I am a number that’s been picked and then released,
Signed and dotted twice and
Sealed strong with our family crest.
This is destiny in the hands of an entrepreneur,
Folding up the corners and
Wrapping tight the family chest.
Watching lights twinkle in a glimmer of urbanized hope,
Shaking off flood water and
Minding the high level mark.
Without a standard ruling system we are all zeros and ones;
Counting guides and shutting eyes
And a program we just press run.
Being able to take over the heart of an ancient soul was creating pressure within the young boys heart.
He saw wisdom, he saw truth, but he also saw the windows of time shift from opportunity to rest, from an ounce of hope to pains that lifted one awake shortly after midnight.
A silent lake was a window.
Like glass, a heart is precious; always suspended at the edges of tomorrow picturing faint smiles and implied intentions.
Here the young boy clutched tightly to his grandmothers pointer finger, understanding conscious kindness in her forever eyes that always found his quietly.
They were together often for this reason, but also her lemonade tasted like sweet nectar.
He would remember this as time would slowly reduce rations of nectar but still filled full with every bit of love.
Only mid-summer’s sun and a lazy bumblebee were present as Grandma smiled and laid her head against the sun chair, closing her eyes.
The young boy drew a shape of a heart on the dusty table top before he walked down the steps and out into the yard where he found his foot soldier, Rusty, the valiant family golden retriever that kept watch over the young boy while Grandma rested her smiling heart – shaded, but in the sun.
Don’t confuse my verbs with my dreams
It’s a dangerous and wild scape to walk upon
With high hopes, hard work, long nights,
And milestones cajoled by the lot.
Refrain from imprinting your impression
With adjectives and monosyllabic rhetoric.
Stick to the purest of truths,
– The thick in this stock,
The essence of this admission –
And rumble on, like a night train.
Legions of piping bands
Tunics bedazzled with
Ten foot peacock feathers
Rubies hemmed with gold
Chin straps and rosy lips
While out of breath
Gasping for breath
Left right left
Left right left
To the tune of ancient mariners
Ramshackled by a recent gale
Lonely and bygone
But strapped with infinite hope
Discovering smiles
On passing children
Who stop and stare
Slack jawed and dreaming
Holding mother’s pant leg close
And the song chirps loudly
As all of us dream
Focused determination spreads
About each members mane
They walk the fine line
Between 7th and Fraser
15th and Vine
On past these streets
In a cold autumn breeze
Biting into saturated spectators
With empty bottles of hot chocolate
Rattling along with cold children
And dispelled souvenirs
To lose is time
To sing is drown
To laugh is lost
Wither my mind
To hard is cruel
To long is wish
To watch is hope
Uncover my soul
To wash is dirt
To hunt is life
To feed is health
Deliver my body
It was gravity that pulled apart my soul
Placing memories into the future
Scattered across untrod landscapes of distant lovers
And pulling down on the edges of my smile
-Here I was thinking I had answers
Solutions to problems surfacing on my mind
Yelling at my little conspirators-
I am a little pinnacle of hard edges and rounded corners
Flashing my bright colours at the kaleidoscope
Busy with horrors that meet my sight symmetrically
Echoing late memories lingering amongst cobwebs
-Did I plan this with my own innocence
Or was it ignorance that left me helpless
Learning from my cold teachers with ill humour-
Crashing down into piles of oozing thoughts
Broken secrets and unanswered love notes
This is not a rehearsal for faint memories
This is a beacon of hope in a sea of madness
A dull dreary day soaks into my conscience
Forcing me to slumber around for hours
Listlessly observing time tick by
Relentlessly wondering what next I should do
As I forcefully tick off tasks
One by one as the day mopes on
I watch bubbles develop inside the old glass of water
One by one they float to the surface
Releasing from water the morsels of goodness
Leaving behind some stale and stagnant
Capsule of soon-to-be-down-the-drain
Dirty plates and licked clean cutlery
Optimistic floats through the air here
Thudding with a dull tone into the stratosphere
Where it slowly envelopes the soul
Steps forward into time with head held high
Hoping for a moment that will erupt like thunder
Catapulting the now into very near future
So onwards we go, upwards we soar
The hope fills our sails, the uproar begins
Children gather round, adults stop at their works
The bustle and hurry comes to a halt
Patrons within distance strain with their ears
Warm fuzzy light pulls at all to be reckoned
Stock market fury is hardly comparable
Its ups and its downs
Make up the excitement
However, the flat, dull tones of
Flat lining charts
Leave a bitter taste
Stinking up my mouth
Forcing me to move on
As a tidbit of wisdom
Ignore the futile attempts
By promoters to announce
Unprecedented results
Of which nobody cares
Except big-wig sales men
Hoping to scrap together
Something of their career
Some little morsel of hope
Keeps them hanging on to
5 percent profits
For ever and ever
Until the end of time and beyond
But, the trader, the trader
He’s fueled with desire
He’s running with fire
Riding the backs
Of the ups and the downs
Each with their own
Grand scheme of sure victory
One may be right
The other one wrong
But balls to the walls
All look the same to me
Look for the singers
Mind the gap of the droppers
Buy into the trend
Sell into the trend
You’ll never manage
In spite all your predictions
To sell at the top
To buy at the bottom
Be happy with a gain
Just not 5 percent
Forget about your losses
With one swift action to sell
Ride your winners
With sharp pointy spurs
Sounds of the night circle ’round and around like the flowering budgies that flap on through the night.
I await on the mantle, a picture of enjoyment.
Legs curve and the back bends forward, this is the pose of an elegant dancer. She walks and she hustles and she whispers in madness. She whispers secrets only lovers can handle.
Too late, I whisper, hunching my back and looking deep into the ceiling with elated joy. A fool only knows the answer after the call has been made.
Hope always exists, up here on the mantle. So much excitement and far to little action; the dancers they taunt me, the singers they enchant me.
I await on the mantle, as a picture of enjoyment.
Through these tears shine happiness so true
Struggling with all their might to break on through
Soaking the countenance with unabashed pride
And plundering the graceful present with sobbing
Last of all the Angel who never breaks free
Floats above the left over games like Athena
Voices whispering into my right ear of hope
Surprise visits at opportune times
Wheels spinning along the dusty gravel road
Forward the time swaps backward, again
Listlessly awaiting high noon in a fashionable way
Counting the tear drops as they hit the floor