The Maple Trees

(and we bought our home....)

I could never leave my quiet street,

Its maple trees all afire

In the fall,

The vibrant character

Of its people,

Of its houses.

I could make tracks on a million streets,

Leave my print

In fallen leaves,

Leave my scuff marks

In new Spring mud,

In wet cement.

But I know where to find home,

On a gentle, unremarkable street,

Full of the little comforts I need,

Familiar voices, well-known faces,

Receptive hearts, clear minds,

And the wrap-around glow

Of a place I recognize as Sanctuary.

Breaking Rocks In The Sun

(And then I met Joe....)


I survived the ravages of poverty,
Did my time in the Hell of the Projects,
I learned to work the welfare system
Just enough to keep my little family alive.
I crawled up from the very bottom,
Left behind many who chose
To love life in the septic tank.
I even walked away
From my own marriage
Because I knew he was content
With that way of death.

Poverty is a prison,
There is no time off
For good behaviour,
No parole, no pardon.

But there is always Hope-
And I held onto it with a vise-like grip,
Counting the days, the weeks, the months...
The years...

Then I met a fellow inmate,
And we made an escape plan,
We kept it secret,
Knowing those who were institutionalized
Would do all they could to help us fail.
Slowly, painfully, we dug.
Every inch a struggle,
Every breath choked with dirt,
Every muscle strained to its limit,
We dug.  We fought, We hoped.

And then, glorious Light!
We broke free, into the bright sun,
And we ran, and vowed to never go back.

The howls and shrieks from our former associates
Raised an alarm, sirens blaring, guns drawn,
We were hunted by guards
Who were no less twisted and rotted inside
Than the people they lorded over.

But we were under strong protection,
And little did anyone know,
We had friends on the outside
Who helped us along
The Underground Road to Stability, to Comfort.

And now, we stand,
Free, unchained
From the shackles of misery,
Still with hope, full of life,
And we know there is no force on Earth
That can steal this unbridled power
Of two who have served their time.

Run The Gauntlet

This is on a brighter note.  I don't know exactly what it is about this one, but I've always been rather fond of it.  It's simple, it's light, it captured something I was feeling at that moment.


Run The Gauntlet

In my car, driving, smoking,
Smiling, laughing,
eating grit, spitting,
tapping on the steering wheel
to a song I love called "Driver's Seat"

Can't ignore the beauty
of this day, early Summer,
this back country road
flanked on each side by trees
in full, leafy bloom.

Running the gauntlet of Green,
for the love all that is still green,
drive faster just to see more,
What a day, what a perfect day
To be alive, to be right here.

Lift me, carry me, upwards, onwards,
wings of Summer warmth,
Sun viewed through closed eyes,
face uptilted, receiving light,
energy, hope, happiness.

In my car, driving,
Smiling,
Moving,
Living,
Running the Gauntlet of Green.

Monumentality

Loyal Turmoil,
I feel that my insides are coils,
Water too close to boiling,
Pulled too taut, straining,
I will try refraining
From explosive obscenities.
Fear is the enemy
And wrath my ally,
Where all the power lies,
I will try, though, to keep the beast at bay
To spare anyone who may
Have never been exposed to my brutality.

Caged Rage,
It has torn a hole through the pages,
And now a war is waging
Between that evil fiend Reality
And the carefully constructed Beauty
Of the creation in my head,
And me, without tears to shed,
Only seething anger while
All I love is defiled,
Tainted beyond repair,
Until I have nowhere
To disengage myself from
Everything and everyone.

Riding on the upswing,
Ah, the tumultuous joy it brings!
A punishing wave of confusion,
Delusion and seclusion,
Self-inflicted mayhem
Will bring me absolution.

My Blood Turns To Ice

After a while, a numbness settles in
Absorbs in the skin as you begin
To realize all that you've been through,
All that you've seen has been
Filtered and washed and lost in translation,
So you take a stab at turning it off
Just to have time to process what you're learning
But your view is askew because what you
Know deep in your gut is it's all lies.

It's all lies, and it's all pain and it's all rain,
Blood black-red rain pouring into your eyes,
Gods, it makes your heart ache inside,
Pierced by the lances and bludgeoned with maces,
Pissed upon, ridiculed, spit in your face,
It's beyond sin, or blasphemy,
The most sacrilegious act one could commit.

And I cannot fathom why anyone anywhere
Would believe that being deceived is better
Than knowing the truth.
How depraved.
How indecent,
How sad.
What a testament
To modern, enlightened
And well-bred new man.

If you found me angry, I will not be sorry,
Nor will I be made to feel guilty or wrong,
I fully intend to make you understand
I'm not buying this shit anymore.
It's time to move forward,
To start changing the future
Because no one deserves what's in store.

Archive Digging

I'm going back now, back to my recent past, exploring my older poetic works and journal entries, (in actual journals, mind you!) so the next several posts will be stuff I rediscovered.  During the Bush years, I was angry.  My poetry reflects that.  Before Joe, I had a tough time, too, and that shows up as well.  So all was not always light and sunshine and happy and peace in my world.  Anyway, please enjoy these slices of my history, and I will try to include the better times in there, too.  Here's the first Bush era work, but sometimes, even today, I find it relevant.  I give you...

Exit Strategy

Why the struggle?
Why the fight?
Why the spike
driven into the skull
again and again?
No reprieve, no relief,
no signs of decency, humanity,
just angry voices,
gritted teeth and clenched fists,
seething and straining,
but never gaining
control over a hopeless situation.

Spitting blood and fire,
wrath, ire, deep desire
to see some change, any change
in direction, a flicker
while I just get sicker
every day watching
the horror show unfold around me.

And where is your god,
or my fellow man?
A hand, please.
We're all trapped,
drowning in quicksand.
Solid ground is a myth,
and I'm not convinced
Any part of this nightmare is real.
How could it be?
How can there be
bottomless apathy,
unfathomable misery,
brutal inequality,
complete incivility?

I don't want to wander
lost in the darkness any longer,
I cannot stand on the shore
and watch us all sinking,
gasping, choking, thinking
that help is coming.
It doesn't feel right
observing the plight-
Everyone I know
losing the struggle,
losing the fight,
losing the strength,
the will to stand
and face an enemy
who refuses to be seen,
refuses to come clean
and reveal its treachery.

An answer, a sign,
is all I need,,
a reason to believe
that the struggle, the fight,
has some point,
some conclusion,
an end that does not involve
Total annihilation.

At The Boat Docks

A pocket full of rocks,
and whatnots, beach glass,
fresh water clam shell,
Oh, look!  A yellow finch!
and baby goslings!
The winds whipping the river
into white caps and waves lapping,
Giant puff clouds casting shadow
then sun, then shadow, and sun again.

Past crocus and daffodil, forsythia and hyacinth,
Now tulip and lilac and azalea and lily of the valley,
My world dances today,
full of green and growing things,
A wet mutt, with self-satisfied grin,
eying the geese as they drift closer,
He will give chase should they wander too near,
And grin happily when he swims back.

Daydream weather, dry and bright,
Sweet breeze filled with crabapple blossom,
Gentility in the air, reprieve from the harshness,
Time to breathe, to truly see.
Sit and watch the sun through closed eyes,
letting warmth recharge my brain.

In the rarity of moments like this,
a glimpse of what heaven must be,
An eternity of musing
on the shores of a sun-sparkled river,
Home, yes, home.  As it should be.

Soggy Feet

And the rains came,
They came and stayed
And washed away
The traces of sad faces,
The remnants of apathy,
Rains of epic notoriety,
Gone down now in infamy,
Falling, dropping hard and soft,
Pelting, driving, misting, gathering
In deep, muddied pools
On streets and stoops and
Grassy fields, unyielding rains.

That first Spring exploded into green,
But by early Summer, towns were drowning,
Overtaken by torrents, weeping,
Gnashing of teeth, people of
The wet, besodden, downtrodden,
No longer awed by the power,
But beaten down, by the steady
Drumbeats of the rains.

Skies cracked open hopelessly,
Eyes cast heavenward helplessly,
All became pale, muted,
Dulled, lulled, a quiet hush
Of collective despair.  Where
Once stood houses and roads,
Now rivers and lakes and
Deepening seas with great swells.

And still they came, Gods wept,
The rains, they stayed forever and a day,
Cleansing land of human handiwork,
Sweeping off the planet man's
Futile attempts at permanence.
Summer to Fall to Winter to Spring again,
Never relenting, the rains.

And still it rains, those who remain
Stay to say they saw the day
The Sun came back to us.
Every new morning of grey,
And still they say...
...one day...