Slide show

Friday, March 30, 2012

Storm Stayed

Storm stayed
Isolated Suburban Island
Directionless even though
The Streets run north south

A crescent moon reaches
Reaches out to kiss mercury
Jupiter sinks to the horizon
Looking out from the dark side

Stormed stayed isolation
Walking in the crowd
Ghosts floating by
Drifting faces and crazy stares

Crescent moon reflecting
Tomorrow’s sunlight
Never seen from the dark side
Yesterday’s gods floating
Beyond the horizon

Stormed stayed in a crowd
Emotionalist faces drift by
Like they have already drowned
Under the weight of half truths
Questions left unanswered

Crescent moon smiling
A face above the clouds
Looking down at a blue sea
Slowly turning brown
A lifeless façade
As if it had a say

Hope in the future
Foreshadowing disaster
Stormed stayed in reality
Crescent moon slowly goes gray
Looking from the dark side
Ancient words in decay

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Artificial Freefall

A special moment
In an ordinary day
In an extra ordinary life
Can be different for some
Like an exhilarating fairground ride
An artificial thrill
On irrational turbulent sea
Starring hypnotically
In anticipation
As the wheels turn
Taking every one higher
Every one silent
Sitting in their artificial fear
Knowing they are safe
Thinking they are brave
Testing fate
On a ride in an artificial life
Oppressed taciturn mood
Premature jubilation
At the build in deceit
Sitting on the crest
As the ride seems to hesitates
Precautionary as the chain disengages
There is nothing left but freefall
Insouciance manner every one sits
As the ride let’s go
Artificial thrill
In an ordinary life
Exhilarating fairground ride
On an irrational turbulent sea
In an artificial destiny
Synthetic happiness simulated
In mock silence
Thinking it was intoxicating
Jubilation as everyone exits
Precautionary triumph rains
Miraculous artificial fear
For some the truth wanes
Freefall in an ordinary day
In an extra ordinary life
Laughing at fate
Exhilarating tease

Friday, March 23, 2012

Hope is an answer

Hope is an answer

Simple questions unanswered
Some things get lost
The simple truth is not good enough
One person’s delusion of fine
Turned into a façade
An illusion of integrity
Lost in trepidation
Is there a reason
A plan unaware

Is there a reason
A simple question unanswered
Simple truth
Not good enough
A person the delusion of fine
Façade of integrity
An opportunity misplayed

What is this reason?
People misplay these games
A competition of manipulation
Honesty thrust aside
Like smiles in the dark
Screaming cruel threats
As trust pushed aside

Hope is an answer
Tangible at times
Honesty will turn the tide
A cautious indiscretion
Smiles in the light
Coffee on the side
False laughter no longer
Humour drumming accurate
In time all wounds heal
Scar tissue visible inside
Overcoming proud
And one’s own mistakes
Excepting humanity
In others mistakes
Hope is an answer
Tangible at times

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Wake Me Up

Wake me up
From this promise
Of broken dreams
Echoing screams
From the King of cowards

The morning after
Calm and silent
Finding the wind
The final storm
Before moving on

Wake me up
From this nightmare
Of broken dreams
Echoing screams
In the night air

The wind calm and silent
Drama on the horizon
Waiting patiently
In this waiting room
Of pilled high regret

Wake me up
Tell stories with happy ending
Those good dreams
The ones no one remembers
But always wish for

Wake me up
From this promise
Of broken dreams
Echoing screams
From the King of cowards

Wake me up
From this nightmare
Of broken dreams
Echoing screams
In the night air

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

In this universe

In this universe

Is there a god?
Is there more than one?
Do they get together and watch us
From up above or down below

Do they watch in wonder
Testing to see how we react to the pain
Ambivalent when we are happy
Even when we don’t realize it
In our soul

Do they get together?
Place bets on the outcome
Fate a source of entrainment
Like children watching
Feeding at aquarium

Giggling in indifferent delight
Tumultuous voices
Echoing of the clouds
Staring at hypocrisy

Thinking we are the only ones
In this universe
As the past fly’s by
At the speed of light

Unnoticed into the future
Predestined as the gods
Laugh in silence
Preordained in our image

Monday, March 19, 2012

Walking through life

Walking through life
With a hole
To deep to comprehend
Ambivalent prodigal son
At the end of hope

Illusory estuary
In a suburban hive
Ambivalent devilment
In the eyes of nature

Fate speaks
Darwinian voice heard
Peripatetic migraine
Expensive to the soul

Hypocritical soliloquy
Ludicrous feudal rituals
Part of a prodrome
Pragmatic indifference

Carapace indignity
Metastasizingly proud
Receding horizons
Expected lagniappe

Foolish suggestions
Itinerant by nature
Incipient nauseas
Moral transgressions

Denigrate mischievous gauntlet
With a residue of anger
In the air
Walk away from the table of fate

The cards have been dealt
The bets have been placed
All you can do is laugh out loud
Walk away from the table

Friday, March 16, 2012


Spin the globe
See where it lands
Could it stop in Atlanta, George?
Birmingham, UK or Antioquia, Colombia

What would it be like to spend a week there?
Could you find what you’re looking for?
Maybe Queensland, Australia or anywhere in Spain
Would that answer all those questions?
That left everything empty

The globe spin stopping in mediocrity
Not the name on map
Huntsville, Alabama or Groningen
It's not the place that made you run
But what you lost within

Trying to fill the lost with air miles
Filling the well with images
From Romania, Brugherio or Bayern

Each place touching you
with all those smiles
from all those faces
the background the only thing different
reflected form those eyes

spin the globe
see where it lands
for distant places
pleased that you could land

Memories from Rome or Paris
And helping hands
Unaware they were rebuilding
This soul that was broken
Images pilled high
Pleased to touch every soul
Smiled at all the immaturity
Yet still willing to mend

Spin this globe
see If it stops spinning
someplace near
even those places call your name

It is not the places that rebuild
the people that make those names special
The images a bonus
A perk of life

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Descending into fog

Rationalizing fate
Dancing reality away
Does anyone notice all the disposable people?
Tip toeing near the edge
Staring at the abyss
Seeing their own reflect in the clouds

Everything is so clear up here
Above all the clouds
Sun sliding on the horizon
Descending into fog

Shadows elongate and submerge
As the temperature’s cold grip
Slowly blankets all that once was comforting
Bipolar distain
Dripping from those lips

The rhythm played out
Knuckles hit the bars of this cage
Knowing when to stop
As the words blend in colour
On the canvas of a page
Red dots of rage
Peek out from behind
The neutral blues of a calm sea
Highlighted in the ice grey clouds
The colours linger on a trouble horizon
Foreshadowing a life
Omnipresent schizophrenia

Everything is so clear up here
Above all the clouds
Sun sliding on the horizon
Descending into fog

Friday, March 9, 2012

More Random Rumbling

Some stories have to wait before they are told is some cases till the story is finished unfolding the characters die or for the dust to settle. At the very least till the characters have changed so much that they will not be able to recognize themselves. Every writer knows this as they have judge the timing of the story for effect. This story is like in some regards. Life can change in a slit second from the water drop building up in a faucet that it takes to it falls to the drain. A life can change in that time. Respect, integrity and perception can be so different with the words of truth and pain it can cause. The effect can be felt for a life time and the life time of our children all in the search of fifteen minutes of happiness or what we thought was happiness.
The police officer says the recorder is off but you know it is not. The police offer can lie, break the law, to get forbidden fruit in this country and it is perfectly legal here. The room was once white now a little yellow with age as the stains of unknown substance line the floor and half way up the fifteen foot ceiling to the camera in the corner. There are hand prints three on four feet below it. The table is screwed to the floor. The two chairs are made of wood and steel and stained in veracious colors weight 15 to 20 lbs each. The camera stares un-relentlessly as the police officers words blare in my head.

Where are you from? Silence

Where did you get that passport? Silence

Are you Canadian? Silence

Do you speak English? Silence

Why did you have this in your bags? A photo is tossed in front of me. Silence

The chair flies across the room and crashes in the corner under the camera. The sound echoes off the sound proof walls ending up screaming in my ears like bullets in a battlefield biting into my already head splitting headache. Random references that I don’t understand still pop into my psyche of city names, and I can only answer with silence. Jean Paul’s words are there don’t answer any thing you will may have to recant later. All I can do is add to the stains on the wall. The words swim as the wheels touch the ground and the thrusters screech in the cabin.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


Wondering connections
Eternity can be five seconds long
If the relationship is lame
Receiving mail from decay
Decomposing meanings

Measuring life in a glass
Enjoying feasts of sound
Another day cascades
Never is along wait
In this song
Needing something even when it is a mistaken
Gifts for the soul

Words can make the tears drip
Order the letters just so
Reflecting on their meaning
Deceiving in the silence
Sending one to laughter

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

We All Change

We all change
A little every day
A lot over time
The daily grind of living

Everything looks different
As the grinder eats the dawn
Spits out condescending deceit
Perspective disengaging

Counting true friendships
On the palm of one hand
Through the storms
Of this life

Pride and honesty
Melt like summer snow
Depending on the foundation
Dripping down a drain

Patronizing messages
From an idealistic past
Honesty can change everything
Shred the shield of lonely away

People change
A little everyday
In front of your eyes
Familiar strangers pulling away

Promises lost
The effects of this daily grind
Images of this decade
Tossed aside

We all change
A little every day
A lot over time
Breaking promises

It is easier to walk away
Frost’s "Well Travelled."
Than to walk a lonely road
Risk discomfort on the edginess of authenticity

On the warm comfort of genuineness
Flirting with reality
Offenses overlooked
Honesty hurts more

Seeing through the words
Letters meaning different things
Read upside down and backwards
Lining up just to fall down

We all change
A little everyday
The promises maybe we keep
Running away from broken dreams

Hope taunting on the sidelines
Gesturing fingers at fate
We all come crashing down
Smile through the tears

Laugh in the eyes of distain
Silently as it is harder to hear
They will need to stop talking
The clutter in their brain

They will strain to listen
As they run you down
Expecting you to lash out
To justify their own pain

On the edge of a icy road
She holds my spine in place
Saying don’t move it maybe fatal
Memories bring smiles

Glancing at the good life
We all end up on a table
Medicine walking through their protocol
Justifying a label

We all change
A little everyday
Smiling at the sunrise
The warm in this soul

Pride and honesty
Overcoming their decay
Meaning read upside down and backwards
Hope taunting even refusing to let go

Smiling at every sunset
As hope rushes in
We all change
This promise I will keep

Friday, March 2, 2012

Rambling on a delay in Toronto

Image walking towards customs and a man dressed in a suit approaches calling your name. How could anyone know who you are? I am tired and a little nervous as I have been up since three am and nervous because no one really answered your questions as you tried to find the correct door to for connecting flights. I can never sleep on a plane no matter the length of the flight. Put it down to fear as the people flying these planes as people you don’t know or trust. That and the only thing they ever seem to find is the black box when these planes crash. I bet the box is red anyway and why don’t they make the planes out of the same material as they do the black box. At least then the plane would… I know I digress.
Jean Paul introduces himself saying he has something that requires my attention in a side room. My stress level shots through the roof at this point as I am directed to an office between countries. The two tallest linemen type dudes that accompanied Jean Paul have flanked me. They close the door and ask me to sit. I don’t want to sit and I don’t want to be in this room with two giants that seem to block out any light. So I slowly sit down and ask nervously what the issue is. More like what F is going on man?
Jean Paul starts off by saying he is sorry for making me uncomfortable which does nothing to relieve the discomfort. He says my government requires my assistance for a job and hands me a diplomatic passport. There is a bag that must be handed to a face on a photo in O’Hare. As I ask the question “What the F….” the world seems to drift away. The mountains blocking the sun have put a needle into my arm.
The dream is weird to say the least, seven faces in seven cities in seven days. Guns, cars, one train and six planes between sun, clouds and rain all to bring me back to Jean Paul saying “Oh!  Your back!”.
What do you mean I am back? Last thing I recall is the Mountains and the needle. What is going on?
Well you seem to have taken a trip for your country and you go back to work tomorrow. I am at a loss and feeling like I need to toss some cookies on the desk in front of me. Looking down the clothes I am wearing is different. I have shoulder harness with a badge on it and a gun on. The two line men are sitting down across the room looking no less the mountains they are standing. There are no needles in my arm though which is an improvement I think. Jean Paul takes my passport away and asks me to hand over the gun. He tosses a new passport in front of me saying you’re free. It was issued this morning in Ottawa and is good for five years. The face on the second page looks different and older but the issue date throws me even more off balance. My head is swimming as it is but five years. I throw up there all over Jean Paul and the 5000 dollar suit.  This is the start of my story or the end of one story and the beginning of a new.  The Mountains one and two march me into a bathroom and wash my face ignoring all the questions.
Where am I?  
What is going on?  
Why did I have a gun?
“Sir! Wake up. You need to put your seat in a upright position we are about to land.”
I am sitting in a Air Cando jet in seat C2 on Flight AC1119 on February 26. Jean Paul a flight steward is saying you been sleeping Mr. Right. I shake my head. It seemed so real that dream. I never sleep on planes. Looking around the cabin two of the largest men I have ever seen are on either side of me.
The captain James O'Hare comes on the intercom saying the temp is -26 degrees outside as the windows  turns from clear to a fog.    
Write the Next Paragraph

Thursday, March 1, 2012


Eternity can be appreciated
Forever is to long
Future has security
In a sense
Before it is gone
If they don’t change
Change the gate
See you in a bit
Perhaps if the path
Has a guide
And definitions
On the sign posts
Colourful like paint
Walking by
All those clichés
One broken wing
Every word not done
Waiting to be heard
Never quite gone
Putting aside life and a job
When something else
Comes a long
Till it invades
Ones thoughts again
To perfection
One step closer
A glance at the good life
As a writer writes
And a painter chronicles
The rest of humanity groans on