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

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

Eternity

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

watching your religion

Watching your religion

As you are Canadian

 you should understand

the meaning  of nice

we seem to hit hardest on ice

take that Dragon lady

what would Phil say to that

one standing in front

maybe some day

maybe it was yesterday

as the squirrels play

running in the snow

the game flies by

all it takes is one shot

to change the score

looking through a crystal ball

fate will knock everyone down

even when Carlos looks on

staring  a glassy stare

watching your religion

as you are Canadian

you should understand

the meaning of nice

doing nothing is winning

a bigger victory

and no lost face

even when the score is lopsided

there is symmetry in silence

a smile kills with love

we seem to hit hardest

when there is ice

An Angel Stares

Light danced across my eyes
Even though they were closed
I felt warmth on my brow
Looking up to spread wings
And an Angel looking down
Smelling like fresh cut flowers
Where have you been?
Light played a reflective game
Dancing on the walls
As it flowed through crystal doors
A quiet calm settles on the mind
Words of wisdom flow
Rising with the steam
As the sun heats the marble
Sleep is over with the dawn
An Angel stares
Around the room
Following one’s eyes
As you meander
A stroll of wonderment
The path chosen
A path clear
What a refreshing sleep
Now that it is done
Like yesterday

Bela Foto

Simple complexity
Bohemian serendipity
Karma opportunity
Options implied
Snap gone
Prospect art
Hope

Over the Edge

Looking over the edge
Staring down
Wondering why
anyone would hang on

the sun shines down
casting a shadow long
warming the soul
burning the skin

hanging over the edge
wondering why
anyone would hang on
staring at the blue sky

the aroma is refreshing
marking a time line
memories of laughter
all the good times and bad

hanging over the edge
glancing down
thinking it’s not that extreme
fingers start to slip

music blasts in the distance
like a familiar stranger
rhythm dancing recall
grasping on hope

clinging on the edge
refusing to let go
fatigue sets in
on the cliffs of Hades

one finger than two
than in an instant
the music, sun and sky
twist out of control

Awake standing tall
Hades far below
Staring up into the blue
The sun reflecting off you

The aroma of coffee freshly brewed
As you step further away for Hade
And remains of Dis
Let Persephone and Pluto play
With out you