Flying low under the radar.

Anonymity still a thing.

Your obsessions here are going far.

No comfort do they bring.

You were singing in the spotlight.

To applause and some disdain.

When I was writing in the darkness.

In contemplation of your pain.

I remember how you suffered.

All the horror, that big brain.

Waves that crashed are now outnumbered.

The counting stops or goes insane.

I’m not saying I have the answers.

To finally bring you peace of mind.

Just float back down to earth, old friend.

You’ve done well, leave that behind.

We were taught about this love.

From those who never knew.

They had heard the stories of.

From the dreamers and the few.

These survivors of those wars.

Who heard this from above.

To teach in words and metaphors.

To live, lie, and say I love.

I’ve heard them speaking of.

Just not certain or so sure.

I said I don’t believe in love.

So altruistic and so pure.

There is color in the flowers.

And moisture in the rain.

The rocks are hard and heavy.

And the soil holds all pain.

I’ve been dancing in the meadows.

I don’t dare to stay too long.

And only under darkened skies.

Where the thunder plays my song.

No more confab with the foolish.

Or the prideful, boastful voice.

I take it to the world at large.

And pretend I have a choice.

Sometimes, I miss delusions.

In the busy city streets.

And the chaos and confusions.

But not the phones and texts and tweets.

They held on with great fury.

Leaving marks of letting go.

And the blood it stained: don’t worry.

All scars heal, don’t you know?

They were courting with disaster.

Then again, was nothing new.

On the street, he walked right past her.

There were smiles. Resentments grew.

They got old and lost all memories.

In the end, they up and died.

They were buried by their enemies.

And in their eulogies, they all lied.

Several weeks ago, I saw Frank at 1a.m. in the 24-hour A&W in Parkdale. I asked him how he was, and he first said “ok”

I sensed something was off and pressed my senior citizen friend further to find out that he had lost his place and was indeed homeless.

Then I didn’t see him for a while…

I saw Frank again today, and he was looking well. He told me he was in another neighborhood and paying twice as much rent as before.

We exchanged pleasantries before I departed he said, “You know homelessness is a business, right?

There is something in the water.

In the air like flakes of snow.

Take the narrow to the broader.

I’m just learning letting go.

You are cold, and you are distant.

It’s all tell now and no show.

If I were just more consistent.

I could teach this letting go.

There’s a moral to this story.

Builds a plot like mold will grow.

There’s no need to say you’re sorry.

You taught me well this letting go.

I am cold and I am distant.

I’m all tell now and no show.

You teach well, so persistent.

Such a gift this letting go.

Jack was a career criminal at a time when him and his associates lived by rules and codes…

He was north of 60 when I met him and he swore he wasn’t going back inside.

Jack told me, “Everybody thinks they can go through life and not live by any rules. I’m here to tell you that you’re going to have to live by at least 2 rules.

Everybody knows knows rule # 1; however, very few know rule # 2; and… Rule # 2 is never shit in your own nest.”

It’s been 40 years since I’ve seen Jack and I like to think he managed to stay true to his rules.

The Ancients started singing.

In an unfamiliar key.

The Stoners started dancing.

And staring at just me.

The Republicans they were drowning.

Outside the Democratic waves.

The Angel’s started humming.

Just some notes from Jesus’ saves.

A voice spoke said, “You’re dreaming.”

I screamed, “Please go away.”

They kept shaking in the evening.

Through the night and brand new day.

Now, the Ancients are together.

They are smiling like they knew.

Like they’ve known about forever.

And a different shade of blue.

They spoke, “Just keep on going.”

And I drifted deep in song.

Until I woke to someone crying.

I guess I had been away too long.

Was flickering in that distance.

Or was just my point of view.

No closer than your resistance.

Or my disdain for something new.

I’ve been looking for distraction.

From all that’s tired, bowed and old.

With no additions by subtraction.

And all the love is frozen cold.

All this silence is not golden.

There’s just nothing left to say.

All this new does not embolden.

It just drives the good away.

I emerged from the goo of creation from between the legs of Protestant Margaret Mary and spawned from the seed of the Catholic Hunchback Dennis in the land of deep secrets.

Harold said, “You were jerked on a stump and raised in the sun.” I smiled at his generosity and forgave him for his cruelty and ignorance.

Now, a mere 65 years later, all of the secrets  have melted away under the intense gaze of my spotlight scrutiny, or was it Gods grace? I can never be certain.

The folly of us humans, trying so hard not to be seen for our frailties, and then our efforts cause so much confusion…

I have tipped the scales towards full disclosure and, even with this, have fallen far short. Yes, I have learned to lie when necessary and to prove I could do it.

I have learned the values of love and family. I have experienced the benefits of forgiveness and being forgiven… and against all odds, I am somewhat in control of those frothy emotional storms now lying dormant in the ashes of yesteryear.

Life is worth living. Friends and family are worth the efforts once stripped of the horrible triad of greed pride and ego.