Category: memory

Bike Writer # 19 – Our Peace From Their War

100 faces, 100 years: Bronze memorial to fallen soldiers

A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots. – Marcus Garvey

Bike Writer # 18 – Live Each Day to the Fullest!

I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see. – John Burroughs

Bike Writer # 16 – Saturday, You Know I Love Ya!!

Petty Harbour, Newfoundland

How cool would it be to have a day between Saturday and Sunday?

Send Me an Angel

brown rosary dangling on car s rear view mirror

I haven’t looked up in a while
I did…last night
you were there
as promised
with a smile
that saved my day

Salty Secret

blue ocean rain rain drops

Where were the tears that day?
Our loss must have voided my heart.
Each time I taunted with emotion,
my soul would squeeze even tighter.
Then, past a wet wind’s gale.
I saw your empty face.
It was the key that finally broke me.
So…I ran to the salty sea.
Broke free from this ransom.
Until my sorrows let.
Forever with the ocean my secret.

 

For That Moment

black and white clear cool dew

I sat one day.
Alone, on a palette chair.
Sit in spatters and their quiet stories.
Did watch as pebbles danced in entertain.
For granted, I was easily led.
So naive that tomorrow won’t go away.
It was a peace that drunk me.
There, emotion could never touch.
Strange was any voice of hurt.
All this in a moment.
Oh, how I miss counting out-loud with the rain,
a grey big sky with a smile…and
…my ignorant heart.

Heart Attack

images.jpg
You broke my heart once more.
But, it’s OK.
At least it felt something.

Maybe Tomorrow…

touch-the-moon-martin-capekLate at night, when it’s just me and the moon.
We both pray you’ll return with the sun.

Tainted Blood

person s hands covered with bloodA lonely peer, a doorway.
Most still lay asleep.
Strangers, cloaked as lovers.
Lineup…for the rabbit hole.
Their smiles, fake, and you know it.
Will, did not lead them here.
All they want is to shower in that devil’s medicine.
Melt and run away.
How can you hold their hand?
Allow their laughter, their play,
to fill an ego until you trick them.
With a lie like the blood is clean.

Past Eight

road amidst bare trees
Whistles silent,
brews stress pinched to the nape.
TV flickers black and white but can’t turn it off.
Frozen mittens dry from the blessed heat,
brings sweat with no one to blame.

Mumbles first, like there’s someone to fight back.
Then, the knee goes,
not worry, just wonder.
Past eight…

…old lady’s not home.