An open wound is hot and

stretches like a memory across a

desert of salty white sand

scars are left to slowly heal

in the heat, as if footprints on the dunes

were following a Gypsy caravan

It’s purely mystical how the

flesh regenerates - in time

a faint raised mark smoothes over evidence of a pain never forgotten



Your eyelids cover the the moon

and back to June

Smooth and forever

I see your affection crack through September

When you peer in me

who are you to be

A child wanting to hide

or woman to confide


Georgia Ref

Like a squid out of water

Like a long lost daughter

Nothing feels complete

And everything is left undone


Homeless - To Be Without A Home

Adjusting the load on his five wheeler

Wearing a long leather jacket

A maroon scarf and a red woven hat

He’s gone down the street and out of sight

In the direction he was heading

Likely with no destination at all

As quickly and as soon

As his belongings were secured

For his journey

To nowhere and anywhere


House of Empty Empire

Kitchen cupboards full

bookshelves weighing south

designer furniture spread adoringly around

nothings' like life uptown

A house, a loft, a mortgage


a garage with a car to spare,

don’t look now

but nothings there

Kids running through the

grassy green yard

with a fence all the way 'round,

suspicious eyes watching from afar

like a hired security guard

Hollow halls, quiet

and modern spacious,

nothing out of reach,

nothing too far fetched,

organized in order,

all has it's place

Closets and clothes and

shoes, and jackets and fashion news,

yet more space is required

not enough rooms

Credit is maxed, but

still more can be squeezed

a call away can quickly jack your limit;

that’s all part of the plan

Keys on an end table by

the door, wallet removed,

bedroom sheets tussled from

the gale that entered the room

but you checked out

this time last June.


Laundry Day

The thought of washing clothes is never a thought that gets either attention or priority when weighed with other responsibilities

To know that laundry day exists brings animosity and fatigue over my entire body and effects every single one of my senses

Before this dreadful idea entered my mind, all of my faculties and limbs were working, as far as I was aware

When suddenly laundry day materializes as a task that must

be done, usually when I have worn every conceivable article of 

clothing I have ever possessed and collected since birth,

Life and time come to a halt

To look at someone who has just realized laundry day is eminent and unavoidable, can be described as follows:

Shoulders slouch forward and slowly come together,

The head is lowered - almost coming in contact with their chest,

Their eyelids droop almost shutting, and are neither half open or half closed

A steady, long breath is taken, followed by a quick and sudden exhale

Depending on the person, they may put their hands in the air and say,


As their arms are brought down in the space in front of them with deliberate force

Laundry day affects us all

In the end

We must bow down and crawl

To the laundry god

That rules us all


Leave Me Like You Found Me

Leave me like you found me

On the couch with my books

To my evening outings down at the bar and grill

With friends and friends of friends

I don’t mind

You know that’s how I like it

You never could take subtitles in foreign films

because it takes a certain amount of effort

to read moving pictures like a book

to see the poetry in text on screen

your eyes only see tireless-some distraction

That’s just a fraction of what separates us

Yet one must grapple with basic facts

that negativity can be the worst perspective

into a situation as delicate as love

why trust such an unforgiving eyeglass

truth is what I want to live by, as hard as it is too find

Surely to live truth one must be fair and kind

Leave it to our young son to binds us together

I can’t deny you carried him in your belly

you are the mother

To make life together is forever

Lovers can choose to break sacred vows

Offspring months in the womb cannot be undone

To dismiss creation no one has won

How can I ignore the life we made

To look in his eyes I see you

I always will

He has your wiry smile of mischiefs delight

Your eyes full of unyielding life

To leave kin is wrought with much fret


Left Behind

Nights like these

we forget ourselves

all our dreams

left behind

in the falling leaves

and so it seems

we move on


Life Line

Between the laughs

and the endearing looks

I see joy

Fear or worry are not in his name

Nor are guilt, doubt

or shame

Pure and unbiased are his gestures

His innocence refreshes me

and conjures tender father pride

He is my life line, he is my



March Is Far From November

On a November afternoon

the cold breeze crawls its way in

through our patio screen two stories high

I type, but the words do not come

November takes over and I sense

winters quickening numb

Late this year it may be

snow is sure to blanket us over

and into ourselves for free - for months

I can feel the dry coolness already

imagining the white landscape covering

and hovering until March thaw

I know March is reliably melting season in Winnipeg

because it marks my birth like a mud stain on a shiny coat

Oh, to be born into a season of mush and slop

I can hear the rushing water draining from the streets,

cars splashing by, widow wipers spraying, dripping trees

and glossy rubber boots, the oblique water soaking everything

Cascading through drain pipes is not a recommend

way to start life, but washing away before life’s breath

takes hold again, is not a bad way to end

But March is far from this November

with absolutely no precipitation near

this clear blue air


Natures Lullaby

The rhythm of falling rain

a cooling breeze

water flushing through

spouts and drains

sounds of sloshing cars

and wet lanes

cracks and holes

overflowing souls

trickling drops

splashes and splooshes

mother robin

feeding her young - grooming her nest

a symphony

sound for eager ears

a lullaby for 

rainy day naps



I’ve seen most everything if not through my eyes

Through the collective yours

Through digital transmission

I have lived the fullest and the emptiness of lives

Wore a smile greater than this earth

I have even given birth

Heard babies laughing,  children clapping

I am a witness that all this is happening

I have realized the moon shines, though from afar,

on us all no matter where we are

Only to die slowly of hunger and deprivation

Comfortably observing the macabre violence we all commit

Massacres or genocide on who’s side

Do you lie

To no end to the extremes I have experienced

Victory and defeat

The episode has been quite alarming

Though not mine, I’m crying

I have entered this life and I will exit

But to who do I owe

This cursed leisure

my decay started as soon as I entered stage right

Only to exit after the lights dimmed dark

I opt for stage left

Executing my part,  I deduce is the logical end

But that depends if life and death flow

From side to side

You know you can’t hide and yet we all try

So I close my eyes so I can enter myself

and look inward to see what I can see

I wonder who I would have become

if I had looked solely through my eyes

How different would I have been

In another invented golden age

Am I me or a byproduct

of the latest mania

Whatever I have been

I must claim this life

                the only one I got

and reclaim it again

     if need be

Until there is no separation

from my eyes and the perspective projected onto my story



A writer of life

must be clear of clutter, least

words on the page return




Our moment is lost in the moment I try to record it.

A humming city stills the room,

the air, the night. Her breath consistent -

breathes in and out.

Half my bed filled with the body of my enduring love.

She may rest assured I am lying next to her, and so she travels

deep, rolling into calm, spacious regions

open with emptiness.

How sweet when trust stretches far beyond one’s arm’s length

and further still ‘till night touches morning,

‘till darkness pokes the light.

A past barely noticed if eyes shut out history.

To carry ones weight through those lonely nights, 

certainly would keep

anyone from sleep.

But I am here. Rest assured, I am here.


Open Windows

As the wind blows through

open windows in my house

I think of


For no locks can protect

and no neighbourhood can keep

my family from


The only safe haven

that truly exists

is in the assuring arms of my


No spot on the map

no geography of place

no security system

can secure

For I would rather trust Him

than anything or anyone

so I close the window

once more

- hesitate -

reopen the pane

and let the world blow through

my castle


Sea of Serene

Sea of serene

wash over me

cover me blue

and soak me through

take me out to

the depths of mystery

where nothing exists, where

sea and sky meet

I want to touch

the skyline

I want to smell

sea salt

and the clammy

air and misty moons

I want to drift

far out beyond charted waters

beyond borders

beyond reason

I want to drift

and keep on drifting

take me away

to your quite centre

                    and then some


The Forgotten Notion

I pine for the letter

the notion of sending a piece of paper

folded into three crisp creased sections

neatly inserted into a white envelop

the licking of the flaps glue to hold close

the intimate corresponding between two kindred spirits

with their discrete address on the front

then the act of walking it down to the local

drug store or post office (which ever is closest)

to be sent in the mail via Canada Post

delivered by the dwindling yet ever diligent postman

Letter me, no email please

are words I long to send through my lips

to see the expression on faces and friends

contorted in utter disbelief the forgotten letter rearing its head again

but sadly there is no hope for the illustrious return

of the letter in our engaged calendar schedules where

wifi digital technologies make us quicker

communicators than light but slower in life’s genuine touch

dulled to the sensitivity of human longing of our fellow man

or woman that are in need of words that take effort

through thoughts that dictate time to prepare, walk and deliver

I hold hope the offspring of deliberation

can be born again from necessity for a genuine bond


The Sea vs The Land 

I have honed my craft

(though it rarely floats -

barley passing for a boat)

for many a calendar year.

Numerous times I have pushed out to sea

to get away from land and the loaded gun to

find I am surrounded by debris.

At first launch I am filled with glee,

“I am free”,

I yell,

“I am free”

My craft has drifted me far,

though not far from home

far from any earthly tone.

It has taken me to unseen geography

To seas in my mind deprived

of crime and responsibility.

Many days and nights,

and suns and moons

pass; and I am singing a different tune.

Far from my motherbone,

still afloat now full of calamity,

come ugly thoughts of jealousy.

Oh how I long for land and all it’s messes.

For further I float, the more I see,

It’s not land I loath, it’s me.


The White Mountain

Snow leopard

High upon the mountain

Hiding in the white and the rock

With all the power to rip/crush flesh and bone

Peering through the sleet you see a fawn

And patiently you wait still-stone like

A marble statue

                     Till dawn

Refraining from pouncing

You weigh life and death

Knowing your power and your stature in the land

You sit, covered in the wet downfall, weighing the fawns life

Inhaling one more breath, you allow

The fawn to return home safe to it’s mother

With no blood to stain the

White snow covered



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