I look at the fridge..
                                 ..empty.
I look at my wallet..
                                 ..empty.
I look at your picture..
                                 ..instantly I'm full.

When you thought you're just a kid
When you thought you're all alone
When you thought everything is gone
When you thought there's no home
When you thought this is the end.

I'm doomed.

Section 17 Row H seats 11 and 12
Almost every home game does he see
A grey haired man with a clip board sits
Two seats over and one down from me
He's a scout for the bigs, Comes most games to watch
Can't watch as a fan anymore
They know he made it, was up with the Bruins
Played defence with Old Number Four
He watches intently for five minutes or so
Just enough to watch each kid skate twice
Then he drinks down his coffee all in one gulp
and then he returns his eyes to the ice
The Scout, we will call him, for lack of a name
Has seen kids who've got game disappear
They find out he's watching, they get all uptight
And they can't play 'cause they're all tense with fear

I watched for four games, got his routine down pat
Watched him arrive and watch the kids skate
He'd go down in the corner and stand by the glass
Watching close through the plexiglass plate
He stayed away from the coaches, the players as well
And the parents, he'd avoid like the plague
If one ever stopped him, and asked "How's my boy"
He'd smile, and give an answer so vague
His career ended early with a stick to the head
Almost killed him, but, he was too mean
His left the game early, with Wayne Maki to blame
The Scout, is Edward "Ted" Green


Each season he'd sit, watching game after game
In arenas all over the land
Some kids he'd notice, he did not come to watch
They were just something that wasn't planned
He'd come into town to watch a kid who could score
And go home with two names on his list
One a defence man, and the goalie as well
But, the scorer, couldn't skate and got missed
Ted, would watch and make his reports on kids
Some were right, and the kid would go pro
He may be a star in the minors right now
But, the bigs...well, fate only knows

He'd listen to parents and coaches talk of the boys
Saying "My son's the next Bobby Orr"
Ted would chuckle a little and not say a word
He knew the kid would be heard from no more
Putting pressure like that on a young players back
Is like saying, "My boy will be God"
From then on it's never, the talented kid
I'ts the boy cursed with Orr's lightning rod
Many young players get compared to the best
But to say it out loud is a curse
You put a red dot on the young players back
He may as well leave in a hearse

Ted's seen them all, coaches, players and bums
Played when the game was real tough
They  had lighter equipment, not kevlar like now
and Ted, as we know liked it rough
His scratches and scribbles on the page tell a lot
But to the untrained they look like a mess
A pharmacy student couldn't read what he wrote
Nor a court stenographer I guess
He's a spotter of talent with stories to tell
More of them about kids who fell short
Most of them cursed with the "My kids the next..."
and the name of the best in the sport

Two Hundred and Ten games he watches each year
Most times he's gone early on
He's sees what he needs and then he packs up his stuff
And by the end of the first, Ted is gone
He's off on the road to another ice rink
To sit and watch on the hard seats, so cold
To listen as parents and coaches again
Talk of greatness, it's all gotten old
Terrible Ted has a warriors soul
And his grey hair is thinner but, curly
He has ice in his veins and a stick through his heart
Too bad his playing time ended too early.

Our soft lips forgive
holding funny untouched thoughts
tightly between tears

Oh this feeling, the way you make me feel
is naught but solid and true. Ever present,
and always makes me feel slightly delusional,
it sometimes falters, but is widely consistent.

Theres a shift in the weather, a difference in the air,
its something of a sweeter aroma, delightful to the senses.
Its calming, giving rise to these joyful fantasies, but they are
sometimes taken to far, so I keep them penned up behind fences.

There are adjectives plenty to describe you,
and many qualities can be ascribed to your name.
For your heart is golden, your words wise, your view
on life is positive and difficult to thoroughly maintain.

Your profound adoration for puppy, child, and rose
Is much to blame for my insane admiration of you.
Theres something about your personality that grows
increasingly in such favour of something within you thats true.

Ay, yes, Its true, theres something wonderful about you,
It sees me through the deepest swells when I am blue.
I could sit in your presence and be grieved by sorrowful news,
and still you'd bring me comfort, and remedy my bout of the blues.

Why do you hide away what beauty you possess,
don't flaunt it true, but please don't sequester it.
Make proud your heart in your beauty, as it pleases
the eye, and makes glad the soul who cherishes it.

I find myself laid low to the ground,
when your hand lowered extends out toward me.
I find myself happy and in the presence of love found
and in my arms, is the person who sees me free.

There is something in me that wants me to scream
nothing of pain and agony, but in joy and profound happiness.
For there is something in my life that whilst it may seem
temporary, is the permanent source of so much joyfulness.

Holiday crowd on the beach
                   watches, in horror,
one slowly walks in to the hands,
extended by merciful sea,
in a mission of self discovery.
Water inch by inch takes him in
when the eyes and ears becomes still
the sea sense takes over,
a new awareness prevails,
and what does he find, now?

The sea is full of voices of pain,
of souls abandoned in water, for ever,
water is full of life, invisible to human eyes,
near the shallow shore,
sitting on a kayak non existent,
an old fisherman laments:
"Dead and gone, in agitated sea, yet
I am  here, they don't count me "
And the girl, who was full of life and love,
her lover gifted her a watery grave,
her body thrown in to water,
floated and drifted around frenzied,
the sea is her home now,
love is the most hated word for her.

The sea then erupts as a cry
waves of tears, salty and thick swell.