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She spoke the fatal words and the world disintegrated around us. Burnt orange cushions and eggshell walls

atomized, as light

grew stark and haunted. It wasn’t until after the fallout that I realized she’d spoken from my perspective. Not her husband, not her rock, but my own father:

Dad is dead.

Tears fell, as I’m sure they had during her 2AM drive to the hospital. Silent but for rubber on asphalt and

an ionizing sky—

though her eyes were dry when she got home. All evidence of loss erased; a paramedic ferrying a body deep into the cold night. The

presence of mind

that would save a measure of her grief to share. She’d sat me down on the couch, but it seemed time too could fall prey to

a stuttering heartbeat,

because I was then in front of the bathroom, driving my fist toward the door. As if I could break through that boundary and pull back something

lost to entropy,

but she told me, Stop. We can’t afford this place anymore. So I stopped and settled my breath, even from the

edge of precarity.

Twin performers upon the high-wire: we’d either fall or we wouldn’t, but Death would not rob us of

our composure too.

So I walked back to the living-room—back to my mother and held her tight. And I didn’t shed a tear for

a generation’s half-life.

Rushes over my sea facing feet
surging…steadfast presence

a sounding bridge
heard but rarely traversed

tide rushes around me
hurling foam tendrils up beach embankments

throwing shrieking children
sand sprawling rides

flipping a suck hiss backwash
tumbling debris and bodies back to the sea

slamming laughter into
open jawed waves

gazing through us
in tireless turns

ebb and flowing
a water centric mind

exalted by
a tidal tilt.
.

The world was spinning gaily when the sun refused to set,
And all the artists were battling their own windmills,
The creaking door was closing though they all cried out: Not yet!
Still believing they could fight off all the ills,
The painter painted pictures that staved off the doom and gloom,
The composer wrote a song that we all sang,
The poet composed his verses in another secret room
As all thoughts of love just vanished with a bang,
But nobody saw or heard the man shedding his killing tears,
And nobody praised his worth through all the endless clinging years.

The walls were standing solid when the shackles were removed,
And the lost ideals deserted the human zoo,
The shadows grew and told us there was nothing to be proved
Even if the doubts were seen as true,
The lovers loved their wilderness and threw down all their kisses,
The hermit danced alone on top of his mountain,
The messenger flew up and down and gathered the near-misses
While the shed tears gave birth to the mystical fountain,
But nobody cared enough to help the man face-down on the ground,
And nobody sang his praises since he barely uttered a sound.

The wolves were howling wildly when the darkness came to be,
And the gardens stood their ground in a final stand,
The forest whispered secrets that we knew could set us free
As we waited for the hope to take our hand,
The singers sang the high notes and became a heavenly choir,
The Angel smiled and tried to call our bluff,
The chosen few drifted nearby then vanished into the mire,
Hoping the misty dream would be enough,
But nobody declared the dying man to be a genius,
And nobody really noticed him since he hardly made a fuss.

The church was filled with silent tears as the last rites were begun,
And the grieving crowd clung to the weeping walls,
The sermons told the whole world that his race had now been run,
As the chanting boatman rowed to heed our calls,
The living lived and praised the sun while dancing in the light,
The dying wept and ate the poisoned seeds,
The liberated soul rose up to illuminate the night,
Knowing that the truth had met its needs,
Now nobody ignored the lost man as they stood and simply cried,
And yet nobody had brought him flowers until he’d lived, and died.

Footsteps beneath the branches
lead to
a descension into deepness

A haze of heaviness clears
revealing
contemplative consciousness

Sensations of fervor
writing
the beginning of the story

Noting the colors, textures, shapes
inviting
all of us are welcomed

Curiosity and admiration
adorning
the kinship between us

Flowers grow, petals fall
planted
are new seeds of growth

Rising up together
not fickle
determined by the delight

Continue chapter by chapter
cyclical
until death it doesn’t part

Where sunlight lacks
shadows
protect another haven

Often unseen is the balance
the perfection
too often strived for

Connection bears witness
intrinsic
a feeling of the truth

Staring at starry skies
release
and simply remember

Before ego was eco

Sometimes I want to choke myself to death.
One day you will find my name in an obituary
In the local newspaper, and you will hold your breath,
Then follow people on their way to the cemetery.

Will you keep my diaries, my notes and letters?
Will you publish my poetry posthumous?
I promise that if I can I will send you a newsletter,
If you will watch out and be cautious.

If you see a red car, consider it a sign,
That my frozen thick blood ran for you.
If you see an airplane up in the sky,
In my language it’s a way to say ‘I love you.’

Sometimes when I’m anxious I’m afraid I will choke to death.
And I think about people not caring about my name in the obituary
In the local newspaper, they will not lose their breath.
So I’d rather stay here with you, and forget about the cemetery.

We already know how to die
We don’t need tutorials,
how-tos, diys, or instruction manuals.
We know how to lie in the grass
and let the dirt consume us.
Let fire ants crawl into our crevices.

What we need to learn, though,
is how to live. How to enjoy
the taste of sweet potato pie
without the impending doom of

GLOBAL
WARMING

How do we get on our knees
and pray to our lord after
Sonya
was killed after calling His name?

We know how to die
real good

Gold star
10 out of 10
Good job
Good gir

cHILing
Creeping down my spine

up?
… where did It go…
….It’s gone…
i feel the soulless orbs
It knows me/it does not
i am as insignificant to it as a leaf to a leaf blower

i run
i run
i run
i run

the most gruesome cry rang through my brain
exploding my extinct i cry out leaping away from It

tackled
i am pinned
my ragged breath staggers against It’s nothing
no breathe no movement no life
just hunger

Gold drips in between
the trees branches and
leaves. The birds disperse
as more drippings shine
through the grown branches
as bees buzz in and out.
I feel the hot wind at my back
as I walk into the store to
purchase more eggs and an
array of fruit and vegetables.

As I return outside it is bright.
There is a glow following me
home and a warmth that leaves
me beaten. I go inside and
fix me some cider ale to bring
some mellowness to my day.

I.
Canada uplifts
a wondrous place to be
setting down on B.C. island
buoyed by eternity

this place in particular
well designed and lit
a doorway to a special calm
nigh Mortimer Spit

II.
giving off a spirit dream
an atmospheric nature scene
underneath a moon
ineluctably pristine

ducks in pairs tailing over
sparkly silver waves
beauteous sprawling twinkling rooftops
also cosmic glazed

dragonflies purply starfish
on the shoreline rollicking
in a skiff to Poets Corner
with my dearest frolicking

III.
nascent happy campers
tramping thickets that persist
thronging through arbutus stanchions
kissed by velvet mist

feeling insides fluttery
figures close to shore
profundities of nature glittering all the more
nigh Mortimer Spit

capping no small wonder
gleamy splendor hits
round a shimmery seaside
nigh Mortimer Spit

sinking into cozy chair
i laugh with b. lounging there
combing fingers through my hair
nigh Mortimer Spit

buoyed by surroundings with
an otherworldly colorfast
poetic heart beats free at last
nigh Mortimer Spit

oh death you are but a dream
you come and take
the senses away
you are in my every dream

Requiem of a distant sorrow
clouds my mind
night and morrow
Crowing about in merry sleep
crows are wary of my thinking deep
Slight alive arrival at my doorstep
I ponder about every misstep
You are but a dream

Lying awake is an easy task
But sleeping around is not
When dark dreams come about
Like black sooty iron forcibly wrought

A kindling of fiery
dreams are ablaze
Ferocious demons
making a chase
I worry about
my everyday daze
and with it
my slumbered demise

oh death you are but a dream
for you are in my every dream