between barcode and biscuit tin
they fiddle threads of faint recall —
small hands, unseen, unhurried—
with no need for thanks nor footnotes.

labels don’t just print; they remember.
the reds fade slower when touched
by whispering elvish dust.

they work behind the stacked cans,
among whispering expiration dates
and sideways glances
from lentils who know too much.

there’s no union for elves
who file silence into adjectives.
no wage for making “reduced sodium”
feel like a lullaby.

News that makes me smile
A father filled with great joy
Love that never dies

At a standstill as times before
is the well dry
does it make sense to try any more

What if the words refuse to come
thoughts infantile, visions scattered
ability to reason and decipher completely undone

All I can do is try
force it out
even if it’s a lie

I will monitor our life support
and check what emissions we
consume to rid ourselves of radiation.

Our shortened and deformed
fingers and toes cause me to
lay the groundwork for the
future habitation systems.

As you say yes to the Lichen,
accept that oxygen, I’m trying
to conserve beneath my tongue.

In our main edibles greenhouse,
the horticulturists shuffle
from side to side when we can’t
wander too far from each other!

Canada is my home
And I am proud to live in Canada
I have been living living in Canada
For 45 years
Also I have friends
That are also Canadian
And Canada is a country that is not in war
We have peace keepers
That are fighting over seas
To work towards peace

I am rich and invisible
I am named after a Saint
I bring you gifts
I wear a magician's cloak
So when my creditors come for me
I can perform a disappearing act.

So who am I.?

A hermit strolls in solitude,
Through aisles of spectral hush;
Each item glows in lyric touch—
A loaf, a pear, a thought subdued.

A breeze of absence sweeps the aisles,
Where jars catch glints of moonlit haze;
Soup cans ponder far-off days,
Their labels queue in quiet piles.

Walls fold into a dreamlike sway,
Perspective bends, aisles intertwine;
Where groceries dwell in lines divine,
A hermit shops, the world away.

I force myself to smile and talk
when all I want to do is walk.
Vacate this poisoned place in time.
Alone, I’d scribble down my rhyme.

I’d let it flow like sparkling stream.
Then douse myself in drink and dream.
In my own soul – and God I s'pose
I would confide and then compose.

But unpoetic people pry.
They want to know the reason why
a dad, who’s ageing like an oak,
does not behave like normal bloke.

We didn't want him to return
to the cerulean waves alone,
so we left his ashes there,

mixed with a few shells we found
along the misty strand.

A feather marking the honored place
where they were to await
the welcoming sea.

Amigos para sempre
I have a few in my life
And thanks god
We get along just fine
Also we don't put each other
Down
Because
That would be the wrong thing
To do
I need to built a circle
Of friends in my life
Also I have to think positive
And write my poetry
And hope that
I can send a strong message
To the countries
That are in war
I just don't know
What else to do
Also we need each other
In our lives
I must tell you friend
That would be impossible