consumed later at night than usual
finds me bright eyed and bushy tailed
amply lively to learn
about an American radio
and television personality and pioneer
Wee Willy Weber,
who prominently and popularly reigned
across air waves and small screen
kept in the living/family room
then an obscure square box
frequently exhibiting local entertainers

Endings
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson

Endings
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson

I was the kid who never read the last chapter
Of my favourite books
Or watched the final episode
Of my favourite shows.

I wanted to stay in a time and place
Where there was still more to the story.
I never wanted them to end.

I could never accept
That life is full of endings,
So, I grew up
With the consequences of that.

I stay in the same place too long.
I hold onto people for too long.

She is like the firstborn child
out of bed in the morning --
small feet stepping onto the cold floor,
slipping into summoned rain boots
itching to leap out the screen door
to count the crocus and laugh with the warbling robin.

She is like the restless child at recess
finally released from the classroom,
sprinting to the playground, its revelry
stirring just beneath the snow, waiting
patiently for the thaw, the germination,
the first receptive signs of euphoric new life.

Our little fella, with his prancing gait,
trots down the hall. His feet sounding
a slap, slap, slap on the carpet
he was chewing on a moment ago.

He looks up at me with all the cuteness
the universe could possibly bestow on him
with a brief and curious look – ears at attention!

I keep replaying
Your words in my head

"Don't go,
I'm begging you,
Please stay..."

The broken record torments me
Day and night

I didn't know
It would end like this

I didn't know
How bad it would hurt

I would've stayed up
All night with you
If only I'd known...

Now here I am,
Sitting at your grave
With your voice
Whispering to me
"Please stay..."

Black Friday’s band came to play
Grey mourning blues on a Monday
Bawling horns and saxophone sobbing
Good morning you’re good for nothing

Family faces looking grey
Damn the dark cloud above our house
The casket closed and soaked in rain
No more dust and ashes anthems

The Corps of Discovery was born
The year was eighteen zero four,
To find a way to Pacific waters
From St. Lewis they would explore.

The famed expedition to map the West
Led by Lewis and companion Clark,
New discoveries were vast and plenty
Each mapped a unique historic mark.

A Shoshoni girl helped guide them
Through tribal lands of sage and pine,
In Montana they looked in wonder
At three waters they would define.

In last nights dream, I am 16 again.
I drive to your house and blast Don Mclean on the way, windows rolled down past the weeds.
It’s cold in New York and the wind sends chills through my skin, spreads across my face like ants through a fruit bowl.

This is 16 to me: driving down St. Paul Street at 9 p.m. on a Friday. My backpack and a bottle of rum in the passenger side. Guitar pick in my cupholder - you left it at my house last weekend.
The beach, bike rides, cornerstores.

My name is John and I have been dealing with bi-polar since 1971, in my youth it wasn’t so.
My home in all its cozy warmth with varied friendships, a brethren of colorful personalities.
Roller-skating in my best friend’s cellar in circles around the coal boiler, our exciting world.
My life colorful from birth with all the mischief a child could navigate, eggs thrown at the neighbors.
We were all who we were, and acceptance was exploring forest land uncharted, together.

THE WARNING

Before I opened the book, I guessed
The warning on the cover said it all
Beware all you who read these pages
A black arts tome across all the ages
Just listen, and one can hear the call
One should prepare for a magic fest

The first page showed a hieroglyph
And I traced it slowly with my finger
I felt a strange tingling in my hand
A meaning I would not understand
I paused and let that feeling linger
But then my whole fist went all stiff