Life is indeed too short, too short by far,
Oft likened to a shooting star,
Burning brightly and then gone,
We have not the luxury of getting it right,
That is our plight,
We must learn as we go,
Not because we never know,
When we move on,
But because there is no other way,
No perfect path to take,
We learn by trying,
Stumbling, crying,
We add negativity to the word “mistake”,
We must feel pain when we sometimes fall,
But the only shame lies,
In our not trying at all,
So a life littered with mistakes and missteps,
Is perhaps a life that truly has been blessed.

Living When?

I’ve lived, without knowing I was living,
Been blinded by my need for something more,
Been deprived of gifts moments were giving,
By focusing beyond an unseen door,
Hindsight may indeed be twenty-twenty,
The future must be thought about somehow,
But chances to go astray are plenty,
If we don’t try to really see the now.


My grandfather distinguished himself,
On the field of honour
As a Canadian soldier
During Holland’s liberation.
On the fields of Holland,
My grandfather was a hero.
But the hero came home.
And then he was a hero,
In no more than name,
In fact he was a villain,
Bringing medals to shame,
For heroes and villains
Can be one and the same.
Yes the hero came home,
And revealed something other,
For six years of her childhood,
He raped my poor mother,
Until he was caught,
And finally imprisoned,
Leaving lives torn,
Family full of divisions.
An act can be heroic,
Yes I know that it can,
But to see a real hero,
First show me the whole man.

(I don’t usually write after prompts, but I couldn’t resist “Military, Soldiers, and Veterans” from Jingle poetry.)


It’s feeling rather hot.
Though, truth be told, it’s not.
It’s a lovely breezy day.
Not at all like in LA.

Where the desert heat distresses,
And the summer months oppress us.
From the summertime we hide,
‘Cause it’s too hot to go outside.

To say it’s hot feels somehow wrong,
I’ve been in Sweden far too long.