​Sorry Momma, this may be the last time you hear from me.
Something happened while walking home
that I cannot change, even if I tried.
 
I was strolling around
just as the sun was going down
through one of the parts of town
you always told us to stay away from
but it was the shortest way home
and I was exhausted after a hot day.
 
Could feel the eyes on me from the homes.
They were measuring a stranger.
I could sense the whispers.
 
The air changed, so confusing.
It could have been the tension
that was turning in me.
The events are so vague
in my mind, no real memory
of what sent me walking
on the new path I must take.
A new place where I cannot look back.
 
Do not know what the future holds,
do know that I will always be moving
so the past cannot get a hold of me.
Though that would be deserved
with what I know I did.
 
Sorry Momma, you had to hear this way
that your lessons should have
been completely listened too.
That is the truth.
I will now remember them
as I can never walk home.
 
July 27, 2018
© Andrew Scott - Just A Maritime Boy 2018

​Should have trusted the feeling.
The one that gave the real truth
with only the changing air
as evidence of wrong doing.
 
Denial was in my mind.
No person with years of trust
would cut for the blood
of a person that was like a brother.
That is what my mind would say.
Was so completely wrong.
 
Question the reasons that made him change.
Was it envy, jealousy of fortune
that was earned through work?
Nothing is given in this jaded world.
 
I may never tell what I know
to the last blood brother.
Will have an open weary eye
and try a slow forgiveness
from feeling the strike of a Betrayer's Sword.
 
June 24, 2018
© Andrew Scott - Just A Maritime Boy 2018

​Am appealing to your gentle side
as your strikes to the living
are creating anger and outrage
to those of us amongst the living.
 
Not positive of what you are
attempting to do with your efforts
but to bring u loss and sorrow.
 
Your victims are so young
and full of potential.
The bricks of our future
crumbled to blowing dust.
 
The lessons you are trying to teach
have been now engrained.
Fear who may be next
at an unexpected time.
 
The power and sorrow
that you yield is intense.
You are taking pieces of us all
as your venom is dealt.
We appeal to you, Goddess of Death.
Let us heal.
 
February 19, 2018
© Andrew Scott - Just A Maritime Boy 2018

​Could feel the eyes staring at me
through the tattered windows
of the beat up homes
as I walked the rotted road
that held this Shantytown
built on the outskirts of a tourist town.
 
It was like walking through
a deserted ghost town
with all the quiet air
that was filling the sky.
 
I came here to learn
of my family beginning
as this was where
my ancestors lived
and raised their own.
 
Would not be here out of curiosity
if my own family
would speak of their home
however when questions are asked,
all members lips tighten.
 
As I walk along this stretch
I see beaten, old homes
that the weather has not been kind to.
 
Off to the right is a swampland
I have overheard other call the Bog.
I can see the tops of torn tents
where I heard folks of another colour
may have been exiled too.
I was hoping that was not true
but I can see where it may have been.
 
Realize I may never fully know
about the folklore feel about this place.
The doors to those times
may never be open to me.
The ground I walk on, it seems,
will never let me know
as more doors creak close,
the hidden secrets of this Shantytown.
 
April 9, 2018
© Andrew Scott – Just A Maritime Boy 2018

​Seems the day is crumbling
before the sunrise even starts
and the motivational coffee is brewed.
Smiling perseverance to hold the glow
of believing in the kind goodness.
 
Walking to a destination
not sure now of arrival
due to unexpected barricades
that may end it all.
Chipper steps need to be taken
to sit comfortably
and breath in the air of delight.
 
Being led down a road
by other's greedy agendas
just to make a living
where family exists
not knowing when it may
seize to being.
 
The worries of the home
collapsing from the hidden
lives of the unpredictable young.
Still there is love
in the hugs and kisses good night.
 
As we lay in bed after
and go to sleep at the
end of each peaceful night
we dream in celebration
as another day was survived.
 
March 25, 2018
© Andrew Scott - Just A Maritime Boy 2018

Came across the blue, four door
in a parking garage on the east side.
The bottom was starting to rust out
and a grime dirt covered the rest.
 
The car looked like it had been there
for many seasons, good and bad.
 
The back right window was broken.
The parking garage sheltered the elements
from getting through the window.
 
Inside I saw a battered bag
with a bit of clothes sticking out.
A sleeping bag covered in worn dirt
in a cluttered back seat.
 
Empty cans and torn food bags
littered the front of the car,
decorated with tipped over cups.
 
the realization that this car
was someone's home came over me
and through a broken window
their every day life was being told.
 
Walking away, I thought to self
I had invaded a person at their weakest
and took their struggles fore granted.
 
Humbling life lesson learned
though and unrepairable, broken window.
 
January 24, 2018
© Andrew Scott - Just A Maritime Boy 2018

​I am that dark figure
standing alone on the outside,
watching the people tear it down,
burning all they have built.
Turning back the human race
to the savage time of centuries ago.
 
I was there in 1969
when the Irish city of Belfast
turned into a destructive time.
Filled with the heart of violence
the healing never happened,
leading to anger and hate
that filled the ever-hanging cloud
for decades of bombings and killings.
 
In the Canadian city of Oka,
I stood on the land
that was being protected
by the Indigenous Mohawk tribe
and the boys in blue
and the boys in camouflage green.
Guiding the aimed bullets of pain
to the one symbol of no tomorrow
that was added to the burial ground.
 
As the National Guard
lined up in Kent State
to silence the war protesting
voices echoing in Ohio.
I sat perched nearby
about to change life in the seventies.
The guns were to be fired overhead,
the aim off, killing four
but taking so much more.
 
I was there for it all.
Pulling the strings of destruction,
adding to the screams of the land
over the mist of decay and fire.
I linger and go to the next town
to leave my mark unseen.
No one sees this angel
and no one ever will.
 
January 15, 2018
© Andrew Scott - Just A Maritime Boy 2018

​This animal can feel it brewing
it is almost time for hoarding
A harsh winter is coming
 
so this body will not fear starving
food is a must during the sheltering
This animal can feel it brewing
 
Have to slow the breathing
turn off the busy mind’s thinking
A harsh winter is coming
 
how long the change will be is depending
on the air and what it is hiding
This animal can feel it brewing
 
there will be pillaging
for the supplies for sleeping
A harsh winter is coming
 
to get for all that is needed for surviving
during the lost months of hibernating
This animal can feel it brewing
A harsh winter is coming
 
September 21, 2017
© Andrew Scott – Just A Maritime Boy 2017 

​They are piling up, row by row,
in the lost, confused people’s hearts.
The cold bodies that will never be warm.
 
Missing people, mysteriously disappeared
without a trail of when or where.
 
Families went looking all alone.
Minorities that no one else
seemed to care about
as desperation combed
dirty streets and thick woods.
 
People of power stayed away,
filing the missing persons
in a random, crumbled paper pile.
Not helping ones they deemed
less deserving than others for help.
 
Wet, soiled grounds absorbing
the unfound dead, cold bodies
while mothers and fathers feel helpless
waiting for news they will never receive.
 
December 4, 2017
© Andrew Scott – Just A Maritime Boy 2017 

​Mrs. Smith looks out the kitchen window,
watching the coloured fall leaves dance
as they gently touch the ground.
She wishes that she had the dancing
partner in the wind as they do.
 
Life has turned lonely
as the years have passed by.
 
The husband is home every night,
sitting in a faded, recliner chair,
not saying a word or grunt.
Eyes glued to a television set,
hand glued to the control.
 
He never notices when
Mrs. Smith has dressed up nice.
Subtle rose make up
and not a hair out of place.
An outfit that fits in all the right places.
He never blinks an eyes,
never sees the tears
going down an unloved cheek.
 
Mrs. Smith walks around
seeing others holding loving hands
and sharing affectionate smiles.
Ones she has not seen
or felt in a long time.
 
Love gone so long ago,
the passion replaced with comfort.
Not knowing any other life.
 
Mrs. Smith does not wish
to give up on love or romance.
 
Mrs. Smith see the clearing
out a window into the unknown.
Bags packed, searching for the one
that will kiss and hold
while sharing Mrs. Smith’s Dance.
December 5, 2017
© Andrew Scott – Just A Maritime Boy 2017