I don my camouflage each fall
and head out to the hinterlands
where the miles make me feel small
among the pine and hardwood stands.

So through the dark I speed my way
beneath the late night moon and stars
well before first light of day
on lonely roads near bare of cars.

Past black woods and brooding glades
past houses with all windows black
with all asleep behind closed shades
long before dawn starts to crack.

You belong to Ontario as per you
The West is quite open... anyone can hit anyone.....a wrong doer on ones head ...rightly or wrongly ... it's well said
But as a kid we all do ....so many tricks ...smack ...shack and in bushes we till ----- gals and guys alike we spill..............
Should it debar our will ....as we become Seniors and Mature...
The Eastern part of the world is not as openly bravely outspoken ...as USA /CANADA

He won't go 'yes, yes'
as you spout some homegrown
mystical bullshit

It is not homegrown,
it is not common sense,
you forgot to question.

He doesn't think he's right,
he knows it.
No faith,
no lies,
just knowledge
he nullifies your comfort zone.

Why would you put up with this
arrogant old prick?
He without the authority of guns and bucks

Cogs with no difference,
slaves of indifference,
we forget,
we forget we are slaves.

These are the demarcation lines of hate,
The crude black daubs of a battle plan.

Unspoken rules of some other’s fate,
Silently inscribed by unseen hands.

And whom, do we suppose, lands the final blow?
Among the innumerable rain of fists immune
To the fire below.

Forged, wrenched, wrought – an old and heinous plan begins:
Unleashed: the thousand shards of violent delight

For those who come willing to sow and fight,
While high above the bloody heaven,

A sardonic watching master grins.

the mourning light
lays upon your face
spilling its sadness
wearing your grief

we hold on trying
to halt your slide
under our hands
leaves of skin flake
to float the breeze,
you are vanishing

smile lines are erased
a flawless mask
takes their place,
looking into the unknown
you are lost in dreams

each day a knife of anguish
carves at your mind
you've forgotten
the majesty of life
and a love all carry for you

poetry

designed
sublime
pretty, sometimes

yet, simply a vehicle
a word driven craft

certified and licensed
for transporting
minds

copious example
held aloft
the good life
shinning through

beneath the bitter milk
and sour bread
we tilled the salt
with toil and sweat

trickle aches
the open dreams
like runoff streams
and miles bred

porchlight nocturna
waiting for visions
from heaven
and whispers from
the grasses

hunting bat
on moth glass
chase

drink heartily
these chaste
allowances

A disassembled life of pictures, books and curiosities,
scattered all about.
Huge jigsaw puzzle meaning little at a glance.
The reason for each piece recalled as dusted off and
packed within a pasteboard box taped tightly shut.
Each box stacked neatly in the center of the room,
waiting patiently to be gathered up and carried off to
some new lodging near or far away.
Their contents emptied in due time and
transformed into a life again.

I thought poor … like pee
of those sullen minds

till I met and read ye
you held my hand….
many try to kill…
and upon others soil till …

that is the way with this wicked world…
we all know…
how the real ones perish…
whilst others glow…
and so it's time to surface here ..
and form a tracer… like a bullet...
and so may it be the violet...

I held to my feet
dug deep ...
as I learnt then
when we did meet

HOUR GLASS
A sudden winter chill
stills the night
and steals the fire of day.
my light grows dim
the past fades into oblivion.
there is no place to hide
and I am lost in Time.