Laps

Laps

Hearts choose

Egos bruise
Stubborn minds
light the fuse
A battle of wills
that I would win,
and I would lose
I contended
while you pretended
Yet, it was me
who had to choose

Broken flowers
Passionate showers
The uncertainty
filled my hours
Ups and downs
losing their steam,
and their odd powers
I would retreat
from your defeat
Yet, it was me
who still brought flowers

Love and pain
Loss and gain
Writing laps
around the same refrain
Weathered words
between the lines,
between the sun and rain
I could buffer
your claim to suffer
Yet, it was me
who felt the pain

Until the truck pulled up

to load up my life,
once again.

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Retreat

“Is it contact or just reaction?
…Is it living, or just existence?
It takes a little more persistence
To get up and go the distance

— Neil Peart – Something For Nothing


Retreat

I contended
while you pretended
Yet, it was I
who had to choose…

Hearts choose
Egos bruise
Stubborn minds
light the fuse
A battle of wills

that I would win,
and lose


I retreated

while you depleted
Yet, it was I
who still brought flowers…

Broken flowers
Passionate showers
The uncertainty
filled my hours
Ups and downs
losing their steam,
their odd powers


I rejected
while you reflected
Yet, it was I
who felt the pain…

Too much pain
Nothing to gain
Constant inconsistency
driving me insane
The truck pulled up
to load my life,
once again.

March 26/17


“I’ve been burdened with blame,
trapped in the past for too long,

I’m moving on”

— Rascal Flatts —

Past

“So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light…
Just promise me we’ll be alright
But the ghosts that we knew made us black and all blue
But we’ll live a long life
And the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view
And we’ll live a long life”
‘Ghosts That We Knew’
– Mumford & Sons


Past

I took a chance
and let you into my heart.
I let all of my feelings show.
Uprooted my life,
for me and you,
but little did I know.


I discovered your wounds,

written in your own words,
there, for anyone to see.
Cuts and bruises,
vital accumulation,
scars, that you never showed me.

The breadth of your struggles,
so much I didn’t know,
spread across my screen.
Instead of in my mind.
Instead of in my heart,
where they should have been.

I took your determination,
for never again,
as a personal affront.
Your learned defensive posture
as harsh belligerence,
 you just being you, being blunt.

Your fierce independence
was stubborn vulnerability.
Your frustration, was our fate.
The voice of your experience,
sad and specific,
finally heard, but far too late.

I would have tried harder
to let you speak to me,
to let your words get through.
I could have helped you 
confront your demons,
instead of confronting you.

 It became impossible
to live with you
when you wouldn’t let me in.
Hard for us
to start over,
with nowhere to begin.

Had I only known
 the slippery slope
  of dealing with your past.
Known that I would struggle
to wade through
the depths
and dangers of your doubt.

I still would have wanted you.
I still could have loved you.
I would have understood.
I could have pulled you out.


I chose the challenge,

and gave you my heart.
Let all of my feelings show.
Uprooted my life,
to be with you,
but little did I know.


If only I had known,
I could have earned your trust.
I would have opened up my mind.
Instead, I read of our demise,

   determined before we met,
 by those you left behind.

Takers, martyrs, bullies,
sad and hurtful people,
there on my screen.
Instead of in our talks.
Instead of in my thoughts,
where they should have been.

 Until I read it,
I never once heard you 

refer to your mother as
Mom.
In fact, I barely knew
where all of the hurt
and resentment
were from.

Never could I picture, you,
together with your ex.

Made no sense to me at all.
And, until I read the name,
  typed in bold hostility,
I had never heard of Paul.

Bitterness and bravado.
 Broken pieces of the past,
clenched inside your fist.
   Our time, our spirit,
spent fighting with your ghosts.
One more added to the list.

It’s tough to share
with someone
who barely gives.
Hard to live
with someone
who reluctantly lives.

Had I only known
the bleak history
of your emotional pain.
The depths to which
those before me
had sunk inside your mind.
I still would have wanted you.
I still could have loved you.
I would have understood.
I could have been more kind.

I gave you my heart.
Had I only known…

 

 

Guns

          GUNS 

Justify them however you like,
  guns are made to kill.
 
   Made even more deadly
     in the hands of the vengeful,
       of the criminal, of the mentally ill.
         Guns will always find their way 
            into the hands of those who will.
              Inevitably, into the wrong hands, 
                  despite the latest greatest bill.
                     And always at the wrong time…
                        because guns are made to kill.

                           Those stubbornly blind say,
                             “Guns don’t kill. People do.”
  
                                 This weapon finds death.
                                    In the sights of the spiteful,
                                      of the careless, of the self-chosen few.
                                         It doesn’t matter what you say.
                                           It is mainly a matter of who.
                                             So open up your obstinate eyes.
                                               It could happen to yours, or you.
                                                  Guns alone may not shoot people…
                                                     but only people with guns do.

                                                         Defensive or offensive,
                                                            it is a scary slippery slope.

                                                              Guns are firmly entrenched
                                                                 in the arms of your nation,
                                                                   of law enforcement, of those who guard hope.
                                                                      Yet, for every group with the best intentions, 
                                                                         there is one more who can’t cope.
                                                                            Manufactured for a single purpose.
                                                                               Short-sighted, in every scope.
                                                                                  The hunter, or the hunted…
                                                                                     it’s a scary, slippery slope.

                                                                                         Guns are made to kill.
                                                                                            They will always find a way.
                                                                                              No matter what we do.
                                                                                                 No matter what you say.

A scary, slippery slope.

Remembered

Remembered

   I had a dentist appointment on Thursday. After I had parked my car I looked down at the ticket, and I remembered. 
   I felt a wave of anxiety come over me as I realized just where I was, and on what day. 
   I remembered, and I paused for a moment, before going up those stairs.
   I remembered, in a haze, as I sat, quiet in the dental chair.
I remembered many things in a rush of cold reality.

992212_725285137497757_539786606_n
I remembered that it was September the 10th.

I remembered that it was the date he died.
I remembered, thinking how fast that two years had gone by.

I remembered that this was where he had his fall.
I remembered getting the phone call at work.
I remember seeing him later that day at my sister’s.
I remembered how battered and bruised he was.
I remembered how shocked we were that he was released from emergency.
I remembered how proud and how stubborn he was.
I remembered just how much that I missed him.

I remembered two heart wrenching weeks in the hospital. 
I remembered the dedication of Dorry.1174411_721955574497380_563150802_n
I remembered the strength and humour of Gerry.
I remembered the seesaw of conversations with Tim.
I remembered the innocent sincerity of Anna and Erin.
I remembered the love and support, and soft hands of Lana.

I remembered his amazing comeback.
I remembered his helpless confusion.
I remembered when we decided to let him go.
I remembered saying goodbye.
I remembered picking out a casket.


I remembered dinner the night before the funeral
I remembered the breathtaking sky above Lake Huron.
unnamed
I remembered all of us staying at the same hotel.
I remembered the stories and drinks, smiles and tears.

I remembered what I wrote for the graveside.
I remembered that Lana had to read it for me.
I remembered my girls holding each of my hands.

I remembered, smiling, that Alec was there too.
I remembered people leaving for the airport.
I remembered saying goodbye.

I remembered looking back as we drove out of town.

As I stepped down from the chair, our dentist Dave, I am sure unaware of the date or circumstances, asked me to “say hi to the girls” for him…and he said, “I miss having your father Norm come to see me”.
Again I paused, and he knew just how much that meant as his eyes caught mine.
“Me too Dave.”  I closed the door behind me.

Condescending

         Condescending

I hear it far too oftenIMG_20150710_175055[1]
And I shudder to the bone
People, speaking down to people
In a condescending tone

Experts, or so they think
On every single subject known
They read it or heard about it once
So, there’s a condescending tone

Discussions are rendered pointless
Opinions matter, but theirs alone
Never are they actually listening
Then, the condescending toneIMG_20150710_175544[1]

Everything has to be just so
Valid options are only their own
It’s their way or the highway
Hence, the condescending tone

It’s a sure way to push me away
Each word spouted makes me moan
I associate just hearing their name
With their condescending tone

So now I simply avoid them
Don’t even consider answering the phone
I see their number, I hear their drivelIMG_20150710_184225[1]
And that condescending tone

I suppose if you are reading this
And you fit into that horrendous zone
You are now speaking condescendingly
About my condescending tone

So, you are now subjecting someone else
To your irritating, nails on a chalkboard drone
You, You…are a double negative, personified
You…with your never-ending, self-centering,
mind bending, touching every nerve ending,
common sense offending, accidentally called
a fax machine that’s sending…
condescending tone

Guns

                     GUNS

Justify them however you like,
guns are made to kill.

Made even more deadly
in the hands of the vengeful,
of the criminal, of the mentally ill.
Guns will always find their way
into the hands of those who will.
Inevitably into the wrong hands
despite the latest, greatest bill.
And always at the wrong time
because guns are made to kill.


Those stubbornly blind say,
“Guns don’t kill. People do.”

This weapon finds death
in the sights of the spiteful,
of the careless, of the self-chosen few.
It doesn’t matter what you say,
it is mostly a matter of who.
So open up your obstinate eyes,
it could happen to yours, or you.
Guns alone may not shoot people,
but only people with guns do.


Defensive or offensive,

it is a scary slippery slope.

Guns are firmly entrenched
i
n the arms of your nation,
of law enforcement, of those who guard hope.
Yet for every one with the best intentions
there are three more who can’t cope.
Manufactured for a single purpose,
short-sighted, in every scope.
The hunter or the hunted,
It’s a scary slippery slope.


Guns are made to kill,
they will always find a way.
No matter what we do
no matter what you say.

It’s a
scary
slippery
slope.

                                                                                                            

Spite

                 Spite


Bitter and unforgiving

Imbedded in how you speak
Stubborn and so hurtful
 First instinct of the weak

Malicious pointed words
Constantly pointed finger
Damage you can’t rescind
Resentment that will linger

Spite makes you smaller
A grudge, poison to the soul
An ego guarding its territory
Arrogance digging a hole

Rooted in feeling superior
A symptom of something geneticTears bed
An excuse for the narrow-minded
To be petty and pathetic

Paralyzing emotions
Anger and especially spite
Stuck under the weight of words
Unwilling to do what’s right.
Still so full of negativity
 Still so much pent-up hate
Accept what life has dealt you
Because soon might be too late.

Bitter and unrelenting
Forgotten what it’s all about
Difficult and missing the point
Ugliness turned inside out

Anger so very misguided
An all-encompassing rage
Unable to forget or forgive
Refusal to turn the page

Insufferable and exacting
Spite consumes you like a cancer
Irreplaceable time spent selfishly
Questions you refuse to answer

You will look back with regret Grave
Stop living life as a quitter
Bitter and alone without your kids
And with them… just bitter

Paralyzing emotions
Anger and especially spite
You will be lost in your darkness
Until you realize there is light.
Let go and try the positive
Let go of all that hate
Accept what life has dealt you
Because soon might be too late.

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