Do you believe
In life after death?
Do you believe
In life after birth?
Do they share
The same consciousness,
Or do we
Consciously share
The same dream.

Lou left!

It was an unexpected cataclysm;
A rogue wave in my face;
A flapping jib in the lightning;
A broken string
As I began Yesterday.

Today, I read his life's history,
His likes and loves.
I will replace that string,
And finish the song.
Before I forget,
Before too long;
For I was his mate
In many a storm.

The hearth is almost cold now,
My rooms are dimly lit;
The shadow near the firebox
Stirs the ashen pit.
They'll peer through my window,
Point and query why
I sat under my blanket
Wearing such a smile.

For thirty years I lived within you,
For twenty years without;
Still you show up in many rooms
For the living and the dead.
I'm stopped, I stand in awe of you,
Then must turn my head.

You glide by me like deking strangers,
You never glance my way;
I see whispers when you move your lips,
Hear bursts of laughter from my perch.
And even so, what could I say:

     That roads once merged
     Now diverge
     To maneuver through terrain,
     Traversing time's hard memories
     That cannot be reclaimed.

Just once more in a well-lit room,
When all the kids are present,
We would share our stories,
Catch up on years gone by.
Laugh because we can now
At times that made us cry.

If my hearing's weak,
Or I seldom speak,
Perhaps my mind may wander;
Don't overlook
My eyesight's fine,
I detect
Eyes roll and shift.

I know, I know,
I repeat myself,
Echolalia is my mantra.
At this age one forgets
Who heard his story,
Tsk. Tsk.
Such disrespect.
Ah, well.
What should I expect?
Did I call,
Or send a text,
Use Skype or Face?
I'll learn what's next.
Sometimes I use snail mail.
Sorry, memory fails.

You must admit
Your old man
Tells a story
Like no one can.
Stories drip
From my lips;
But given time
I'll learn to mime


The muscles relax,
One can't hold back;
Please tell me if I smell.
You may be bolder
If I make an error;
**** happens
When you're older.

Don't call me Honey,
I'm not that sweet;
Don't call me Sugar,
I'm no beet;
Don't call me Dear,
I'm a ***** Buck;
You say: Let's make love,
I say: *Can't we...

I've been tested,
Yes, I'm arrested:
I freely confess
Being under the influence.
I'm compromised
By breathalyzer eyes.

How would things
Be different
If the tectonic plates
Were stable.
Would the world
Be closer?

If the Great Comet hadn't
Smashed our world,
Would the primordial cesspool
Bubble?

Time has told us:
Well, I'm all ears now.
How would my world be
If I hadn't shifted and crashed?
Time won't tell.

She said she needed
Some me time;
She was suffocating,
Couldn't breathe.
I paid too much attention.
She was right,
Though  pre-conceived.

But now, she seems alone.

Dark at day,
Light at night,
Chaos mocks us
With villainous smiles.
I have yet to meet
A godsend I could trust,
A fluke of luck,
Or twist of fate
To rely on.

Blessings in disguise
Are mirrors in my eyes;
Health or weal
Has timed repeal.
The dealer insists
It's in the cards,
Like karma now,
And kismet next.

Chaos mocks us
With indifferent results
But just give it time..

Say the three
Words
I love hearing:
*See you tomorrow.

There was always Christmas Eve
And birthdays waiting
Walking home from school.

Then you would smile,
Or was that guile
That heightened my breath.

Then there were your eyes
That stretched my longings.

Needing belonging
I saw it all as hope.

Through winter clouds
The spinning sun is hazy,
But it's there.

As long as hope
Is in the box,
I'll open all lids,
Let distractions fly out,
And remain.

The pastries are tempting,
     But my little voice speaks.
Drinks spill into my cup,
     My little voice speaks up.
There's a beauty needing company,
     But my little voice starts warning,
And I'm hard of hearing.

You must be weary,
And a drop of teary,
From your arduous journey home.
The length of stay
While you're away,
Pierced me as a thorn.
Now stay awhile,
There's more to retract,
But they'll slip out
Because you're back.

Be real about hallways
Lined with windows, or mirrors.
Be real about dreams in stanza form,
Which aren't real - stanzas I mean.
Write about flowers and rain,
If you must, throw in some stars;
Moons always read well,
Or seaside waves lapping.
Call it a poem,
A free verse or well-crafted couplet,
Matters not, unless it comes from the heart,
Whole or broken; wise or foolish.
Temper it with lovers, friends and family,
Bake it in the soul,
Then release.
Dump your lover,
Start another.

I'm the average
Upstanding citizen,
And ecologically wise:
I'm the one to re-cycle,
In boxes near curbside.

You wouldn't know me
By my refuse,
Those empties,
Truly, aren't mine.

     I never dranka drop.
     I've long since been a sop.

Whistling, cycling
On his rounds,
Comes the blue box scavanger,
Looking, knowing
I don't have
Empty bottles of liquor.

     But I had my Irish cousins visit
     And we've left the empties here.

I had a driving need to explain:

     I never drank one drop.

The metal peddler heard my claim,
Shook his head,
Said with dismay:
     Freeloaders.
As he rattled along his way.

Small voices
Are muted by buds
Pounding the bass.
Like a headache,
Blurring,
Not wrong,
And jarring the song.

Bullies are wired,
The me's get hired
Carrying small compassion.
That Voice
Has no auditions;
We are type cast
In roles of contrition.
Don't slur,
Be demure,
Have patience
To hear
Your voice
To conclusion.

Join the dance,
Be resolute.
Hear the voice
With repute.

One brief glimpse of heaven
Before neverending exile
Is Hell.
Left with eternal longing,
After the universe contracts
To a pinhead.
Yet, I experienced perfection
With impenetrable mountains,
Bedless lakes,
Plains of current-ridden grasses,
Bluest skies.
Ethereal realms don't appeal
When I have this world to peek in on;
This Sistine to confound me,
This sentient reality in full.
The angel is coming to drive me out,
With fire and ice,
I lived paradise:
It is blue and green.

I was sound asleep. Work tomorrow

Tuesday, December 9, 1980. 6:30 A.M.

Alarm on. Out and into shower.
Shave. Can't hear radio.
Getting dressed, and in the background's playing, Imagine.
Then Wheels, Beautiful Boy, Help, I Should Have Known Better.
Why?
And the news sinks in. And I have to go teach Grade 6 English
and read Curious ******* George to four classes of Kindergartens and Grade ones.
And, I'm alone in my new house, in a small town called Aylmer (population 5,000).
My wife is away during the week at University, and I hate my job,
and he's decaying on some slab as I read to twenty-five five year olds. Some of these kids will get to know and love his work. So will their kids and grandkids. I know. Like Mozart.

Tuesday, December 9, 1980. 10:00 P.M.

Me, Johnny Walker, and the turntable going round and round, like his wheels.

I've warapped,
With much consternation,
My years in you,
Without hesitation.
I adorned myself
With framed sheep skins,
Kept your eyes glittering,
To be more appealing.
You pressed your nose
Against the shop window,
Longing for the man
In the red suit.
I forgot about the ribbons,
You misplaced the bows.
I lied to some Santa,
Many years ago.

If you want a ballad
On a tragic conflict
Of important people,
With a little magic,
I can write of kidnapped girls
Who disappeared
From our world.

I can pen a narrative
On the Lady of the White House
Seeing her world
Reflected in a mirror,
Like Jackie's interior struggles
With all of Jack's trollops.

Perhaps a dramatic monologue
Such as Push one for English.

Sonnets will cost you more,
But an ode comes cheaply
As I praise your features
In lofty style,
Or personify
Your shoes with soul.

I can be a winner
With eulogies
And elegies.
I once grieved for Elvis
While standing
At the dais
With lyrical style
And more.
Just say what you adore;
If you need a poet laureate,
I can write a couplet.

Is there room in the tomb
Of our sun and our moon.
All creation stands waiting.

It's filled with transgressions,
Our ungoldly sharp sins,
A shroud unstitched by Seraphim,
With heavenly hosts on the pin.

It's darker outside than the light within.
And the temperatures rising,
There'll be no denying,
There's room in the tomb,
The sun has risen,
The curtains are torn,
All sins were forgiven
That first Easter Morn.

They called him, Paddy,
Who brought the old world here,
With curses, **** and beer.

We called him Towser,
A cur-mixed bowser;
A dog with a bone.
Both lived at home.

I saw him wince,
I saw no smile,
I saw the hurt
In his eyes.
I heard the lines
Of jokes misspoken
In the guise of humor;
And thriving like malignant tumors.
Finger pointing at shortcomings,
Of race, religion, creed,
Or a Newfie, Pole, a Jew;
A priest, rabbi or preacher,
A doctor, lawyer, teacher;
Gay or straight, make no mistake,
They're fodder when one utters
A slight not misconstrued.
We should be adamant,
We should make a fuss.
If we fail;
If we're unjust;
The joke reflects on us.
.

We can cry rivers,
Sweat buckets,
But never add an ounce
To the earth's volume.
We can salivate over ***,
Express our fluids of desire,
But we'll not add a milliliter.
Jesus knew this so well:
Don't worry!
So spend tears of joy;
Embrace the sweat of work and sun,
Cleanse our bodies,
Accept the known and unknown,
For we'll not add one day
Fretting and pacing
Over our human condition.

A House of Cards
Should only have
Two Jokers...
Right?

Next Year...*
I've said that
Well over fifty times;
But, like Wilde,
*I can resist everything
Except temptation.

You tell me you're bright.
Excuse me
While I squint.

1 Pope
0 Pope
1 Pope
2 Popes
1 Pope
0 Pope...

Eternal time to Re-Group +

I love her
Like my
Best friend,
But I do
Stuff with her
I don't do
With him.
The BMF and
The BFF.
A trinity
In one.

When the storm is upon us,
We have no fair-weather friends.

I need permission
To break through this invisible forcefield,
To give you a hug,
And make it not ******.
Yet...
We both know
It not to be true.

How do I say
In three words,
*I Miss You?

You say you won't cry
(and you know I know why),
But you will.
When memory reminds you
Of our life and thrills,
Our talks of love
In the park on the hill.
Our fear for our children,
Our love for each one,
Our love for each other
Before our love was gone.
You say you won't cry,
But you know you will.

I say
I love
You
Say you
Love me too.

The mass for the dead
Envigorates me.
I'm never more alive
Than when I hear about Lazarus,
With Martha setting about,
And Mary running out
To greet her Master.
I'm at a very busy place.
This is critical to the faith.
The knell surrounds the neighborhood
Before dying over the lake, for good.
None suggested, none expected
To return alive.
This question is just hanging there,
Like IN+RI.

Again the sky
Takes good-byes,
And I heave one
Once again.

Good-bye.

When you quipped
Ciao so flippantly,
Or rolled au revoir
So knowingly;
When See ya
Really meant
See ya soon,
I heard it all
So promisingly.
When you said
Later, it meant
Sooner than later,
And you drawled it out
So wistfully,
Knowing sooner
Lovingly.

This time
Come back
And say
Good-bye again.

Good-bye,
My girl,
For now.

I'm not adverse
To your discourse,
Your lines
On aches and longings.
Am I remiss
To dismiss
Your lonely poems
On dying?
You're killing me.

Tantalize, tantalize,
Divert my eyes,
Say nothing, walk away,
Don't look back with running salt.
That's my lot in life.
My health and safety act.
Not a peripheral look,
Not a squint, no mirrors.
No looking back.
No regrets.
Forward.

When it starts
To rain,
And rather than complain,
That's when I
Say your name.

When the sky's
Asunder,
And lightning
Joins the thunder,
That's when I
Write your name.

When the storm
Has ended,
And I've finally
Penned it,
That's how I
Sing your praise.

They carried us
Through gestation,
Or adopted
Without hesitation.
Our coming
Was a celebration,
Mothers are our affirmation.
They deliver.

When we were quiet
From travails,
She made time
For school-yard tales.
The warmth of sunshine
Shyly pales
To her prevailing arms.

They nurtured us
Til eyes dried out;
Cried alone
When we left
The house;
They waited by the door,
Like a living cure.

When Moms do well
All can tell
The madonna like connection:
No need to forgive them,
Will always grieve them;
They've loved us
Since conception.

Suffering,
Like light rain,
Loud as thunder,
Alone like wind about the face.
I know it
As an empty bed,
Made, but not slept in;
An unplanted garden
Left empty on the plate.
Don't tell anyone
How you feel,
How we suffer
The agony alone.
There's an occasional text
To remind one of lonliness,
Especially around twelve o'clock.

Over the decades,
We've worked it out.
No need for a Power of anyone.
If I go blind,
You'll be my sight.
And so on.
I will supply
What you lack;
And you promised,
Should I *****,
To leave me on my back.

Children scribble words
To fairies and saints,
Holding pencils
Like wands;
Hoping wishes
Swoop through the night.
They're right.

We pen words
Of worldly concerns,
Holding our wands
Like scalpels;
Hoping our lines
Find marrow and heart.
It's our art.

There's stuff parents will never know,
The kicks and blows we all endure
To mind, body, spirit and soul.
The run-ins with society,
With the good and the Just for me.
Children should never ever know
Half the stuff they should never know.
The other half I won't tell,
Like the half my kids won't share as well.

Who else knows the stuff I've done,
Alone or with the chosen ones,
Who shared memories with me.
One has died,
One has forgot,
One was always on the spot,
But now stolen from memory's vault:
My recall is true and false,
But the memory now is real,
None here to make appeals.

He knew all of my youth and teens,
Knew my life and all my moves,
My families, old and new;
But his memory is fading too.
It's not forgotten,
It can't be retrieved;
It's lost and can't be found.
These memories now are treasures,
Forever buried underground.

The overnight fall
Is framed through my bedroom window
This morning
I will wrap myself
In the blanket
Before tires, squirrels and bootprints
Mar my pristine scene.

You're appearance was a distraction,
From lonliness to satisfation.
That didn't work out so well.
Me alone.
Nor did that.
Would you be coming back, Penny?
In clear weather.
Move your hands to clear the cobweb haze?
Pose for new pics.
Talk about old times. Good times?
What would we do?

Camelots and forget-me-nots,
Oysters and chilled wine,
Myths.
I don't know you.
You're not the same.
I know your name.
So, so long.
Way too long.
I speak to you,
Make small talk to greet you.
But it's wrong.
So very, very wrong.
You're the same.
You know my name.
The man who worried and laughed too,
Has gone. Dead.
Then rose up.
You're new.
Our paths are overgrown
With landmarks pointing
Where once was home.

You had a recital, I missed;
Your hands poised, back straight,
Toes touching the hardwood stage
Near the pedals.
Stillness filled the theatre;
I felt the transmission of inaudable notes
Blending, peeling,
Stinging my senses.
I confessed my unintended sins,
My one of omission -
The one that left you on the swing;
The one when you fell.
I missed your recital,
But I attend it often,
Echoing and bounding over swaying hills.
Such an Ode... such Joy
At the tranquility.
Such a burden.

Don't suicide.
Don't die.
Death is way overrated.
You don't rest peacefully
Rolling in the deep,
Or sit on clouds
Admiring the view
Below.
You're dead.
It's not a compromise
From our daily woes;
It's not respite
From our daily blows.
It's death.
And if you think
For one eternal second
You'll hover, ghost-like,
At your memorial,
And hear stories
About how great you are,
Were,
Or see your enemies cry,
Forget it.
You didn't get even
With anybody.
I suspect, if it's possible,
You wouldn't be interested
In us anymore,
Anyway.
You got dead.
Forever and ever.