The game is over.
We have winners
And losers.
Shared joy,
Dashed hopes.
It wasn't a failure,
It's over.

The artisan
Completes a piece,
And moves on
To the next.
He hasn't failed.
It's over.

Marriage is a living art,
Complete with Janus masks.
It may end,
But not fail.
It's just over.

I don't ride a Harley. Do you?
I have no need for ingots or ketchups. Have you?
I'm atheist. Are you a believer?
I'm in the body. Are you marginalized?
I respect LGBTQ. Are you in and out of your body?
I have a NEXUS. Do you have a country?
Good thing the air and sunshine have no borders.
It's not about me.
It's about us.

I keep well abreast of the news.
It's hard not to. Can't quite turn it off.
I'm not sure I would.
It's everywhere.
So many sources bring it to me.
I bear up.
I write about it... constantly.
It's painfully intriguing.
I rubber neck like a bobble head
At all our goings on.
And I'm selfish.
I want things to work out
Without my money.
I'll give away all my prayers.
I've been offered money for my vote.
Keep your cash.
I don't trust the YMCA. or the Credit Union.
Too many pick-pockets.
They'd sell children at half price for a gallon.
The homeless already have the prime real estate
When the money runs out.
But it's not about money.
And by then, it won't matter.

He promised happiness, but we got strife.
Eternal paradise, but we got life.
He promised the chosen, but they got fire.
He promised redemption, but he's a liar.

I know you've heard of RINOs,
Perhaps you've heard of DINOs,
Some Christians are called CINOs,
Are those men mere MINOs.
Women become WINOs
(the irony doesn't escape me though)
Humans evolved to HINOs;
Friends are friends
I'll never call them  FINOs.
Avoid lovers who are LINOs,
And teachers who are TINOs.
Could a Jew be a JINO?

But make no mistake:
Terrorists are Terrorists,
Jihadists are Jihadists,
Haters are Haters,
War mongers are war mongers,
Liars lie.

It's We thePeople, PINOs.

We met three times
Over fifteen years.
The disagreement paled
In light of his diagnosis.

He unexpectedly appeared
At my door, then stood in my kitchen.
He had a few serious questions
About brotherly affections,
And after spitting into my sink
(the poor man)
He wondered if I thought less of him
For not sending cards at Christmas and birthdays.
Is that what he came to say?

Next was at our last family wedding.
He was still steady on his feet.
We were five Irish lads.
The sisters said he was the handsome one.
He was.
There are six of us posing in this final shot.
He's wearing a Lucille Ball tie,
Losened around his neck,
Yet covering the gill-like scar
Running from lobe to lobe.
His hands are buried deep
In his pants' pockets.
His smile says Good-bye.

I saw him for the last time
A few weeks later,
Standing, bent and coughing
At the intersedtion of the roadway and Nature Trail.
His rib cage raging from contortions.
He waved off an offered ride.
And then he was gone.
It took us years to get here.

One night I went walking,
It was a late night in June;
I hung my coat
On the light of the moon;
I tossed my cap
On the point of a star;
Kicked off my shoes
Inhaled my cigar.
I draped my pants
On the tail of a comet,
Lay down in my ******
And proceded to *****.

It was forty years ago today,
In New York where he longed to stay;
At the doors to his apartment rise,
With devil's envy rising in his eyes;
He imagined his confusion wasn't wrong;
Then the curtain in the tower tore,
The Cavern shook beneath its floor,
And the needle scratched across our songs.

I want to let him rest in peace,
Still waiting at the end of his road.

The assassin doesn't seek release,
And it doesn't really matter Bro.
For John is dead, and
And we're a bit lonelier now.

It was the cheap Polish coal
Sweeping down from chimney and slate,
Staining windows, levelling off
At doors, settling on walks
Where evidence showed me hurrying
To my bed-sitting room
In prints of snow and soot.
The roses dipped,
Foxgloves closed
Against the odour.

It was the kitchen.
Tomatoes, carrots, onions
Slicing vaporous air hanging
Veil-like on dark windows.

I coughed.
Too many cigarettes?
My nose bled.
I pulled out a hankie
And coughed again.
When I removed my coat
My eyes were red.
You'd notice.

Perhaps it was a combination .
You knew my eyes.

Weeks are still less tolerable.
Smoke, soot, salads,
Which really doesn't matter,
Strangely mix, tossing  off our years.
Cheap Polish coal. **** cheap Polish coal.

I've been shot,
Yet dodged the bullet.

Thanx anti-vaxers
For reducing my
Time in line.

Lest We Forget!

It's finally come to this...
"I just don't get it!"

I was an assassin,
With magnifying glass and firecrackers,
Bringing *****'s destruction down on pismires.
BB's left feathers fluttering on powerlines;
Slingshots made Swiss cheese of tree nests.
It's the Wild West outside the urban boundary
Where the .22 slew coyotes and red-tailed foxes.
Old dogs and tired cats were destroyed.
And just now, when the January thaw is here,
I trapped a housefly between my windows,
Opened to draw air.
It will die of starvation in a merciless frenzy.
"******," cried the old king.
"Most foul."

I know death.
Incensed with all of it.
The weighty strain of darkness,
Eyes closed, stopped ears, stuffed nose.
I was petrified while the world stumbled,
My wordless mouth gapes like a maw
Needing stitches.
I lounge in a toga,
Motionless as alabaster.
I was born to die,
But not like this.

I was co-joined
By an isthmus of words;
Ringed as an island.
If I walked away,
I was snapped back;
If I rolled over,
I was chosing sides;
Getting dressed
Was a dialogue;
Eating was identical.
But now,
Now that the separation
Has set in,
I'm next to an idiot,
I'm beside myself.

I was driven to the wilderness
When a flaming sword appeared;
Then tethered like a goat,
For the demon was revealed.

I've got a mark, like Cain,
To identify me;
So I stumbled through the gulches
For a place to be free.

You told me I was naked,
I never realized;
You should fit inside my head
And see me with my eyes.

I've slept with swine,
Caroused with jackals,
Spit in the face of Him;
It was then you found me out;
Cried and mourned,
For I was never good at hiding;
And thus you found me lacking.

I was It.
Singled out
By a mere
Eenie-meenie.
Now I touch you,
You freeze.
Now you're It,
I'm not.

A light cracked the door,
And we heard:
"All rise."
He was experiencing Justice
Behind the glass, in a box.
He scratched and stretched
Skin over his eyes and stubbled face,
Needing a fix for his appearance.
Something was unbalanced
Before me.
Our view was that of figures bending,
Whispering inaudibly,
With ear pieces and muffled mikes,
Suspending us, and time.

At recess we talked of trials and errors,
And recalled the blind man's bluff;
Then someone called us over.

A solemnity plea was set before the judge.
Did he hear:
"Just over the limit...
Machines have a rate of variability..."

He wore no belt or laces,
And probably no socks.
That could make him unbalanced.

"All rise."
Again and again.

I almost fell to my knees,
Pressed and raised my hands
To surrender.

And I was just a witness.

I wish to age like a wrap-around porch
In a thunder storm,
While generations tell tales,
Sipping drinks.
A porch of blinking stars,
A shelter out of rain,
With ascending and descending friends.

I will age like a tree,
Grow stronger in the wind;
Give shade and shelter to all
Beneath my ring-aged limbs.

I wish to age as a river bends,
Contiguous with all shores;
Floating everyone I know
On eternal waters,
A current winding with no rest.

I will age like a star,
Burning bright, giving light,
Something to reach for.

I wish to age like a mountain,
With secret caves and riches.
And you can rock your soul
Around, over or through,
Solid, snow-capped summit,
Beckoning you.

I will age as the moon,
In stages, full and new;
Each night different,
Unnoticeable fading,
As all who age will do.

Take me first.
I stood witness at the bed
As Mammy withered
To a stick, so small,
She couldn't cast a shadow.

Take me first.
I was one to agree
To stop the whirring machine,
And stood there
As Jimmy flat-lined.

Take me first.
Marlene asked me
If she was dying.
Thirty-nine is too young
To give an answer.

Take me first.
Daddy left in a hurry;
No good-byes in life
Or in death.

If I'm not taken first
Before my girls,
I will surely be second.

A sudden splash of misty whiteness
Where sterile outlines fill
With skin pink water colors,
Then the rainbows separate into distinct arcs,
Blending again at my supplication.

Shushed whispers turn my head.
I listened for whistles, songs, familiar voices;
Pleased to praise when requested, when warranted,
Advise when asked, offer silence when needed.

I felt skin on my skin,
Sunblock and creams,
Long before your hand in mine.
I have offered my hands too,
Palm to Palm.

Your scent is forever,
And can't be covered with perfumes or incense.
At the most unusual times, it hits me.
I'll turn in a line, or somewhere,
Expecting you right there.
I enter a room knowing you're near,
Here, within.
Part of my life I live in vain memory.

It's bitter sweet, this journey,
And we are the salt of the earth, our earth.
From deprivation to overload.
And I sense, with sound insight,
We can still get it right.

I wish
to
write
a
verse
in the
perfect
words
and
feet
and then
                  just walk away.

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.

John and Tuesday slipped away,
I remember well the day.
Working in the garden,
Just a few corners away,
That Tuesday.
I was planting, turning spades,
Adding compost to gaunt soil.
John wasn't in my thoughts Tuesday.
Not like today.

The garden thrives.
The splash of water
Transports memory's eye.
We sit outside The Trout,
He reads to Paul and I,
Below an Oxford sky,
Under cap and pint:
*Think where man's glory
Most begins and ends,
And say my glory was
I had such friends.

God knows where the miscreants come from.
I don't get it.
Anyway, take it,
Place it in the town square,
And select your stone,
Or use a poker stake,
But near a drain.

                          or

In a cell... alone.... or going for a walk-about
in the common area,
or just under the upper window with the blue square.

                         or

while travelling across the great expanse in a private jet,
even a simple maintainence slip up in the hangar.

Where have all the ****** assassins gone?
I don't mean your run-of-the-mill crazy radicalized terrorist, like Sirhan (though that would suffice);
NO! Enlist an old fashioned one,
With names like,
Mark or James or John.

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

Our Strawberry Moon,
Now waxed in June,
Brings crops to bloom;
Like a balloon:
All gone too soon.

Would I do it all again
For the price of joy,
The debts of pain;
For the strains of love?
What would I gain?
It could never be the same.
Not better than we had before,
With entwined lives,
With all we bore.
Yes, all that,
And one day more.

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?

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'm at home with my thoughts;
It's not quite quiet if one thinks a lot.
At the oddest time they rage, then storm;
Rack and thunder or light my night;
A wind whirls into a gale,
And thoughts teem on the page.
Some take root,
Produce sweet fruit,
Others wither on the line.
So many thoughts I'm at home with,
I'll pick one to grow a poem with.

Just because there are UFOs,
... a big bang,
... an Einstein,
... evil and death
Despite such questions,
Smart, even brilliant thinkers
Believe, just because...

I'm a free thinker, like they were,
So, I ask,
How many times did Jesus suffer and die
On other worlds to save the Universe?
After all, evil is everywhere,
And so are we, or them.
Oscar Wilde gave up his denial,
As did Wallace Stevens, Darwin and Camus;
And a host of other stars,
Relinquished their lifetimes of distrust
With a breath between the sheets;
With a whisper of repentence
Accepted the alpha and omega
Just because...

We minimilize,
See a world of greens,
Prefer concerted solitude
And simplicity.
We cut and draw;
Like weeding words,
And gaining more
With fewer strokes.

Tolstoy was a boy,
Ibsen was Henrik's son
Hardy had a father,
And see how well they've done.

Byron was a grandson,
And Wordsworth had a wet nurse,
Thoreau had a 2 to go,
Shakespeare a bad marriage,
Austen was a loner,
Poor Sylvia was a goner,
And see how well they've done.

Joyce had a ***** mind,
Fitzgerald liked to drink,
Richler liked to smoke,
And Wolfe enjoyed a ****,
And see how well they've done.

Fielding was a misogynist,
Wilde was a jailbird;
Virginia a misandrist,
And Kerouac a simple ****.
Yet see how well they've done.

Still with all their drawbacks,
Look how well they've done;
Like our old friend John,
We surely come un-done.

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.

There are great periods
In our lives; passages.
Agreed. Truism.
I'm at that age, where,
In an average life-span
Of one, such as I,
Either one or both parents
Are gone. Are going soon.
I know, there are many
Exceptional, wonderful,
Depressing and ******
Stories,
But the aggregate is
Right on with this.
So, if you're young,
Twixt, middle or aging,
Go give Mom, Dad,
Granda and Granny
A hug, a kiss, a handshake,
A touch, and
Just tell 'em you love 'em.

What's this at my feet.
A ribbon for a finish line
For the underdog;
An unpolished stone
To make a ring;
A piece of paper yet unfolded
Into a snowflake;
Is this a bit of wood
Waiting for release;
A puddle
Reflecting a blue sky
That could be fashioned
As a cloud,
Why not give it a try.
A stick, a stone, ribbon or puddle
Just waiting as a poem.

A trophy doesn't designate
A winner
Anymore than swearing denotes
A sinner.
Think
Attitude,
Not
Platitude,
And
Wear a ribbon.

She scratches in all the right places
When she thinks no one's looking;
Doe the weirdest you'd imagine
In the kitchen, when she's cooking.
When she cleans a spotless house
She seldom wears a stitch:
How do I know,
Get the peep-show?
She forgot the video switch.

All along you've claimed
I'm wrong,
You've preached Karma's
A true force
For life.
Then you're the one,
There's no mistake,
With Karma
You re-
Incarnate.
Your next life
Is rightly rife
With all you
Thought was missing:
Eyes now green, or blue or two;
Nose is small, or straight;
Your clothes are cool, ripped and fitting;
You'll have it all.
Friends to rely on;
Family to depend on.
Money is no problem now,
Your weight is couture right;
Your teeth are straight and yours;
Your hair has sheen, body, curl;
It's straight and colour fast;
Your skin is clear, white, black, brown or rainbow;
Your mind is bright and not yet full.
This time round
Parents are happy
With whom they've found.
And your education
Has opened doors
Of possibilities to explore;
And depression is no more.
Your outlook
Looks sure.

But you're not into that.
Vanity is no reward;
Clearly that would be  insanity,
Our present life's worth more.

With Karma,
There's no debate,
Its outcomes choose
Unknown dates
And rules.
We reap,
We sell.
We buy,
We sew.

One can't recall
Previous lessons
From former lives
With life
Regression.
Just live your life
In truth and justice,
In the light,
Or even darkness.

For Karma will echo back
With a knife-like strike
To reverse good fortune
In your afterlife;
In your next life,
But not in this life.


Still, I think,
You're hedging bets,
Karma's not
Been proven... yet.
But just in case
You might be right,
I'll live life well.
Enjoy this life.

I am expected
At the clan gathering today.
The naughty and nice will attend;
I'd like to say they're friends,
But it's family - a gnarly tree
With thick bark and thinning branches,
Twigs pointing and abandoned nests.
Yet, when it rains
I find shelter,
And when things get hot,
I find shade.
The roots reach into the cemetary
And across the blue.
I will wear my favourite Tee:
     Keep Calm
     And Let Lynch
     Handle It.
It's cute, and breaks the ice
Before I melt.

If you've a writer's block,
Keep chiselling.
You'll get relief
When you release the piece.

Hearts, not heralded in art,
Are broken, mended,
Beating, fragile and still.
We are surrounded;
The unknown to know
The aches and pleasures,
The confusion with love and despair,
Remorse and resentment;
The empty longings,
The burning fulfilment.
Cave walls, train trestles and sidewalks
Are sprayed in verses of universality.
The coupling, birthing and dying
Are the continuous unison that endures
Through the elasticity of love.
Ready to wrap the unravelling.
Our teeth may become straws,
Our ears pinholes,
Our eyes pinwheels,
Our skulls pinheads,
Our bodies pincushions;
But keep heart.

It's an asset to  be taciturn,
Reticent, laconic, terse,
And to the point.
I consider myself such,
So listen...
Do I have a story for you.
It was a dark and stormy night;
The wind howled destruction
Coming across...

Got some hope today.
It felt like a tingle.
In my insides somewhere.
This was familiar.
I was reminded that the world
In which I was born,
Was just as ****** as now.

Somehow, we're muscling on.

Nucleur threats,
Idealogical jets,
With invasions, wars and debts.
I kept abreast of the U.S.S.R.
Covered heads beneath school desks,
Bent over likeVesuvians.
Korea, Viet Nam,
And on and on;
Granada, not Canada,
Look what happened in Iran.
Did you see them hang Sadam?
I can still hear the alarms.

We still keep muscling on.

Aliens know
From observation
The majority
From every nation
Live their lives
In fear
For a life not here,
Not now.
We keep our lives
In control
By old beliefs,
Not what we know,
But numbers
Shrink and grow.
That's how we're held
In law and order,
To keep our souls
From hellish horror.
We keep the Alien
In the sky,
Or party on
At Mt. Sinai,
Worship a
Triangled eye,
Hold a dance
For Salome.
We wear chinking vestments,
We wear them
For the rest of us:
The gates are quickly closing,
A foggy wind is blowing
Across an Alien sky.

I will not write on lost love,
But do rim shots on a drum.
Blow a flourish at your exit,
Sounding the fury you left.
I hope you hear how well I'm doing.
I can roast baby back ribs,
Add softener,
Keep a clean kitchen sink.
I think I could birth now,
And do just about anything a woman can.
I am male. A man.
I need remind myself
After public emasculation
For the unbridled innateness
Which is sometimes us.
We are heading towards equality,
Finally, and,
When all is said and done,
Keep the ribs.

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.

Some drive big cars,
Brag of deep scars
To prove they have big ******;
Some grow goatees,
Axe down huge trees,
Or chew on edible *******.
Real men, I've heard, eat Wheaties,
Enjoy lap dance stripteases,
Build towers with their empties,
The bravado is relentless.

Kim Jong Un,
Thinks his long
In his munchkin hands.
He does private battle
With his androgynous name;
While playing with lead soldiers;
Unsheathing a stainless sabre,
Lighting up his candles,
To show he's macho manly.

Before leaving,
Pen a poem,
Script a story,
Produce a pyramid,
Manage a milestone,
Fix a fence,
Pose for a picture,
Build a boat.
I'll remember you,
Not to worry.
You'd remember me too.
But images of walls
Brain splattered,
***** on your face,
Cinched belt, alone, or
With needle
Will certainly work too,
But for the wrong reasons.
That's why King Hamlet
Had to return and ask:
“Remember me.”
He was looking for
Understanding,
And we know how that
Ended.