We should know better
With or without schooling.
If we willfully refuse,
If we disregard the facts;
We are ignorant.
That's below below average.
We made a choice.
A choice is not a chronic disease.
Not like mine.
It was never my choice.
I don't know if it happened
Before or After,
But the manifestation was slow, profound,
And addictive.

I met a girl
With the look of the day.
Unadorned, but not plain,
No ink or glitter
On skin,
Warm-water smooth;
Therapeutic as epsom.
She'd no
Liner to draw attention.
Her eyes caught you,
Even closed.
Lips, blistered
With satiation,
Are drop dead red.
Her nails are jewelry.
No piercing couture,
Her style is what makes her;
Her clothes always fit her.
She's quiet, not shy,
The slightest disturbance
Sets her about.
My girl's a captress,
Her appearance is flawless;
Reminding us daily
Birth beauty is ageless.

The ravens survey
The gated community,
Scouring for a meal.
They swoop low,
Caw and crow,
Conversing in melody.
The repast dead
Are safely laid
Beneath their carrion beaks;
I, in grief
Shoo them off
Your bronzed memory:
Then I pause
To recall
The flight ahead of me.

So pleasing,
Frangrant,
Approachable,
Even touchable,
But every cell,
Destructable.

I heard a voice
call out:

Are you home?

(perhaps it came
from within)

A stranger's voice
that's called
before.

I am
insular.

I am Home!

Inside

This temple of dissipation.

Only Albinos
Can be  mimes,
(Or Johnny or Edgar Winter)
For Hallowe'en.
As for trick or treating,
There's enough Al Jolson masks
Out there to ***** us all.

The brain.
An amazing *****
Of surety and doubt.
You believe
What isn't there,
Or,
Not believe
What is.

The smoke ring reminded me
Of the circus, a blue ring of fire
To jump through
With my oversized shoes.

Watering the vegetable garden
Created a sun-split rainbow
Landing on the sprouting treasures.

Driving past the golf course,
The arc of the ball reminded me of the sun,
Transcepting the sky,
Not knowing where it lands.

The dawn brings forth a choir
Of tree singers,
Calling to one another,
Acknowledging the symphony
Of different needs.

It's blooming perfect
Outside my head,
Where shortcomings
Are draped in green and blue;
So, I will think outside
Brain and skull;
I will get outside,
Outside, and cuddle
The raw simplicity.

The evening spotlights
Shine on the walls
Of David's ancient abbey.

Raised by Border people
And peasant Picts.

Shadows and silhouettes
Fill thresholds that once
Let light and glory in.

Foundation walls protect
Winds still whispering
In Gothic naves.
A thousand years' stories
Are sounded in her bells.

Night surrounds Jedburgh Abbey.

I strained my sight for movement
Of Augustinians who thrived
In cloisters and walled streets
For a story to bring home
Of a phantom cloak or hood
Disappearing on ramparts
Or passing an empty window.
Just a sound, or simple wail
Would do.

Just then, dark legs
Swooshed past me,
Fitted in knee-high boots.
I lost my thoughts
Of ghosts and sprites
With an astral figure in tights.

Now is the sixty-third Springtime
Of my life,
And the Summer of my contentedness
Tees up.
A fore-gone conclusion.

Look to the moon of August
From any place or time;
Write a little poesy,
Name it in a rhyme.
You can call it Sturgeon,
Red, Green Corn or Grain;
No matter what your outlook,
It still looks the same.
You can call it Dog Days,
Fruit, Dispute or Lightening,
And calling it a Woman's Moon
Gives rise to all that's ripening.

Clothes are for wearing.
Music is for listening.
Chairs are for sitting.
Children are for loving.
Food is for eating.
Parents are for security.
Laws are for obeying.
Schools are for education.
Religion is for wonderment.
Incarceration is for miscreants.
Water is for drinking.
Trains, planes and automobiles are for travel.
*** is for many reasons.
Love and Truth are for everyone.
Life is for living.
Death is for dying.
Death is for living?

How could I know
So long ago
That I was in love.
No rhyme or reason
In our universe
Can form a law
To name that
Timeless feeling.
Not outside luck or chance,
If such exist,
Or serendipity, or
Imagination and will
Can define that
Timeless feeling.
No image or form
Confines the unbreakable,
Inseparable journey.
I call it that.
Compare it to the unknown,
Unfathomable universe.
The Big Bang,
Expanding, speeding, slowing down
Entropic love.

Some people can wait
     Before they die;
Hold on for a loved one
     To say Good-bye.
To have one more Spring,
     Or any Season,
For Love or Closure,
     This we reason.
Now many can leave
     This coil of doubt,
Guilty they heard,
     On all thrity-four counts.

I will pen a real long poem,
One that goes on and on.
It will  be Universal,
Get added to all categories:
There's two thousand plus
Themes we write on,
From first breath
To the dust we lie in.

My poem would weave
The Fabric of Love,
Dripping from
A Heart that Hurts,
To offer solace and love's comfort.

It couldn't be one of
Ten Words,
But myriads in
A Sea of Thoughts;
Added to
All Time Favourites,
And Words Worth a Thousand Pictures.

If you like Beautiful Tragedies,
I'll jot a verse on Life Stories.
I'd pen a stanza for Love for the Moon,
Lines to make An Exceptional Poem.

The keen reader adds it to Genius Speaks,
The younger hearts to Sweets for the Sweet.
The darker side clicks Macabre and Mayhem,
They too are Becoming Human.

I'd accept a like for Best Sweet and Sour,
I'd  be happy with Whatever, Whenever.
The weird add it to Psychopath,
The regular to Treasureworth.

It may contain the Inspired Word
To advise those trapped in Parenthood.
Oh My Goodness, it's A Poem to Keep,
One to read, then Read and Repeat.

But mine will lie in Buried Treasures,
Disappear in Endangered Species...
Hey, I got a Thank You For Sharing,
This Made Me Smile.

I think you get my drift, indeed,
I've written The Best of Hello Poetry.

So, Poets Speak Loud on **** Good Stuff,
Write The Story of Life, The Ultimate Poem,
On Love is the Purpose, or Who We Are,
I'll add your verse to Top Notch,
And yours is one of *My Favourites.

Have you felt loathing
     in those green eyes;
Despised by idle talk
     of a loose,
     spiteful tongue;
Perhaps detested
     because of your flesh;
Or exercated, yes,
     be denounced,
     be named,
     face a near-****** future
     of lonliness?
And then,
You were hated,
But only because
Once,
You were loved.

You had me
With Spring.

The full moon is always waning,
Giving cold comfort.
Stars twinkle more in black spaces.
The evening dew settles sooner,
Rises later.
The potatoes are in the house.
I've folded the lawn chairs.
Across the sky herds of clouds graze by.
The grass gets its autumn cut.
When I put the mower away,
I take down the rakes and shovels.
Dusk comes early.
House lights break through shut windows.
Street sounds diminish.
Will the trees splash us with radiance?
I languish between seasons,
Waiting for the bus to warm me as it passes
My lengthening shadow.
And when the sun filters through,
I stand in its path, face turned skyward.
I sing a eulogy for my summer,
While waiting for the cries of a newborn fall.

Your ***** bank
Has recorded N.S.F.
Make deposits,
Don't withdraw.

I have lost my youth's Saints.
They no longer march
For knees bent in supplication.
I prayed to St. Jude
To replace my loses,
Only to lose faith.

I miss ghost stories too.
Haven't heard a hair raiser
Since a generation of palliative patients
Made it to the canopy.

Ogres and Trolls are out
From the closet and
Beneath the bed.
Drains, culls and bridges
Are safe from snatches.

No. We are on our own
As we age in our tactile
Vicarious world.
We pick up the threads
Of old stories,
Collect the pages blowing
Down the road,
And believe the tales
In daily news of ****,
Carnage and be-headings.
Nothing too ethereal,
Spiritual or scary,
Just life
As we shouldn't know it.

Stand up, stand guard,
Staunchly defend all that is ours.
What is ours to defend?
Begin with what was before us,
The good earth and all inhabitants.
Defend that which is ours.
Truth and love;
Leave a legacy of righteousness -
Defend these, and thus,
Defend those whom we leave,
And leave them to.

I escaped the lion's den.
So, I am done with hand wringing,
Dragging my palm down my nape.
Forefinger and thumb squeezing the bridge,
Encircling my chin, to the point.

The time has come to discard my hair-shirt,
To loosen the cilice;
Stop the self-flagellation,
And smear balm on my mortified back.

I shall repose, indulge in a repast.
And prepare for the proclivities of the flesh,
To revel in the concupiscence of humanity.
Cast off chastity, poverty and obedience.

We are not saints or martyrs.
The cause is not worth the pain.
I am forgiven.
I forgive.
You could too.

I read about nooses
(Such silly gooses).
I read about pills
(Such terminal thrills).
I read about jumps
(Such silly dunces).
I read about ropes
(Such dangling dopes).
I read about guns
(Such a one is gone).
I read about blades
(Such ******* bray).

I don't dismiss you're under stress,
But tell me who cleans up the mess.

I stood on the spot
Where the fathers were shot,
And welled with my thoughts,
And the walls, pox-marked,
With the bodies pierced,
But wide of the soul.

When all the world had lost its senses,
There was always you.
When wars are raging,
Children starving,
I lost myself in you.

When I envision your sweet face,
Loving eyes, saving grace,
I knew at once I found the best,
I knew at once I found some rest.

Our love will grow with double pains,
Double pleasures,
Loss and gains.
The hate in love is love's regret,
The love in hate we both beget.

     (the separation is setting in;
      you lie above, no need at all
      in narcisstic love.
      I cringe below; sullen and sour;
      I don't know)

Yes, passion's desires get caught between
Our reason and emotion.
What can I do? what can I say?
I'm dumb-struck with devotion?

Had I known it to be our last kiss,
I would've applied some mneumonics;
Attached your moistness to morning dampness
And footsteps imprinted on clover;
I'd stretch police tape around the crime scene upstairs;
Slipped a GPS chip beneath your in-sole;
Wove a comforter from your hairbrush.
As it is, I've collected your left-overs
For The Salvation Army,
And the allusions for me.

I hear you lost control;
I'm ambivalent to your state:
If what they mean is self-control,
Hold on, don't abdicate.

Now you're in damage control;
A result of inner strife:
You also have motor control,
So move on with your life.

I hear you've issues with quality control;
And want exclusive rights:
Exclude me from your command control,
I'm not your copyright.

If you're caught-up in crowd control;
Can't find a safe way out:
Put yourself on flight control,
Then kick and scream and shout.

With Life there is no price control;
It's often on back order:
With Life you give and take control,
It's cheaper across the border.

So set yourself on cruise control;
Steer clear of power sinkholes,
Drive by the Freaks who need control,
Those ******* fill potholes.

Today, International Women's Day.
I wish the whole world believed.

I've
Disassociated
Myself
With
Losers:
Now,
I'm
Beside
My -
Self.

The Huron waters
Don't breach their shores,
The heavenly bodies
Don't leave their spheres;
Fireworks don't
Fill my eyes;
My love is not ethereal
Not everlasting
Or transcendental.
My love is comely.
Factual not fictional.
Less passion with caution.
I love you when
I bring your morning coffee
As your day opens.
I love you when
I bring a snack
And say, Corpus Mea,
And fall forever.
Hold my hand.
I love you in comely ways.

C                         F                C
On this day we share the notion
           Am             F         C
That a Child born long ago,
                G7                        C    
Called us home to live as children;
C                    G7                  F       C
We hear our name, we're not alone.

C                            F          C
Gather round, sit at our table;
                     Am        F               Dm
Stretch your arms increase, expand.
                 G7                            C
Bless our children, bless our parents,
C               G7             F               C
Count our blessings while we can.

G7           C                           F   C
Oh for today we share believing
C            Am             F        Dm
That the Child from long ago,
                G7                          C
Called us home we are the children,
C                G7                   F     C
We heard our names, never alone.

C                       F              C
Gather round, sit at our table,
C                    Am        F               Dm
Stretch your arms, increase, expand;
                   G7                             C        
Bless your children, bless your parents,
C                 G7              F               C
Count your blessings while you can.

C                            F             C
Borne on the promise of a notion,
C         Am           F     Dm
On the promise of a seat;
            G7                       C
By our love and our devotion
C         G7                      F          C
To the Living Son, our Living Feast.

I'm green with those I leave behind,
This world I have, where all seems mine.

I vacillate as their world keeps thriving,
Leaving the living live with the alive.

But I'm gone, I'm dead,
The colorful globe will spin;
The living will die;
Not now... by and by,
With O whys and O mys.
It's a curse I've bequeathed
To the loves of my life,
When they leave their loved ones behind.

Your name, like acid rain,
Corrodes my brain;
Polluting each day
Of sun-filled joy.
If I cower in bus shelters,
Or under a tree,
Beneath an umbrella,
Or abandoned doorway;
You soak me, erode me,
Then wash me away.
It's a tempest inside
Swirling the dust I call skull;
I tremble and quake
For the sake of your name.
And I can't for the life of me
Shake off your refrain,
The cloudy repetition
Of your first and last names.

I've written so many,
Some  grandiose, some terse,
And published them here,
To express and converse.
But the most pretentious of all
You've read or passed over,
Is  The Invisible Poem,
Subtitled, Blank Verse.
Some gave it their blessings,
Some cried foul, and some cursed.
Isn't brevity the soul of wit; (Shakespeare)
Writing is 1% inspiration, 99% elimination; (Louise Brooks)
To write good poems is the secret of brevity; (Dejan Stojanovic)
So,
Be sincere. Be brief. Be seated. (FDR)
Take it as is,
For better or worse.

When we were six weeks old
We smiled and connected
For a lifetime.

For a lifetime
Following,
We forget
How easy it is
To make connections
With just a smile.

I know zilch about car engines,
So I don't write about them.

I know squanto about medicine -
-more about drugs,
but for personal reasons
like kids and such I seldom
allude to them;
you understand -
And you'll not read much on that,
Except for an occasional image.

I know extraordinarily nothing
About cricket, or how rockets can propel
In a vacuum, or dimensions,
Six through ten.
Ordinary, usual stuff for many.
But not my comfort zone,
So I won't waste our time
Feigning string theory imagery.
So,
Here's the thing.
I write about death, often,
And I know just about nothing
That there is to know,
Except for what we know,
Hardly worth mentioning,
It's common knowledge,
Not necessary to even cite,
Like the capital of Canada,
Or The Lord's Prayer.
At least I could use an image
Of a scar or a cog wheel,
But I know nothing
About death,
But the certainty.
So, what's up with that?
Did I do it again?

I was here first.
     *I seriously doubt that,
     but, for the sake of argument,
     let's say you were,
     here first.
     So?
     I was here second.
     This isn't a race.

Each night
The sliver grows
Like young buck antlers,
Gambolling
Beneath the thunderous claps
Gathering
Over our part
Of the world,
In July.

Winter amassed his victories
With cold clear spears,
Lined along eaves;
Cannon clouds hurling
Swirling whiteouts,
Blades of wind rifling
Body armor.
But battles aren't wars.

Spring's cavalry
Comes charging.
We're flipping suns,
Pouring golden sweet rays,
And fattening-up
For the final on-slaught
Of a battle weary warrior.

The three-legged stool
Wobbles, and I have sat
Waiting to be knocked
As one tumbles a tall
Statue and proclaims
Freedom from tyranny.
Me, a demi-god,
That fed manna
For your desert sojourn
On wind-swept dunes,
Following car tracks
And the fore-prints of
Your elders.

Lift the ****** veil,
Smile at your betrothed,
Seal it with a ring.
Masters are butterflies pinned
To corkboard,
With translucent harlequin colors.
These high towers,
And stools,
Give One
Insightful perspectives.
The Monarchs
Have left for Mexico.

We can either cross or stay inside
Our self-imposed borders.

The eyes were still open
On the still life.
There's the difference
Between crossing the road
And dying in your sleep.
So, look both ways
Before crossing me.

Being a Dad's
No easy task;
Fighting our demons
Back to back.
You fell off your bike;
Me, the wagon;
You lose a friend,
I'd lose my life;
You get bullied,
I rode my bike.
You're runner-up,
I get second;
You got silver,
I got shunned.
Being your Dad's
No easy task,
But I'll back you
Til the last.
I'll be your Dad,
No easy chore,
And Back to back
We'll tie the score.

The glitter is blinding.
New stars start shining.
Then memories recalled
With
Allegation,
Interpretation,
Incrimination,
Disinformation,
Retaliation;
And,
Five million to start.
But
Not that alone.
You're getting your picture
On the cover of
*The Rolling Stone?

I believe you misunderstood.
You can't leave again,
If I never invited you back.

I was raised on the shelf
Of a white bread world;
No marbled rye
Or whole wheat served.
Just plain white loaves,
All crusty and cold.
But my tastes matured
With tea and buttered toast.

I was well-armed,
And I dug in.
Bolted the garrison gates,
Posted my defences on turrets
Of pity and self-loathing;
Attacked with self-righteousness
And posturing.
After the expected one hundred years,
You retreated and fled,
Yet I awaited another on-slaught,
Sharpened my sticks,
Mounded my stones,
Prepared for a signal.
The Keep has long fallen,
The moat is weedy and dry,
But I've left the drawbridge down,
Dismissed my guards,
Examined my scars.
I am a veteran of domestic wars,
With no benefits.

From room to room,
Cellar to attic,
Patio to garage,
And all about my yard
I roam,
Thinking about my
Time alone.
I never counted brick or stone,
Not until the kids had grown,
And you outgrew me.

In childhood, space was a rarity,
Two to a bed,
Four to a room,
One toilet, bathtub,
Sink and baby.
“Life your **** so I can ***!”
Was a brother's common plea,
And often splashed on me.

First downstairs
Would get the toaster,
A two slice, two door
Open, closer.
On the counter rose
A column of bread,
Jam and peanut butter spread.
Last one down to the table
Got the heels,
And fed the baby.

Before we went upstairs to dress
We'd turn our **** to open flames,
Warm our cheeks, rub our frames,
And then clean up our mess.

We never walked to school in ones,
The Lynch mob travelled
As a throng;
Spilling from sidewalk to grass,
Singing silly songs.
On-comers found it difficult
To pass through such a gang,
We weren't rude,
No cuss, no fuss,
There was just
So many of us,
We had no room for more,
And Mammy started labor.

So, this empty house
I find I'm in
With every creak
With every wind,
Reminds me of
My crowded youth..
Yes, I'm not unhappy
To be alone,
And welcome visitors
To my home.