turned off
Because you are not there to turn it on
I finish my book, ready to swap with you, but you haven’t finished yours yet
And as I wake there is no tea by my bed. But I imagine it there
Taking two bowls from the cupboard, and putting one back
When you do not hear my breakfast call
And I wonder whether I should touch your plants
Or put away your cross stitched pattern
And I still cook enough for two
Still rest my hand upon your chair
But you are not there
There is a change to the silence
I miss the silence we shared
I miss the fact that we embraced what we liked,
No matter how boring our lives seemed to others
To us it was special
Garden centers were our excitement
Each other was our comfort
I don’t know how to feel comfortable without you silently by my side.

It has been fifteen years
Since that dark and gloomy day
We as a nation were attacked
Nothing but total turmoil in every way
Thousands sadly lost their lives
There were painful hearts
Some people woke up to mass confusion
Before their day was about to start
This is a moment that we will not forget
We will continue on in our lives
We cannot hide in the shadows
Just move forward towards the light
Time will continue to march on
In spite of darkness
We must lift ourselves upward
And make our own sunshine and happiness

Wet skies
Grey dawn
Blankets the coast.
Black rocks
Sea foam
Triggers the most
Atlantic applause,
An encore to those
Just hearty enough
To make a life on The Rock.

And to answer the call,
Between stone cracks,
Moss roots,
And squalls,
A garden was planted
Where nothing
Had grown
Before.

Before...

Before the Gardener came
The coast was a love-lettered painting,
A bouquet to the sun,
Orange, red, and yellow flattery
Through living imitation.

"Seek ye first the kingdom of God,"
Said the sign
On the gate
At the edge of St Johns.
"But I think I've finally found it,"
Said the man
Creeping silent
With his too sharp sheers
Cutting flowers
Uninvited. -
- Everyone's front lawn
A memory
Of what united
Them for two score years.

****** hands dropping pedals on his way to the shore,
"Don't worry," said the man,
"I don't want to come back,
With any luck," he said again,
"I think this should be enough."
As he placed in the arrangement
A note that read,
"Je suis
Désolé.
Bitte fragen Sie nicht
Für mehr."




100 years ago, July 1st, 1916, the entire Newfoundland and Labrador regiment was killed at Beaumont-Hamel, during the Battle of the Somme in World War I. Of 780, only 68 reported for roll-call the next day.
After 40 some years of having no military of their own, they had mustered up a unit of volunteers to support the war effort. 90% of them never made it through their first engagement.
Canada Day isn't just about celebrating.

They may be gone but never forgotten. The memories we have, we hold so tight. Death was not easy, nor was their fight. In heaven above they watch as we grow, we all love them so much and I know that they know, for they love us all the same,  they want us to cherish the time we had and let go of the pain.

Grandpa Tinker died a few years after I was born. I'm told he met me before he left though I was still asleep then. Lulled in a cradle, in a peace made possible by men like him. A Marine Corp officer stationed at Pearl Harbor who awoke to the sound of shouts on a day the world would never be allowed to forget. Mother said he never spoke a word about the war. Maybe that was his way of forgetting; his gift to my mother's generation was to bury that pain. He let it die inside so the fear, the anguish, the terror could not touch the ones he loved. The world gave him something he could not forget, something so painful he buried it in his heart with the memory of fellow marines and sailors in watery graves.

Grandpa Harry was a gunner on a B-29. The son of orthodox Jews, a first generation American born in New York. When he was stationed in Texas he met a young W.A.V.E. who would become my grandma. They couldn't wait for the war to end before getting married. When Granpa Harry was shot down over the Burma theatre they sent grandma a letter. Heartbroken and desperate she prayed. He and the survivors of his crew were picked up weeks later in the jungle, but not before contracting maleria. They went on to have 8 children, 3 their own and 5 adopted. Grandma always loved children. She became a school teacher. Grandpa Harry died before I was born, the world gave him something he could not forget either.

I do not like to think of the war as a battle between nations of this world. Good and evil do not fight under banners of nations, they have no borders, no anthems, only memories. They fight and die on battlefields of hearts that have buried hate, pain, and terror. My grandparents' hearts are memorials. Gleaming white tombstones on a field I cannot see, and cannot forget.

Over the sprawling hill
With labored breath
I burst over the top
The sun has beat me though


It’s bright yet cold rays
Illuminate the morning scene
Hardly breaking to skirt around trees
And clearing the diamonds of dew.


The emerald valleys and pale peaks
Seem to shiver
As the dawn chases away
The chill of the night.


I smile as the soft colors
Though not as vibrant as dusk
Gradually fade away
And the birds begin their songs


Their songs echo
Through the endless yet grounding
Green hills and valleys
Of  Saratoga Park.


They seem like a tribute
A monument
To the cost of freedom
Here fought for.


A thump is heard
As I collapse on to the damp earth
With the futile attempt
To absorb the serenity.

This is what it feels like.

Scorching summer day, windows down, music blasting.
You never wore your seatbelt,
Hair always whipped around in the wind,
Teeth always reflecting off the hot summer sun.
You were always wild.
Never following rules,
Always bending them,
Always till they broke.

I admired that about you, I could never be like that.

This is what it feels like.

Fast cars in cool summer nights.
Breeze caressing our faces like a
Lost lover coming back after a long winter.

This is what it feels like.

Tires gliding on pavement.
Feeling joy kissed
And eager to be young.

This is what it feels like.

Bright lights flashing,
Horns blaring,
Tire skids.
A pain so sharp and swift like the crack of a whip.
Glass popping,
Seatbelt burns.

Black.

This is what it feels like.

"Accident on highway 610."
Static.
"One casualty. Female."

Static.

This is what it feels like.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of..."

This is what it feels like.

Mourning love and loss.

This is what it feels like.

I know heaven would treat her well.
I can only imagine it smells like lavender and
The lights are so bright,
Yet  so soft it makes you feel like
You're in a dream world.

I miss you.

But I know sometimes when it rains and the
Clouds part open in the most curious of ways
When the sun shines through the breaks,
It's you telling me you're alright.

I know now there's no fear of bright headlights,
Only a captivating eternal glow
Captured in the lens of forever.

And I imagine when the rain is warm and rolls off of my arms

That if you touched me,

This is what it'd feel like.