To my son Sean, who requested a Christmas poem.
All about the tree
as it gathers love
The blanket
a crimson bed
Imagined pillows
holding innocent heads
All about the memories
Baby’s first Christmas
The angel
watching us all
wearing our crown of dust
answering humanity’s call
All about the sweets
In the mellow air
The bowl
and tiny fingers
woodgrain smears
as bedtime lingers
All about the gifts
They are a child’s dream
The box
being shaken
Fingernail tears
but nothing taken
All about the time
togetherness and laughter
The week
Seven infinite days
finding hours to sleep
envisioning Little Women plays
All about the party
down the street
our feet and sleigh
Waving hands, passers-by
and tired kids in snowball fray
All about the things
we think we need
Wine and AA batteries
warm cozy socks
stocking stuffers
and building blocks
All about the kindness
that we can muster
Hugs and kisses
and heart-felt prayers
as the kids kip down
embracing their teddy bears
All about the light
Candles and streams
gold, blue, green, red
casting streaks at midnight
The sugarplums dance
our heads in thankful delight
DeaBeePea 11-25-20

No one by his side
Waking, sniffling
Cold shower
Business suit
Plastic gloves
Bitter coffee
Burned tongue
Leaves door unlocked
Driver’s seat
Of recycled car
Rusty with old sex
Exactly thirteen blocks
A few cold stares
Secluded elevator
No hellos
Faces with holes
Instead of noses
Bald, pale
A nod to Carol Jones
withered breasts
I miss her nose
Check washroom
Sterile duty
Fluck! Spot on tie
Can’t wear
Checking lists
On barren desk
Shakes head
Why me? Shilk!
Growling stomach
Depression a relief
Can love himself
All new problems now
Resources at will
No more over-population
World at rest
But coldly quiet
Wasn’t supposed to be like this… though
Feeling endangered now
As the flock fly over his head
Casting giant shadows
Squawks of madness
What is survival?
Is it this
A lot worse than I ever thought
With receding shorelines
Long torturous death
Of ungilled fate
Coronaviridae aftermath
Further punishment
A new Genesis
With few smiles
DeaBeePea 11-25-20

A tribute to the great protest songs of the 60s.
This-ism, that-ism, ism ism ism
what is this distorted prism
Is it giving peace a chance
for respect, we will dance
When you come home
arriving from your sterile dome
For what it’s worth, I raise my thumb
a change is gonna come
Oh and just like the river I've been running ev'r since
from those quivering eyes of pince
'n' how many years can a mountain exist
before it is washed to the sea of mist?
Those people, the butcher, the banker, the drummer
makes no difference what group I call
It's always the old to lead us to the war
it's always the young to fall
Though it isn't really war
we're sending fifty thousand more so told
Mama, mama, forget your pies
have faith they won't get cold
Oh her power shall rest on the strength of her freedom
her glory shall rest on us all, on us all
And the noise outside was the ringing of revolution.
sadly they stared and sank in their chairs in wrawl
If your time to you is worth savin'
and you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
forever alone
And he knows he shouldn't kill
and he knows he always will
Kill you for me my friend and me for you
searching for the escaping clue
No more auction block
no more driver's lash for me
Many thousands gone
But our revolution starts at dawn
DeaBeePea 11-24-20
Songs inspiring this anthology: Give Peace a Chance, Respect, For What It's Worth, A Change is Gonna Come, Blowin' in the Wind, Everyday People, I Ain't Marchin' Anymore, Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation, Requiem for the Masses, Power and Glory, Ringing the Revolution, The Times They are a Changin', Universal Soldier, No More Auction Block for Me

Sixties Revisited
Where to draw the line
Who will command the protest
So loud and passionate
That it becomes the unstoppable vine
The grapes of wrath
Making a potent wine
Kissing the lips of evil
Will it be a poisonous bath?
Old delirious, young so sad
The stirring contentment
Shake, not stir
Activating fruitful resentment
Do we hear those angry songs
That sometimes sound so sweet
Connecting directly to our hearts
Dragging and kicking in beat
I prefer a mix of colours
Sounds, rhythms and all estates
All those who breath
Filtering love from hate
How do we define this beginning?
Revolution as now defined
Something of mind, or body or spirit
Fighting those empty answers designed
We don’t want a physical beating
We have been battered in ethos already
So this march must be a parade
Fast and steady
It doesn’t seem that the top
Will relinquish its stranglehold
So the large gathering of the meek
Must be fearless and bold
Victory is not the end
But a continuous flow of means
Proper, good and smart
Clotting the old machines
DeaBeePea 11-24-20

Covid Christmas
I hear bells
And see family photos
The arms of Christmas
Reminded, old stories to tell
There are reasons
For this celebration
More than of years past
The vestige of traditional seasons
Conceiving our calm
It seems like a commitment
Providing us with a sense
Of normalcy’s open palm
Is there a new message
That we should carry?
Making subtle changes
Taking note of the new presage
Yes, there are in plethora
Things to love and hold
And we hope to never lose
Those signs of yuletide aura
There are no answers
Just a search for truth
As we ponder our dreams
Of sugarplum dancers
Our breath sings carols
With different words
As we think of friends
And cider barrels
Yes, times have changed
But not the intrinsic love
That rests its snowy blanket
So flawlessly arranged
DeaBeePea 11-22-20

Gives me a rash
And sploosh
Is a meaningless clash
Makes for muddy dirt
And blurt
Can be rather curt
Doesn’t leave much room
And varoom
Speeds things up in my doom
Makes me feel abashed
And smash
Is similar in its screaming flash
Is spoken with a grunt
While thump
Is a retort of disagreeable bump
Is a brook’s sound not troubling
An experiment so boggling
A bird and sound to fill
An alternating thrill
As I speak not firmer
A squirmer
the wiggly state of a slow learners
Not a drink the at shines
But it’s asinine
Not to drink the wine…
DeaBeaPea 11-19-20

A rainbow... or something like that
And blue
I just like those colours too
And white
Not necessarily patriotism
But wave my flag, I might
And black
I like the contrast
Makes for the simplicity I lack
and yellow
It’s not easy being green
And I’m a tolerant fellow
And chartreuse
Don’t necessarily go together
But I’m on the loose
And pink
Are rather flashy when together
The colour of a tropical drink
And grey
Is that my alma mater
Or just my bad memory at play?
And sage
Savoury shades of cuisine
Easing my erratic rage
And gold
Visionary jewels
My story so told
DeaBeePea 11-19-20

I am open-minded
As long as it’s caring
I never argue
Unless the idea is despairing
I’ll go along with it
As long as no one’s hurt
And vote for you
As long as you’re not taking someone’s shirt
I’ll like you
If you’re kind
But willing to criticize me
When my behavior’s blind
I prefer the truth
If you know what it is
And we can discuss it
As we entangle the worldly quiz
I’ll appreciate it if you smile
It goes along with sunshine
And when you cry
I’ll share the tears as mine
If you laugh at me
It can be for many reasons
And I will learn to laugh at myself
Through all the wayward seasons
I won’t judge you
Unless you ask
But even then I’ll hesitate
My opinion, not to bask
I’ll love you
For simply being you
You don’t have to love me back
… unless you want to
DeaBeePea 11-19-20

This 24 four hour thing
Seems to imply
some sort of repetition
so the past won’t die
I admit
There is a certain sameness
But, maybe that’s hope
Instead of future lameness
Minutes, seconds, hours
Scattered in miscellaneous directions
Allowing me new found space
for alternate reflections
at times, though
I feel of little power
Winding or rewinding
In my clockless tower
But that simple word event
Comes and goes
With a winking eye
An impetous to compose
Now it is light
With darkness awaiting
Casting shadows
That inspire translating
Whether the hand points
Up, or down, or at an angle
My breath keeps laughing
And also entangled, entangled
I haven’t defined the stop
When time doesn’t come back
I hear the ticking
Enjoying what’s between, white and black
DeaBeePea 11-19-20

The Mess
It’s everywhere
this endless river
Carrying dirt and lies
a shameful social sliver
Not always visible
that’s the trick
Fooling those who are blind
riding the slippery slick
We make thinks fine
with temporary smiles
And soothing amusement
time to heartily while
We are told to live for now
an attempt at static view
But now isn’t forever
so everything is new
Except for negligence
and tones of let it be
Placing irrelevance
in the wrong cup of tea
Spilling our life
where it shouldn’t go
Poisoning our friends
our death is slow
But the days are gone
they’ll never come back
As we drown in waste
losing our track
Is Plan B in our blood?
do we really want the action?
We’d better get moving
to allow us nature’s traction
DeaBeePea 11-12-20

Sometimes my thoughts don't know all there is
to understand
pondering courage and death
and the parades of so-called victory
as we view the world so manned
The purpose gets cloudy
and we shake our heads
when thinking of the tragic stories
but we gather in celebration
so thankful for our peaceful beds
So we look to truth
and the hard lessons it teaches
looking at lives, long and short
reflecting on the rickety future
and where our love reaches
We tend to cry and laugh
at exactly the same time
a tribute to our eternal destiny
all finding the same street to live
remembering, all that is sublime
DeaBeePea 11-11-20

In condolence to Dianne McArdle
They make your dreams come true
their whispers are always heard
the sweet goodnights
console me as I sleep
the voice of hope
allowing you to be you
understanding all my blunders
permitting you when sad, to weep
they are a part of us...
the beautiful and tender part
but strong of visceral heart
holding back smiles for time's revealed grace
They live forever
that magical and forceful infinity
defining love in a special way
to think of our good fortune, in humble face
DeaBeePea 11-11-20

some undecided
in touch with footprints
just off the ground
horns and tinsel
but no mouths
scattered like rats
with uncertain fear
intoxicated by tomorrow
afraid of each breath
the music has stopped
but the singers still here
sitting on a table's edge
fingers reaching
for a simmering cigarette
the fire inside her
but the lyrics
have been forgotten
where is the sober future?
is it being asked for
or do we all
want a continuous celebration?
making sense
no longer matters
a broken champagne glass
and a bottle
rolling back and forth
proud of itself
in its sparkling glory
the tooter cries
another Auld Lang Syne
time is lost
and so are the answers
but it will happen
the noise
of funny valentines
and feelings
above the rainbows
and beside
my aching heart
DeaBeePea 11-10-20

Ready for Christmas yet... well, if you're not, don't read this. This is my updated Covid-19 version of The Night Before Christmas.
The 19th Day of Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
Only touched by one, a regimen so fair
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of wrapped sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my mask,
Hung on my bedpost, a regular evening's task
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
I put on my shield and flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave a hygienic lustre to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight gasping reindeer
The line was so long, it caused such a start
I looked again, seeing they were six-feet apart
Santa was muffled, a filtered ho-ho-ho
And then it was clear, they were in the know
That little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
It was hard to see, as my glasses had fogged
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them as logged
"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Stay properly spaced or my reputation will fall
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
Blowing tossed masks, into the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, that was washed all around
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came all masked and bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
I was afraid of his germs and the filth on his back
And he looked like a bandit just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
and his half-covered nose like a cut-in-half cherry!
His droll little mouth, was hidden from view,
And the beard of his chin had been shaved to stubbles so few,
The stump of a pipe he held in his hand,
He couldn’t smoke it, there was nowhere to land
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
From so many hours at home, ordering from the deli
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a flick of his mask,
Soon gave me to know, he might have a cask
He spoke not a word, ‘cause he hadn’t met people,
Since a church service last year, under the steeple
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He realized that face-touching, was wrong as he froze
I heard him cursing, under his breath
It seemed that Covid-19, was worse than death
But I give him credit, he persevered
And never gave up, which is what I had feared
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
Before covering his mouth, with a disguise of thistle
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
This is nonsense, I’m saying goodnight!!
I interviewed him later, when he was rested
and he told me that his elves had never been tested
I recommended they should, then coughed in his face
then apologized, with my usual grace.
DeaBeePea 11-07-20

Twisted Haiku
It’s Covid-19
A test of isolation
But there’s internet
I wish I could vote
To express my discontent
South of the border (disorder)
My morning coffee
Became a plural event
And I’m very g-g-glad
The sun is out now
Sorry, I’m wrong, it is not
No, it is now out (cloudy)
A chain of events
Now we have a situation
Solution, I have none
I ate a couch potato
A bit mouldy
It can grow on trees
pining for funds
between two other meals
tried to stamp-out the post office
they were licked
DeaBeePea 1-11-20

There’s Always One Thing (Missing)

No this is not about Columbo
known for one more thing
But about cooking
And the problem that it brings

I need my own store
Located right beside me
So I can always get
The one thing that I fail to see

I want to make lasagna
But I’m out of tomato paste
And I have everything else
Geez, it seems like such a waste

So I’d better make moussaka
But darn, I just remembered
I’m out of eggs today
Now my mind is getting dismembered

This is getting ridiculous
How about chicken cacciatore
I must be able to that
It used to be my glory

I’ll go through the list carefully
And make sure I have it all
For I’m running out of patience
And might take a mental fall

Crap… I don’t have bell peppers
But wait, I must think of something to fill
I have to stick to my guns
Before I take my pill

I have Melinda’s Hot Sauce
And chili flakes to use
And an over-ripe avocado
No, not a recipe to abuse

And a bit of extra wine
Is never wrong to do
As long as it’s not too runny
I’m asking you to dinner…
Candlelight for two

DeaBeePea 11-1-20 

It’s My Prerogative
It bothers me sometimes
When people say it to me
‘cause I don’t want the responsibility
Of a decision that comes completely free
And I know that’s never true
And there’s always repercussions
So why don’t they help
Unburdening me of more discussion
I try to be noble
Honouring my inherited right
Trusting my intelligence
prepared for future blight
People often say
That they don’t want free advice
But I wouldn’t mind some wisdom
Accepting to roll the dice
It’s funny when you start
Evaluating a decision
Everyone tells you it’s right
Which keeps me from fretful derision
However, as soon as it’s made
All you hear is wrong
Where were those voices before?
And now it’s been too long
So let’s reduce freedom
And avoid the bitter pill
Of stupidity and ignorance
That’s put me through the mill
It’s always my prerogative
And I must say, that simply bugs me
So I’ll have to sit outside and sway flies
For my afternoon tea
DeaBeePea 1-11-20

What Does Mad Do?
It’s more than a long running magazine
this often subdued state
And we remember it from Network
and it’s always on our plate
It’s more than a long-running magazine
Cursing under our breath
And shaking our heads
Annoying us more than death
Maybe we consider something
I believe they call it action
I know it takes a lot of effort
But we have to establish some traction
Sometimes I hang it beside my coat
On a cold and shiny hook
Preferring entertainment
Or a stroll beside the brook
But it can cause a rash
And affect my aging heart
Asking for a glass of wine
Or a letter-writing team to start
I keep saying
“I’m not going to take it anymore”
But I’m having trouble with my options
Being angry to the core
Meetings, meetings, meeting
Discussing the roaring traffics boom
Even if they’re online
Discussion with a zoom
And I’m mad today
And even pissed off too
But I’m smiling, which is stupid
Considering that I’m blue
DeaBeePea 11-1-20

Need vs Want
Compares to Spy VS Spy
In a strange kind of way
Causing havoc
Toying with values at play
It’s a part of the internet age
As our ears are tuned to beeps
And various messages
That honestly, give me the creeps
I see something advertised
And go through an evaluation
Trying to convince myself
That it’s not really my station
But I think of something brilliant
To redefine myself
To excuse my consumer notion
To put something else on the shelf
And now, I’m stuck to this thing
The power of my finger
It’s almost uncontrollable power
That never seems to linger
This black and white battle
Is now stuck on a menacing grey
As I pit by the computer
And find many ways to play
And there are many back-up devices
And many have a plug
And I don’t even need a coin
Or pocketful of slugs
But there is a savings account
That goes flexibly up and down
But I seem to be smiling
Refusing a debt-ridden frown
DeaBeePea 11-1-20

People seem to want it
this stirring of the pot
But the problem with this burst balloon
is, the wrong person holds the spoon
It’s a thin definition
Sometimes, simple disagreement
but a differing point of view
should not make a poison stew
Over-sensitivity to nothingness
and a growing loss of perspective
What is fake at what is not
a question of which we are fraught
We have what is called intuition
but lately, seldom used
Not exactly clairvoyance
but certainly instinctive annoyance
But fortunately there is laughter
which seems to find its way
Sometimes referred to as the funny bone
a slapstick nature to moan
We have to close some windows
and draw the curtains tight
Allowing a focus of thought
cautioning those things, that were previously bought
So the only dispute
that I am now considering
Is an assessment of me
and a conclusion to set myself free
For controversy’s sake
I will now stipulate
That this so-called conflict
is unnecessary pain to afflict
DeaBeePea 11-1-20

Post-mortem of Uncertainty
A chronic condition
Leaving me on a tightrope
Suspended above my victories and fears
Not hearing any cheers
Occasional answers
Tease me as I ponder
All of tomorrows wishes and dreams
Taking me down those wishing streams
But I can’t shake it
And… I hear the laughter
But strangely, it’s coming from within
Breaking through my tender skin
Every step, interrogated
This slippery slope called life
Isn’t there a way to escape?
Finding a way to upend uncertainty’s drape
I do not recognize accusation
Unless it’s pointed at me
As I shake and shutter with doubt
Paralyzed with years of stumbling gout
It seems the tears have dried
There is no more source of wells
So I think and write of pails
That I must pull to create my sails
They call it a procedure
This evasive survival game
Some kind of self-medicated curative
A reflective and defining narrative
I hear the clock ticking
Not toward death or the end
But some kind of a miracle, a new path
Submerged in an encephalon bath
DeaBeePea 11-1-20

Nonsense #21
bouncing along
having a ball
but becoming vulcanized
leading to a crawl
bottles of wine
lined up along the wall
labelled with a story
a rather verbose call
enticing me to indulge
as I ponder old Hollywood
silent in my slumber
the remote, located where it should
dishes aren't washed
but the bathroom floor is clean
but I wrote a poem
time for good behavior to redeem
the sun's gone down
which happens every day
signalling many questions
regarding who is and who isn't at play
dinner has settled
but many issues are not
so I won't watch the news
to prolong the ignorance I've sought
empty cans and a pile of books
phone calls yet received
a list of tomorrows
not yet conceived
paper in the printer
waiting for inventive words
maybe tomorrow after coffee
and new destinations for the birds
DeaBeePea 10-25-20

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