I know the day will come around,
not long after I have gone away,
notebooks like this one will be found
hand written poems I penned one day.

Maybe a grandchild or a son
going through a closet or a trunk
will by mere chance then come upon
plain rhyming verse among the junk.

Will they pause to read them all
or peruse even just a few?
maybe they'll read "Winter's Call"
and think some others worth a view.

I feel the swell of your thigh
the bus motor rushing
the city swirling in lights
beyond our blue bathe
of night setting

the streetcars thick trundle
in the centre lane
the arbitrary deposit of tail
lights like lipstick blotted
in the mists

your have magic in your
veins pumping through
your heart
the bright earrings sway
the doors hiss
and the wipers bump

we will turn the clock
away on the nightstand
and listen to the music
play

i thought you know,
all my feelings for you..
but you don't think so,
said it wasn't true.

i thought you know,
i'll never let you go..
but you're not thinking so..
said a resounding "NO".

you're high..i'm low?
you're good..i'm not?
you're more..i'm less?
you're phrase..i'm dot?

a smile on your face
sends me signs that you already know,
but i only got one slap on my face,
damn!! i thought you know.

the NRA's creed goes like
this "guns don't kill people,
people do", true enough but
you forgot the word intent
in your analysis as you sanctify
the second amendment right
to bear arms

i know a man who says words
don't hurt people, their reactions
do, true enough though i know
enough
to know a man's intent to
hurt and that makes all the
difference in the world

Sometimes you read
Of never ending love
Where couple lives
Happily ever after

The odds, submerged
Bitterness overlooked
Frustration and tears
Run down the face

This love sees, not blind
And knows what is right
Alert to ignore the wrong
When feelings overwhelm

Strength of love measured
In kilos by span and weight
Can carry the world, entire
Like Atlas, map on the globe

Minuteman…

Who really knows us the persons
who are set to be the unknowns
many mystics have claimed to
know but we are of the real

Can anyone hear, have we also
became voiceless articulators

A shout in anger can hit walls even
bring down a host of bingo callers

But still the shout in anguish to
walls that don’t have solidity
may never startle Doves

Society bigots tend to placate us with
morals while we trip guilt and turn
I say F… it we need our own voice
they don’t heed our morals

Long, are the shards of morning light
as they creep slowly into my room,
splaying particles of hope to my right
to my left, the shadows spell doom.

However long I've been sleeping
matters not, as the sun starts to fleck,
across my tea that's still steeping
wish I didn't have this pain in my neck.

today, just like everyday has begun
starts calmly, as hope shines on me,
what's transpired yesterday can't be undone
and, that knowledge alone sets me free.

bashful, I hide between
pages in a book

and alone
I surf black seas of night
ride the tide of stars
and wash upon the shore
of moon-flower blooms
dilating my eyes

I dive from mountaintops
call out the names of gods
climb through desert desolation
as if by
one grain of sand at a time

and I am like dust
that floats aimlessly
in some solitary spin

what if everything were perfect
exactly as it is
since you are awake
to read and understand this poem
and your life is not all that bad
because you're not hungry or thirsty
and you have a bed in which to sleep
and your lover is good,
your children love you and
your friends respect you

yeah!, I know your type
contrarian to the bone
one or two compatriots
scheming, conspiring
contriving ways to make
a fool of the world
its ways
and most every one else in it
soon you'll greed for a following
start generating bigger and bigger noise
garnering attention
gathering only catcalls
and guffaws

"why won't anyone listen!?"