Can the stars
Be used again,
So constant,
Shimmering bright,
Or call upon
A shifting moon
Eclipsed by your daylight.
How many flowers open
In jubilant array,
How many winds
Will whisper
Your name to me today,
Or brush my lips
With breezes
For kisses gone astray.
I would give them
All away,
Whatever value,
For all of nature does pursue
Comparisons with you.

So, the tabernacle curtain ripped
Over the pallor of your eyes;
The wall of reliance has a crack,
Every level has it's fault,
Cement gives it strength.
The foundation's well-worth building on.
Leave the tools on site,
Tomorrow make it right.
An abandoned house,
Whomever lived there,
Collapses on itself.

So, is this what the owner wanted?
Brush on a new coat,
Hang floor length drapes,
Sweep away the refuse.
Bestow a second chance
On the sinner,
Not the sin;
On the wrong,
Not the doer.
Climb the steps again,
And knock,
Someone's in.

Many believe they know the law
Because they were arrested;
Others know how to teach
Because they too were tested.
If you have a religious question,
They attended church;
Mention you've an ache or pain,
They diagnose your hurt.
Should you bring up politics,
Republican or worse,
They'll explain Democracy
Cause they've been free since birth.
Admit your car is pinging,
Your faucets aren't behaving,
The oven isn't cooking right,
Your fridge is warm and shaking,
The air conditioner's out of whack,
Your furnace has turned blue,
They'll tell you what to do:
Change the thermo-coupler.
It's always their one answer.
Say you like this stock or bond,
An investment that's appealing,
They'll  discourse that all agents
Are cunning conniving stealing.
On Monday mention the big game,
They'll re-play, play by play,
As if you slept right through it.
If you hear a rousing band,
Attend a movie or a play,
Know-its are informed critics,
Once they were stagehands.
They pose as friends and family,
Waiting for an opening,
To disrupt with diatribe,
To display how much they know.
I know what I'm on about,
So let me advise you,
I'm a Know-It-All poet,
All I write is true.
So,
Never miss the opportunity
To keep your mouth shut too.

There's a drastic reduction
In the number of Know-it-alls
Since cellphones have decreased
The mounds of *******
We were subject to.

The Little King,
Who ruled here for thirteen years,
Now reigns in the undiscovered country.
Restrictions keep him in the freezer,
Where he's
Lying in steak.

She has tomato red lips,
And kale green eyes,
Strawberry cheeks,
And warm earthy thighs.
I tend to her daily,
My garden of delight,
And I'll harvest
My labor of love
Tonight.

A posthumous letter came today:
My Dear Brother Fran;
I assume it began;
Your Loving Brother Sean.
It ends.
I'll never read those lines;
I know what's down between his lines;
His words and thoughts would break me.
His ink would stain my hands;
Leached through lines with real tears,
Dropping like time's sands.

He'd wax on our youthful days,
Wane on years we let slip past;
I don't need to read the words,
You know all things must pass.

I'll not sit to read his letter.

I'll recall how we were before,
When he was six and I was four,
Skating on the basement floor,
Or sliding down the new clothes line,
As pennants waving in the wind.

He taught me much of what he knew,
Just doing what big brothers do.
And always had my back.

I don't recall, but I'm pretty sure
We had our dumb-*** quarrels;
But I remember hitting *****,
Kicking, catching, throwing curves,
Rackets, sticks, clubs and bats,
Our cruel crew cuts beneath our hats.

He raised my game in everything;
Said I could do anything.
I'll remember his glance in the mirror
Going out the door.

If I ever read that letter,
I surely would regret forever,
Miss saying, I Love You too.

No, I'll never need to read his letter,
To remember Sean in his prime;
To recall the days when we two shined.

Lace the blades, Sean.
I'll be fine.

Why do you put up with a social climber
With two rungs left
Before his feet touch the earth?
Is it pity, empathy or indifference?

Choices are often ultimatums;
Free will is frequently channelled;
Chaos and dominos infiltrate like moles;
Serendipity and chance prevail.
A few rungs were damaged,
And the playing field is never level.

Why do you put up with one so down?

Ladders, she says, extend both ways,
The angles depend on aspirations.
Going up varies,
Coming down, inevitable.

She concludes with:
*The law of gravity is grave.
That's how.

Lovlee ladeebug, ye'll nae be flien hame,
Ye're a fine wee red beedel
Tha nipp'd me fleshee arm.
Ye've nae hame afire,
Ye've nae wee ones alane;
Ye bit me lovelee ladeebug,
'nd ye'll nae be flien hame.

The Sphinx's riddle
Ended with a stick man holding a stick.
The cane.
Those Egyptians were on top of the chain.

What will Lady Liberty's Riddle be
For today's Empire.
After the machines, tubes and electronics
Have made us blade runners.

With a cane.

A triumphant voice denotes
A life leaving this room.
We should not be surprised;
It tells us:
          I once was there where many stories
          filled many shelves.
And now, another memory becomes
Another treasure to mine in days of leisure.
          We join in exultation.

There is less serious work about now.
We step in and out of shadows
Cast by the sun filtering through
Her tree and picture window.
The shadows reach many rooms.

She and I were present  
In many of Shakespeare's tombs.
Together we witnessed Royalty paraded:
Elinore, Lear, Macbeth, The Dane.
Her lineage is confirmed.
Our busy stage is less crowded
With the exit of La Grande Dame,
Elizabeth.

The wind howls ******
Off the lake,
Yellow eyes centred
On its face,
Salivating white-capped waves.
Back arched rubbing
A cloudless night,
It claws the land,
Paws at my house,
Playing cat and mouse,
Scratching at my window.
Then crouching silent
It slowly moves,
Then springs, extended
In full flight,
Changing landscape
With one swipe.
Then like one
In the night,
It lies flat
Across my lawn,
Licking
With a milk-dish yawn,
Then prowls away.

I returned from three days of golf
At Lake Orion, with a philosophical man.
A PhD talked the ear off me,
And spoke so deeply on the meanings
Of life as we approached the green.
Across the fence in a sawgrass meadow
I saw a doe grazing in spite of us.
I don't remember much of his diatribe
But the ball and the doe stuck.

He continued on the fallacy of memory,
Asking me to name the cities of the Olympics:
Mexico, Rome, Beijing, Montreal,
I think I was able to name them all;
But the ****** pup swimming
Beneath the walkway
Dragging a branch underwater
Cleared the air,
Like a thump on my chest,
Took my breath away,
And stopped my ear.

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?

The sheep are shorn.
The lambs have flown.
The rams are caged.
The ewes left alone.

The fleece now woven on foreign shores,
And the toilets are flushed,
Filling sewers strewn with rebel nails.

Near embers of tri-coloured blazes
We hear yarns of ancient wages,
Now spinning in their graves.

Our heirs have no airs of their own.
No promises kept for mothers weeping.
There is no wool on the wheel at home.

The keypad is the abattoir,
The counter a barred cage.
John Barry faces East,
The Rebel faces West:
One for reliance,
One for defiance.
All wait in requiem silence.

The Dailys wrap the Dail
Stained with lamb's blood.

I missed you
When I swerved;
Next time
I won't.

I've been adding
To my landfill,
All my earthly years;
Backfilling,
Filling spaces,
With blades
And brushed off tears.
The diggers will uncover
Loves that now are cold;
Wrapped as
Memoried mummies,
Alive while I grow old.
Prying spades will
One day dig
My community of graves.

I called the girl
I broke up with,
So very long ago.
A number dialed
Into my brain:
862-6220.
Her father answered,
Took some time,
But put her on the phone.
I felt her breathe into the mouthpiece,
The last time she said, Hello.
I answered,
I love you all the more
Forgive me. Marry me.
I tried that number,
For old time's sake,
To see who'd take the call.
But the machine said
That line's dead,
So I can't make that call
No more.

The children are grown,
They have their own
Christmas.
It's the natural order
To leave the hearth,
And start.
No more journeys home,
They're there.
You see, I'm not alone,
I recall all we had
When we were home.
The exuberant joy and anticipation
On your faces on Christmas morn.
I had it all.
I have it all,
The past, our presence,
From first, to our last.

School commencements looming;
Bands and grads are tuning,
Moving from room to room
On this last day in June.

From womb to pre-school
Kids migrate,
To elementary/high school dissipate;
Trade schools, colleges,
And universities await,
Punch the clock at the workplace gate.
Summer vacation helps make the break.
But make no mistake,
The last day of school is just for show,
I hope they're schooled enough to know.
The last day of school is just a term
Rightly debunked during life's sojourn:
Ahead there's still life-long learning.

Winds these days
Cut both ways,
As spring is fast arriving.
These gasping blasts
Can't repel what's thriving,
The give and take of time.

This snowy, sleety, wet, cold season
Brought flues, agues, chilblains and sneezing,
And holidays with families,
Births, deaths,
And another year,
The passing of those times,
Pics, grams and friends with wine,
The games, tricks, sighs and smiles
Of another season of our lives,
And the memories
We didn't pose for.

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 paddled and glided along the current
Of the St. Clair,
To the west bank of the serpentine river,
And portaged to the ash tree,
Known as Ching-ach-****,
Waving noble limbs in full relief,
Offering respite from the meridian sun.
Leaves fluttered in the north current.
Beneath I lay in cold comfort
Envisioning the bows and bats that once propogated:
The unborn of an endangered species.
This is a dead tree growing,
Seeds, like Uncas,
Rotting above the roots:
This native treasure
Waiting for the emerald bore
Like an imprisoned pagan.

When did we last touch?
Time is playing tricks.
I remember we were young,
I touched you on the knee.
And then,
I couldn't have been more moved
When first our lips met;
I touched you then,
So very long ago.
There was light in your hair,
Softness in your eyes,
The invite of your smile,
That said that touch was fine.
So very long ago.
Time plays tricks, you know.
You slipped
Your hand into mine
When a certain song came on;
And ever since, and without reserve,
I'm touched by that song.
But when did we last touch?

Laughter is universal.
Extraterrestrials **** themselves with it;
Martians **** their pants;
Venutians titter til they cry;
Earthlings **** themselves with it
Splitting a side,
Rolling on the floor,
Chortling all the while.
Politicians shake hands gleefully,
Snickering, cackling,
Standing us against the wall.
A good roar, hoot or howl
May be good for the soul,
But is dangerous,
Especially if you
Have a fit
Of tee hees, ha has and yuk yuks
While orbitting.

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.

The past is safe where it belongs,
Gathering dust between my brain and skull.
It has no business in the present.
Recent publications are now on the shelves,
Sharing space with crisp HD shots.
Keep it from invading tomorrow,
Which belongs to the kids,
Who'll have their own burdens and joys
That need no comparisons with past lives.
Their present is in the forefront.
We'll be rightly blamed for this unpredictable world
Of warm Gulf streams, war posturing and threats.
Troubled places belong in the past, safely stored,
With warning labels,
Away from the twelve year olds.

Lee transmigrated as a dog
To **** on his statue.

What legendary parts
Can we play.
Might we emote sullenness
And find a sheath for our daggers;
Act impetuously and stab at rats;
Be susceptible to lies and hankies;
Do we speak proudly to our friends
And countrymen;
Should we go mad, be foolish
To float on laurels, and drown;
Are we advisers and know-it-all
Busy bodies;
Will we be friends, and die
Sacrificially in the end;
Should we cut out our tongues
And gauge out our eyes,
To draw pictures in the dirt;
Why be so courageous as to fall
On your sword;
Will we smile and be a villain,
Then fall off our high horse?
Or
Will we give new meaning to love;
Replace the stars in their orbs;
Control the elements for our children;
Bear our friends like princes;
Accept harlequins at court;
Be gentlemanly in any state;
Love more than ten thousand brothers;
Support our partners in what they will?

Script your part.
Life isn't all comedy and tragedy.
Shadows don't offend,
And life is more yielding
Than a dream.

Let it go like a red balloon
Released to celebrate;
Follow 'til it dissipates
Into the vacant blue.

Unhand the kite string,
The struggle with elements subsides.
Let it go as if it died.

You know you tried,
Some things broken aren't worth fixing;
Admit to yourself you don't like it,
That one day never comes.
Do not expect a certain result,
Life happens as it was meant to unfold.
Just let it go, like gossip, like fear;
Dependency is detrimental.

Tear down the museum of victim mentality.
Stop comparing,
Stop people pleasing.
Let it go.

One hundred years ago
My Mammy was just three,
The exact same age as me,
When she sailed us across the sea,
All those years ago.

Just lately,  just now,
I said Mammy's Mammy's name out loud.
What was that, I asked.
For sure her name's not been said
For many, many years.
Margaret Duffy
A dog barked.
So I said my mother's:
Mammy
A breeze furled the window sheers.

The dog continued to yelp,
So I said her other names louder:
Brigid...........Nellie

I will keep the wind inside me,
And allow the dogs their day;
Your names will still be called upon,
In stress or tranquility.

John wrote,
I read the news today...
He recounted accidents, wars, ***-holes.
I did too... today.
I read about charity runs,
Music under the Bluewater Bridge,
Teachers receiving National Awards.
There are many sections to the paper
I read through my wire-rimmed glasses.
I'm getting older, all the time,
So I avoid the nastiness with my morning coffee.
Is killing terrorists good news?
Oh boy!
What would John read into that.
We need some help!
I may skip the news tomorrow,
And make some holes
To let the light in,
The darkness out.

What about those
Who have
A predilection
For Flora & Fauna?
Are we all-inclusive
Or not?
LGBTQIAFF

Iambi

Columns of water smoked over
The lake last evening,
Leaving a sun-soaked
Wet-dog pungency. But wagging.
Fatted newborns are
Claiming trees, digging holes.
The worms are doomed
Beneath the green.
Snouts are grovelling
Where they belong.
This was a blithe storm
Passing through.

My sun is eclipsed by you.
After a calming period.
Especially after seeing
You again, seeing you're happy.
That's a rising barometer
For you.
I see it in your hands,
On your ring finger.
Being congenial is different now.
But I am persistent
With my lieu time.
I will be resistant
In my windbreaker.
I have learned
To wait in queue.

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.

Will you falter and fade
In a Palliative room,
With beeps and tubes
Confirming your doom?
Or a fiery crash
And screech of rubber
As onlookers see
Your hair aflame;
Will you fall from the sky
In a laser marked plane;
Get shot while buying
A lottery ticket,
Die doing something
Horribly wicked?
Perhaps the sound
Near your ears at night
Will forewarn your demise
By a mosquito bite.

What crisis changes a life?
A birth.....................defected or not;
A death....................expected or not;
A break-up..............rejected or not;
A make-up..............accepted or not;
A ****-up................degenerative or not;
An accident.............not ever planned;
Or,
All of the above.
There are no boxes to tick;
No likes to click;
No swipes right or left;
No emoticons to stick.
Just choices and decisions
That are life changers.

I first saw John sitting in the third desk of the first row.
I sat in the second, my new jeans cracking,
No curling iron-on patches as of yet.
A pin from my baby blue shirt pricked my neck.
I stepped in red ball Jets, before the soles became flapping tongues,
And the insignia peeled from the ankles.
Our well-used, wooden desks had pull-out drawers for stuff,
And always in need of re-arranging.
We invited our Guardian Angels to sit there, on the wooden drawer.
John sat, with black-rimmed glasses, on his pull out,
Graciously giving up the well-worn seat for his angel.
I liked him already.
His specs fit my sight. I could see the alphabet above the blackboard.
My first friend. Not a brother or sister. Someone who heard me.
Someone I listened to.
He was the oldest of six.
Had grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins in Canada.
He had instinct. Knew my lacking, shared his relations.
We studied the Catechism, had Confessions, First Communion, altar duties, patrol boy corners, sports, jerks and girls.
We learned to smoke and drink, drive and thrive.
We were Best Men, fathers and grandfathers.
I am not eulogizing John,
But celebrating while alive.
If all goes well,
I'll die before losing him.
But then,
Why would I do that
To my life long friend.

Weren't you told,
Some time ago,
A picture's worth a thousand words.
Well I can show with a click or two,
A thousand pics for each word you choose.

Oh, it's possible,
Life on Mars;
But sure enough,
The immigrants
Will bring
Their old world ways
With borders and fences,
Politics and crime,
Poverty and religion.
Then,
Life on Mars
Won't seem so alien.

Don't mix
Regrets and resentments
With love and opportunity:
It won't rise.

Lives
Are problematic
Only
If we seek
Resolutions.

No bells are ringing.
Rumors are swirling.
Was he drunk or drugged;
Talked with girls about boys;
Thought a failure at home;
Seen sitting alone?
Was he ill-at-ease;
Had a terminal disease;
Was he love-sick, forlorn,
Or just out of season?

          He paid the toll.
          Switched on the flashers.
          Made a splash.
          No tell. No knell.

          I'm told he surfaced,
          Yelled something
          Like, *Don't ask.

When sick,
Life ***** stones.
But ******* stones
Beats daisies.

Her eyes a lighthouse
When I'm set adrift.
Her arms a berth
For a slipless ship.

I will eat
From your hand
Close by the fire.
Feed me, warm me,
Know desire.

You're like a bird
The way you unload
Before flying off.

I don't have paint or brush,
Or mallet to shape a rock;
I don't weld or chisel,
Or mold clay into crocks.
I don't wear an apron
To create art-food forms.
I can't meander on a stage
To emote the audience.
I can't focus a camera lens,
I don't have what it demands.
I don't use any tools
To do what artists can;
Except for
Words, just words,
These flow without end
To color ice and snow,
To carve mountain tops
Down to pebbles in a stream,
Shading dales, glens, woods and mead.
Equipped, I am, with all I need
To create an art that you can feel
As well as any gallery piece,
To arouse emotions in the reader,
To bring to life as a carver
Wields his knives like an author.

... a whimpering simp?
NO.
A simpering whimp then?
Nnno! Close though.
A stable...
     Absolutely not.
                                          ... genius
It'll come,
and when it does
it'll be like a blue bolt
from above;
the dark will give way,
the house on the hill will light up
like a prison escape.

He drapes an arm around anyone's shoulder
In every shot I've seen;
It leads your eyes along his arm
To his eyes, a vanity trick,
Like a narcis-stick.

He often grows some ****** hair,
And wears a logo shirt,
Every thought is well-planned out,
To push his latest scheme.

I attended his wedding,
The first I've ever seen,
Where the groom draws more attention,
Than any bride could dream.

She wore an oyster-colored dress,
With a train six feet long;
While she was walking up the aisle,
The groom broke into song.

Then they had a child,
A boy, now thirteen,
He throws his arm around his dad
To be the centre of the scene.