Spurning all yet tried ports
Ship captain calls ahead
The wind must not be ignored
On to new horizons!
The stars are out tonight!

Guided by the Light
Through words spoken to the universe
The great expanse fastened to all souls

Through sea or storm
The wind must not be ignored

Pour

Pour red wine
Pour red wine and I’ll be fine

Share some bread
Share some bread before we’re dead

Talk all night
Talk all night we’ll be alright

I want you to know
I want you to know I could never go

I’ll see you again some day

I haven’t seen my family in many years

held their hands or shared my fears

too long since I’ve laughed with my father

or placed a kiss on the cheek of my mother

this road is one to walk alone

leave my children to grow at home

my daughter, I’ll miss her wedding day

the joy of giving her away

every time they think of me

they’ll speak about the man I would have been

smile at secrets I would have known

cry when they feel alone

I wish the journey did not end this way

and trust I’ll see them again some day

canvas shoes

I’ve lost my old pair of shoes

with gum stuck on the sole from the street

in monte carlo

where those without wealth snap photos of those with

expensive cars and luxury yachts tied to buoys

and dust from san sebastian

walking from one tapa bar to another

dim light cover street nights

as waves from the bay rolled in

with tears on the side from the bike i used to ride

over the canals in amsterdam

i danced in those old shoes to banging drums

in kreuzberg berlin

i raced up the spanish steps and looked down

at the sea of umbrellas and listened to the sound of rain

bounce off the rooftops, steps and street performers

those shoe laces broken and frayed at the ends

walking up the steps of the sacre coeur

red wine stain on the canvas

sharing bottles overlooking the latin quarter and eiffel tower

those old canvas shoes

poet’s musing

in the beginning was the word

only the word will remain

the only pure creative form

that can live without adultery

wordsmiths and rhetoricians

forever the practise of only men and women

words cannot be replaced

storytellers cannot be replaced

poets cannot be replaced

only lost or forgotten

the art of storytelling

a poet’s verse

they are the most valuable commodities