Blue Moon/New Moon

a blue moon shone last night
wasn’t really blue
and it was cloudy
so we didn’t really see it
but they said it was there
a rare occurrence
two round full white moons in one month
white snow also fell in feathery flakes
tossed around by the winter wind
winding through streets and pathways
flakes which fell on car windshields
building up along the wiper blades
creating a frosting
blown away when the car drives
down road
leading to
the end of the month
and the end of the year
and the end of the decade
where the ocean splashes crashes rocks
and we can get on a ship
and begin a new journey
under a new moon

Gold Love

a circle of 14k
a shimmering golden band
wraps around fourth finger
left hand

narrow with
two rows of small indents on either side
forever
parallel
together

I take it off sometimes
scratching knuckle and skin
it barely fits

but it is part of hand
like a vein that leads back
to heart where
I am bound
for life with
round
smiling
vow

Seven Deadly #2 - Pride

she’s hiding
on chair
------under table

we trimmed her fur
thick
luscious
soft
grey and white

so fine that tufts
-------static to your fingers
--------------and don’t let go

it takes two to hold her
while another hums
the dreaded clippers

she lies compliant
but trembling

what we cut off
half fills the kitchen garbage

she’s hiding
because she’s embarrassed

thinking we reduced her to an ordinary cat

but she looks
much better now

we all need
regular grooming

Seven Deadly #1 - Gluttony

sweet intensity of sticky jujube invades taste buds setting
off a chain reaction of chemical effects in the body just
like a selfish lie ending in a signal to the hand to reach for
more even though all other practical and wise messages
tell it to leave the colourful confection alone fingers find
another soft surprise and pop it into waiting watering
mouth

Boxing Day

rounded------------------------------reservoir
---of clear--------------------------crystal
-----quarter--------------------filled with
------.bright burgundy catching light
-----------and projecting shadows
--------------on table in center
--------------------of room
---------------------.held
---------------------.high
----------------------.by
----------------------thin
----------------------stem
---------------------..and
------------------..wide base
-------eyes and voices crowd elegance
------.as I sip and savour another year

Christmas Storm

spinning and sliding around snowy corner
drifts and ruts piled
slanted snow whipped by wind
covers roads in white wonder

carols jingle inside van
notes piling up in drifts of
melody and warm verses
thoughts covered in sweet harmonies

hugs and greetings on arrival
familiar family swirls around
words drifting through old defences
covering cold snowy lives in have-to love

There Shall a Star

sharded stained glass surrounding cross catches eye
chorale crescendos as my hands describe
the dance of the song
“radiance beaming”
I zoom to the place of knowing
-------where glassy colours bathe the drabness in ecstasy

on Christmas Eve

the infant heartbeat breaks in
like a drumbeat in a sermon
like a new dazzling star in the black night
illuminating and bringing

Life

Living

a thin layer of ice covers pavement
on highway as
white-knuckled
I know that a sudden skid or turn
will send van hurtling in wild swerve
towards
snowy ditch

remembering Portage and patch of black ice
feet away from signpost impact

so we travel on the knife edge
of potential
and disaster
cautious but not
immobilized

SUVs and trucks with better traction
and more confident or reckless drivers
pass
sometimes sending a spray of snow
blinding with white brilliance
as we plod/plow along

veering into left-hand lane
cutting through thicker snow and drifts
I pass slow ultra-cautious drivers
adrenaline coursing through tensed muscles

through darkness
finish final stretch
arrive at the driveway
and pull in safely

Gatherings

living room old house barn in Reinland
stand up to say “wunch”
hug Oma and Opa

Oma Niebuhr’s rickety old house on Notre Dame
wrestling with Bradley on floor
lovely burgundy china

church basement in Rosenort
playing knipsbrat with uncles
thirty kids get small gift

bungalow in North Kildonan
Brad and I each got a stuffed tiger
tail ripped off years later

senior’s center in Osler
Braeden and Jocelyn held hands running
twins got passed around

four generations paperchain the heart

Winter Solstice

I nibble at my fingernails one after the other
trying to shave them down to size they always
seem too long these days and jagged maybe it’s
the cold and the darkness that makes them grow
kind of the opposite of plants that need warmth
and light but plants are in hibernation mode
now bare branches and flowerbeds covered in white
white snow the sun barely makes an appearance and
the stars struggle to shine in the early evening
the moon a sliver but on the darkest day the
first day of real winter even though frost has
encased our corpuscles for a while already and
ice covers windshields there is hope that the
light will reappear and my fingernails will stop
growing so wildly or at least I’ll use a nail clipper

Babies!

two matching pink striped sleepers
twin infant girls
small sighs escape
breathing shallow and quick

radiating heat
through clothing
------through skin
------------through years
------------------through masks
------------------------through fears
------------------------------through steel armour
-----------around heart

warmth-------works--------wonders

hold and marvel the miracle

Travel Day

world of white stretches
frost-rimed trees don’t change the view
number one highway

this day is blank slate
self-contained world in green van
time to use sharpies

evening sky darkens
coming up to Saskatoon
white crescent glows through

Christmas Break

every pencil is poised
positioned to shade in the bubbles of absence
which shape the page and trip up the feet in
the glass encased culture

gray graphite marks our days and years
every hour an arc of time
filled with squiggles or heavy thick lines
dominating the whiteness

until I see the sharpened orange dart
lying at an angle on the beige tile
under black chairs in an empty room
pointing towards the door

I pick it up
place it in the mug
and escape

Dream

I walk through wide empty hall at the top of grand
staircase limestone floors echo my footsteps elegant
string quartet playing a slow hymn at one end of the
large atrium at the bottom of the stairs and I look
down wondering where I am in my subconscious
everything so white and important so I keep walking
until I come to a panelled room door open and I look
inside the familiar furnishings recognizing that this is
my father’s empty office

Cleo Poem #5

pushes furry face
against socked toes----bright kitchen
I am not alone

Classroom

feet shuffle
occasional whisper
someone gets a text
----------unmistakable buzz of a cell on vibrate
the quiet a presence in the room

cough
sigh
zipper binder gets opened
pens and pencils move
eyes follow the lines of letters

this room with no windows
a daily sanctuary of conformity
we all are here observing convention
biding time

but sometimes the magical intrudes
and a fairy waves a wand of creative colour
and out of the silence of rustles

comes a bouquet of laughter

Zuzu's Petals

delicate yellow softness
-------the hidden reality
--------------of love

we poke fingers in our little pockets
to see if they are there

what kind of world do we live in?

sometimes it is the cold hard ice
of frozen fists fighting for
an inch of self in a loud brassy bar

sometimes it is the gentle snowfall
of open hands giving
a pound of self in a neighbourhood pub

the moon shines brightly in a synthetic backdrop

and his hands are empty

but in our hearts we see them

Copenhagen

stars poking through
on the coldest night
-30 and dropping
shockwaves through
hunched body gathered for the fight

protesters getting rowdy
streets filled
demanding action from
meek points of light in
a chilled black night

my car broke down again
today right on pembina
and I waited for the tow
the edge of my foot
is numb from the cold

My Love

hair
-----flaxen
-----------fields
--------reflecting shimmers

eyes
-----emerald
------------seas
--------enveloping shivers

skin
-----snowy
-----------drifts
--------inviting caress

heart
-----crimson
-------------cutout
--------addressing me

Hope

red and white confetti

----------drifts

---------------into a glass jar

of possibilities

--------resting
----------on
-----------a
---------narrow
--------pedestal
-----made of marble
----and polished oak

on the floor is a

Persian carpet--------which begins to float

----------------------------and elegantly glide

through the

---------arched doorway

into a whitewashed courtyard
filled with renaissance statues
rising higher and higher it becomes
part of the

bright

blueness

Alone

a silence of soul

solitariness builds a cabin
in the brain placing a padlock
on the windowless door

no one is allowed into this space of
rich contemplation
the smell of mahogany overtaking all

in the middle of the floor is a round braided carpet
where I stand absorbing the energy
of the black thick night

a fire burns in the hearth
sometimes crackling and sending sparks
but usually glowing a dull orange

there is no furniture here
just walls and the carpet and so
I open the lock and step out

inverting the world for life

Bath

I dip my foot into
warm
clear
water

and then settle in-------warmth

enveloping

voices create a music
preparing for the day
hair dryers whine
make-up on faces and eyes
beauty in care compassion
blonde hair bouncing on shoulders
strong and able
ready for the adventure
we
laugh and smile or
roll eyes and expel breath and
then hug anyway
wishing the best
expressing family

muscles relax in the lovely

bouyancy

Ode On My iPod (apologies to jk)

Thou slender silver lady of eloquence
So simple and yet so subtly profound
Millions of stories are contained within
One simple button to hear them sound

soft pillows and
--------hard iron
red velvet and
--------sweet oranges
craggy cliffs and
--------blue blue skies
hard rain and
--------black hearts
uplifted hands and
--------bruised knees
crossed swords and
--------bloody bullets
frozen rivers and
--------dusty plains
rainy windows and
--------tears descending
bonded hands and
--------fractured lives

Can so much beauty and truth be so easy?
Should it?

Winter Love

white snow crunches under black boots hunched
against harsh wind biting at face in the late
dawn of early winter everything zips up into
itself and closes up shop pulling down shutters
and drying up like a raisined grape in the
cruel dry air of December and our breath escapes
in bursts of white fog rising and dissipating
until it becomes a part of the frigidity hunkering
down replacing thin summer blankets with thick
quilts warm and cozy so when we finally shed our
sweatshirts and thick socks and find flannel we
can float in a cocoon of private summer

Peace Candle

it was the second Sunday of advent

he tried mightily

he held the flame to the wick
but it wouldn’t take

he tilted the candle
but no new fire emerged

he held the candle horizontally
but just wax melted

he melted more wax and it seemed to work
but then the small flame died

he tried again and everyone held their breath
but the light went out again

he gave up and lit a different candle
and then made a joke

nervous laughter

sometimes symbolism hurts

Creation

darkness

chaos

let there be light
and there was LIGHT
major chord ringing

singers creating Haydn creating God creating universe

induced labour
two girls being birthed
lighting Saskatoon hospital room

hearts beating with new blood new joy new life

fingertips depress keys
letters appear on blank screen
words lines take shape meaning
poem develops from black

blinking

cursor

Christmas

flakes fly freely fall
crystal white winter wonder
peacefully descends

Wednesday Nights

sometimes you come out of the hack leg pushing
slide through rings and let the rock glide upon
a thin layer of water
in a perfect curve to its resting place
where you wanted to end up

sometimes the push-off is unsteady
and you need to lean heavily
on the rock as you regain
balance
losing valuable momentum and
messing with your aim
and the polished granite
misses its mark

sometimes it is time for a shake-up
and you swing stone back
and push with force
letting go early to create more momentum
the shot staying straight and true
until there is contact and a new outlook

sometimes the plan is wrong
and even though your aim is
perfect
the result is poor

sometimes the shot is so delicate
like an arctic flower
yellow and white
that one twitch will
cause wreckage

and sometimes the sliding stone
will pick up a hair or lint and
not even make it to the other
side twirling uncontrollably to
the side boards

but always there are the sentries who travel beside
ready to influence the speed and trajectory
with the hopeful sweep

Toffifee

last taste of chocolate
-------------melts on our tongues
standing back
admire finished product
glittering glorious

------box is opened and we begin
------round morsels of caramel and
--------------dark heaven
------fill our mouths
------each bite savoured

------tree stands waiting
------lights’ random radiance
------each item has meaning

------glass angel from grandma
------wooden skier from Helen
------fish hook
------pictures
------student gifts
------all find their place in the plastic branches

------the hazelnut in the center
------waits for the appreciative crunch

lights are low and the small white glowings
create space for our lives
our memories
melting
lingering

Insomnia

…counting to one hundred two hundred
lying in a bed of thought hammering
hammering the brain lifting me out of
warmth into bare feet on carpet
stepping out of darkness into grey
light of night time life
thoughts do not follow
mind blank bursting with empty
balloons of fatigue sitting in front
of single solitary screen of virtual cards
carrying one pile to another chin in hand
eyes stinging with poisonous night air
until the descent into hammering thought and
counting…counting…

Lunch With Stephen Harper

I dreamed I had lunch with Stephen Harper

He had a steak sandwich (well done) and a glass of red wine
I had a reuben and a beer (dark)

He smiled at me and asked if I had any questions.

I asked him to do something about greenhouse gas emissions
He said no

I asked him to do something about child poverty
He said no

I asked him to allocate more of the budget to foreign aid
He said no

I asked him to spend more on the CBC
He said no

I asked him to stop giving tax breaks to the rich
He said no

I asked him to stop using attack ads
He said no

I asked him to consult more widely about government policy
He said no

I asked him to rethink our policy in Afghanistan
He said no

I asked him to resign
He said OK

Too bad it was only a dream

Spanish Passion

her name warbles from the speakers
she glides out empty rink
red dress ruffling
shouts and applause

spanish guitar emerges and she must begin
all alone she must fill the ice with
red passion
truly center of

attention

body
flexible agile strong
jumping spinning stroking smiling

until a crazy edge and
a fall

music does not stop
can’t start over

she finds her feet and
continues
still smiling

but the fall has rattled memory
and the moves are forgotten

picking up the pieces of thought
she does her finale and smiles again

clapping follows her off the ice
as she grows up a little more

Soprano Sax

whenever I hear a soprano sax I think of
Warren Beatty and Julie Christie and happy
endings but I don’t hear a soprano saxophone
very often there is this lovely cd by the
Hilliard Quartet where they sing along with
someone named Jan playing jazzy riffs on a
soprano sax but somehow that’s different
because that music takes me to a different
place with soft clouds and bright lights (hey
I’m back to Warren Beatty in line for heaven)
and you lose yourself in the warmth and clean
lines

and thoughts of thankfulness

Feeling

sun glances in
---------through windows
--------in hallway
dusty-----shuttered blindness----as I walk and think about

sitting on a
feather-ticked
-------------bed----------listening
to tear stained words
which envelop
room in a---------bright glow

how illuminated
dust cracks
the voice and sends signals out
terrorizing the body

an ambush of sunlight
in the hallway

Athens Subway

down the escalator
----------down into depths
--------------------down into past

monitor shows 38 degrees at 11 pm
heat escapes through white cotton shirt
two minutes until next train
through window---------unearthed ancient walls
-------------------------------------------treasures

rush of sound precedes steel and glass monster
rush of people to the door crowding in
two feet of space
we ride through bones of city

cell phones attached to women’s ears
a jumble of incomprehension
from columns to arches

heat begins to build
avoid contact until next lurching stop
stumble off and up to surface

-----------------up into darkness
---------up into the heat
up to the present

Oil Leak

-----------the
------van leaks oil
-----round dark spots
-----on the driveway
--------in the gar
-----------age

I bend down to touch a spot

slippery on my fingers as I rub them together
and then try to wipe them on a work glove
that’s sitting on the shelf in the cluttered garage
which needs to be cleaned out and organized but
it’s almost too cold now so it will probably wait
through the white wafts of winter while we take
care of work and appointments and activities and
plays and performances and family and church and
holidays and applications and homework and
meetings and whatever else we can squeeze into the
bag of existence and carry around without anything
falling out

or at least not everything

Departmental Meeting

voices searching out
words thoughts like leaves fall and mix
a fertile compost

Mom

she shows up every day
dress and high heels
walk down the hall
unsteady wavering
balance off
hips knees back sore
even though he only smiles
sometimes when she enters the room

she reads to him
her voice tired
english imperfect
hours fill up
even though he sleeps or
doesn’t seem to hear

she tells him the latest
about sons daughters
grandkids
even though he doesn’t
remember from the
morning to the afternoon

she feeds him
mashed potatoes
gravy
ground mystery meat
pale green broccoli
one slow spoonful at a time
even though he makes faces
for each bite

she kisses him goodbye
saying she has to go
home for night now
even though…

Global Warming

they form a kind of
-------flecked blackness
---------------in the distant
-----------------------sunday morning
------------------------------------sky
---------------------------------there must
-------------------------------be a thousand
----------------------------------or more
-----------------------flying in curvy
------------------check marks

which
like the clouds
keep moving and changing
and we watch through car windows
and think about
how late in the year
it is for geese to be taking
----------------------------wing
and heading south it must be
the melting ice bergs
and poison gases bringing
impending
disaster and doom
to our comfy lives
and clockwork seasons

now
every unusual season and natural disaster
is a black smudge
in the distant sky

meanwhile-------I turn the car off at the drive thru

Study Calender

white wool
curled horns
black nose
eyes gazing out

right into the room where
I sit and look at your
silk skin and raindrop eyes and pillow lips
as we graze on the hill of
a quarter century
sometimes crashing heads and horns
but always right at home
in the assurance of
our belonging

I wonder what he’s thinking

There Should be Snow

there should be snow on the horizon
a white line across the distant world
but instead it looks like summer with
the sun streaking orange red and gold
across the western sky as I traverse
the prairie highway and begin to
drift into another lane of thought
covering the highway with crayons
and hurrying across fields of stubble
to find the sun and tell it to stay a
little longer (even though it’s november
and life should be bleak and white and
leeching warmth from every pore) and
pick up the crayons

here -----I’ve got a piece of paper

Brotherly Love

did it really happen?

hanging upside down over railing
screams blackening the air
held by the ankles he shouts
threats silencing me

it’s all I remember

then the hours of football on green lawn
running catching throwing
special plays
ball landing in my outstretched arms
triumph

inhabiting the world of childhood

intimidation and instruction
fear and friendship
words of lightning and sunshine

are we still the same?

is memory truth?

what are the facts of love?

Cleo Poem #4

I looked at your face today

they say that with your whiskers
you can tell if an opening is big
enough for your body

your small, exquisite mouth
opens in a cry
you want out----or in-----or just usnearby

you see in the darkness with
those liquid eyes glowing in
ever-changing patterns of watchfulness

with a tiny wet nose you
smell everything in the house
but only go close enough to understand it

you never eat anything outside
dish with those needle teeth that
never penetrate skin

your countenance shines
in our egypt with
quiet purring love

On School (My attempt at a sonnet)

Brown tables stand ready with black chairs.
What will happen today when they saunter in;
Each one with unique styles, moods and stares
becoming part of the general din
in which we attempt to impart knowledge?
Or is it for something else we are here -
leading young minds to the ocean’s edge
to face the sea of challenge without fear?
Why do we force our children to endure
hours of sitting in a pencil paper mire
when we know that learning when it’s pure
only clutches when our minds, engaged, inquire?
We’re entrenched in a mighty school fortress
which can start to open with awareness.

Three Four Time

why are all the greatest songs in three
four time the lilt and the sway crescendos
building inescapably climaxes triumphing
at the top of a hill filled with shadows
and roads leading to strange, colourful
villages where everyone speaks German and
is drinking white wine out of plastic
tumblers or ceramic cups with quotes from
Goethe and Schiller written on the sides
and the children are dancing in a circle in
the town square except if you slow down and
then you are in outer space floating and
there are a million tiny stars and you turn
and see the bluegreen earth shimmering in
the sun’s light unaware of it’s own
waltz-like beauty

Jake Preaches

white wisps crown his head
body, pulpit, stained glass speak
voice like a laser

Night Drive

silent white noise drones
inside green dodge caravan flying
along concrete highway

strings of headlights needle the
dark night
red tail lights slowly getting closer or
----------------------------moving further away

bits of conversation whiz past or
silence reigns there too
each set of beams
in its way

finding paths in the blackness
---------searching for a song in the dark

The Fort

it smelled of earth worms and wet wood

started by digging down in the shade
a square grave two feet deep

found scraps of plasterboard and
sturdy two by fours hammering together

hour by hour in the back corner of the garden
saws and hammers and smiling crooked nails

a roof rested on our mansion
keeping out some of the rain

met by flashlight deciding future
making rules examining treasures

secret club of three boys determined
to organize our world our way

I still see it there in the corner
by the trees holding our friendship

the smell of childhood

For J.

green emeralds
green islands
green oranges
green valleys
green leaves
green trees
green grass
green tea
green backs
green plans
green shift
green thumb
green peas
green cross
green frogs
green hills
green mould
green land
green sea
I love you
green eyes

Prayer

orange flames leap and dance on soft pile
in the garden eating up twigs and dried
leaves and then subsiding and turning into
smoke which snakes up and into the grove
of trees the wind blowing it out into the
town creating that instant unmistakable
smell of burning leaves burning eyes and
nose I stir leaves to create more hesitant
flames pile reduces to a mound and then a
patch the air full of the microscopic bits
of leaf which transport into the atmosphere
and reach God

Autumn Music

crinkling maple leaves carpet yard
-------------------------------pure piercing music of autumn
ten points on brittle tan surface
-------------------------------harmony of tone and structure
thousands have fallen
-------------------------------notes descend to a scattered unison



tree

bare


methodically gather them up
-------------------------------dissonant wind howls through ears
machine launches them into billowing bag
-------------------------------melodies circle perimeter of existence
dumping dusty debris in garden
-------------------------------notes held in agonizing intensity
mountain of dryness---------leaving



yard

empty

This is It

what was behind it?
this mask you wore of
soft words
splashy outfit
white glove
crotch grab
buttery voice
moon walk
false mangled face

sometimes we saw a glimpse
when you crumpled your shirt in anxiety
over the tempo of a song
or when you couldn’t say that
your earpiece was simply too loud
or when you simply mourned the
loss of a tree

what your body did
magnetizing eyes to your
exquisite grace and quickness
sending sparks of love and harmony out from
fingers feet hips shoulders mouth

maybe this is what it was.

Commuter Beauty

grey dusky morning
chill pervades the air
in my little red candy shell
rolling down empty asphalt

beams of first daylight
flash through side window
I look and see muted colours
echo sky soul strings

horizon glows with monstrous globe
bright arc of orange freshness
wakes November fields
warms November hearts

back to the highway
and the chill (less edge now)
candy car keeps keening
moment caught forever

Christmas Lights

cord slips through fingers
untangle dusty colours
some bulbs are burnt out

The Pact

I remember

the street
a paved avenue of daydreams
past the creepy house of wrought iron nightmares
lined with broad ditches and tall trees
daily---back and forth
alone or with friend

two boys thinking of now and then
we stop at the tracks
before the descent
and make a pact

“remember this moment forever”

sun in a blanket of blue
black and white runners on our feet
wind ruffling hair
stones that we have kicked all the way here

I begin to rise and float above the street
the town
and I see the tracks
and two nine year old boys
stuck in time and place and

I remember

Sarah at Four

girl shining and trembling and tall getting to be pooh
bear this halloween standing with brother ready
to walk the streets collecting joy from neighbours and
friends who stand in doorways and marvel at the girl
in the yellow costume stuffed with parka and pillow who
knows all the words of the song and waited months to
be able to wear it bouncing like tigger and wide-eyed
like piglet who flies at the end of a kite string on a
blustery day but now she is standing at the edge of the
carpet and practicing her “trick or treat” and I look at
the picture and
smile

Gerald with the Hammer

little feet short legs nylon jacket
down the concrete path beside the water
Grandmont Park
geese gather here

we walk
stepping in every puddle
yellow rubber boots shining

he carries a hammer
a real one
it is a part of him
he’s building all the time

our voices echo across the water
greeting the geese
twinkle twinkle

puddles and hammer and song
all tie together into one
bouquet of
boy
bursting----------forth

Lynette at Two

wide eyes
round cheeks
perfect body

hopping hop hop
stretching those growing legs
flexing to the end of your ability
taking pleasure in your body
and what it can do

your hair bounces
your hands anticipate every move
your eyes eat up the darkness
always on the move

don’t stop hopping
don’t stop stretching
don’t stop flexing

keep moving to the rhythm of

life

November

trees stand stripped-----undone
black branches against grey sky
winter approaches

Voice of God

deep voice vibrations
ripple out
as he
------reads

organ pipes rise vertically
in the background

silence sounds before
glass tones tingle tense
brain cells

black shirts drape
hiding individuals

music
unites and creates one
entity

God
------speaks

Halloween

bowls of packaged sugar stand ready
voices outside call and I
open door to memories

body clenched against wet winds
trudging gravel streets pulling wagon
safety pins hold bits of cardboard and string together
glowing faces shine through face paint
looking for the next house
a grand adventure
I stand back watching as they take first
steps in a world of doorways

I place the candy in the bags
smile and close the door

Friday

wind winters through hair

---------tree branches struggle to hold
---------on to the last of the leaves as
---------they let go and swirl onto the
---------yard and sidewalk they dance
---------across grass and rest against
---------tree trunks and buildings
---------dancing to the music of the
---------changing seasons

I limp along on my trick knee and
carry black briefcase of doom
on the day before Halloween

Drizzle

random drops land on sparsely covered head as I walk wet
sidewalk in black leather still dusted with the flour from
yesterday’s shopping when I walked on the parking lot aftertaste
from eating the chili that was handed to me in the store she was
thankful that I stopped eager for some company in the aisle of an
antiseptic grocery store that I don’t go to very often usually going
to the big store right in the next lot which has bins of movies that I
like to sort through maybe finding a bargain and buying it and then
heading back out into the lot zipping up the leather jacket because
it is probably raining in this dismal October

Riding

I zip around the corner of the sidewalk
corners are the best part
voice humming motor sounds
I am on a snowmobile
I am travelling extremely fast

at school in the morning
---------rows of desks
---------chewing gum
---------forming the gum into a cube in my fingers
---------sent to the hallway
---------conversation with principal

coming home for lunch
jump on the skidoo
ridefastallthewayhome

park machine
get off
enter warm house for

lunch

before the long snowy ride back

with gum in pocket

Cleo Poem #3

plaintive insistant
your cries come from outside the door
a calling
reverse siren

“I belong inside
after
being outside all night
the cold air like a blanket of teeth”

I let you in and you slink quickly to the food dish
eating a few bites
and then find a place to lick and preen
you come to me for some touch

“let me know that you are still my friend”

my hand drops and pets
and scratches
unreplacable
luxurious
living
warm
supple
smooth
delicious
downy
fur

U2 on Youtube

running

because he can

over bridge
across stage-----up ramp

immense structure like a giant space spider
dwarfs singer

he stops running and sings in
broken phrases his voice
a clarion call

video screens switch to show picture of woman in Burma

I sit on computer chair and
stare at smudged screen

am I there among the roses feeding on their every move and blip
or am I a webcam inside myself staring at my smudged reflection
on the computer screen?

a tear fills the rim of my eye singing “One love”

where are we running?
in circles?

in or out?

are we virtually there yet?

Dara

blond hair lifts leaping
a blur of high precision
slams ball through defence

Dream of a Dream

a balloon hovers over the

massive forces
choir along the back
--------men-------women
--------------in black and white
---------------------folders ready

orchestra in tuxedoes bows poised

organ piano

podium waits for me as I approach
power in my hand
lifting the baton

the balloon lifts, carrying my brain and
I can do nothing right

tune to the oboe’s steady tone

organist’s face is a question mark

now tune to the organ

---------sorry

choir shuffles and sighs looking longingly at the
balloon with my brain

it changes from yellow to red to black

a loud pop is heard as
I wake from a dream of a dream of a dream of a dream…

Writer

flanked by sports banners in a gymnasium grey shawl
standing behind podium head tilted forward hair falling
down over face white bracelet gleaming hand carves
statues of light emerge from air black rims on tip of
nose bubbles of confident presence emerge floating and
touching brushing hair away from eyes allowing sight
and sound to enter and emerge like a low husky voice
sounding the depths of a murky sea

Poet

dark hair
-------streaks and tufts of grey
dark jacket
-------blue shirt
------------white buttons
ruddy face
-------thick glasses
gravel voice
-------words of whimsy and wonder

hand holds aloft

red book

Youth Choir

eyes focused ready
young voices reverberate
best hope for future

Cold Shower

needles enter the head
burrowing into brain

numbing all thought feeling

all I have is pale skin

laughing out loud
crying cold tears dripping onto
hard tiled floor

all pores tightly closed
nothing in nothing out
i wear this hard cold armor

longing for warmth

The Play

Dim lights blanket theatre
enveloping warmth
voices all around create
cotton candy excitement as
slowly
------slowly
------------darkness descends and
faint music emerges
------sweet tones of------expectation
expecting what?

the rehearsed and
------unrehearsed
the conflict and
------resolution
the scripted and
------unscripted
the fantasy and
------imitation of life

the velvet-chained bond between
------performer and audience

Youth Choir 2

simple a-frame construction
creates
---------------space

fog of conversation all around
ordinary words
---------------blunt blades blaring

sharp notes of harmony begin
--------unseen voices
-------------space welcomes

a dancing daring smile
approaches the front
--------capturing attention
-------------filling the
-------------------space

young bodies all shapes
---------together
----------------unified
-----------------------as one
sending a single idea

piercing-------------pronounced----------------palpable

overtones rising and dancing

becoming one with the

------------------------space

and lifting us all

a-frame cutting through clouds and fog

into

----------hope

Me and You

in a bubble of bullet-proof glass
we fly through the forest of
time
a closeness of tremendous proportions
warmth and strength sustain

inside the multi-colour sphere
we hold on
blue sheets around our bodies

always this to come back to

On Being 48

icicle thoughts form in
never ending breeze of October

juices cut off and I begin to change from
the green vibrancy to
yellow and brown tiredness

drizzle and snow dampens
wetness soaks into heart and soul
a carpet of numbness--------waiting

my grey hair keeps whispering
you’re getting old

time for the Grecian formula

time for the warmth

the blue

the green

the sun

Keane Concert

voice vibrant silver velvet-tipped arrow
shoots and bounces off walls and ceiling of
theatre

standing on a platform
every sinew stretched
like a preacher proclaiming

behind him
hands flying over keys
anticipating beats and swells

bathed in washes of colour and image
moods jump from platform to stage to
knees touching outstretched hands

meandering melodies
and lush chords
touch
everything
with the energy
of

youth
passion
love

Come Running

flinging rope bone across yard
barely landing
all muscles engaged he
runs after it intent on
retrieval

no need to learn this
began as a puppy
barely able to run a straight
line

he grabs the fibrous toy
and turns around
loping back
breathing hard
ready for the tug of war that ensues

he could play this game forever
in the sun
on the lawn
after a day of students and talk

ears flopping
tail never stopping

Hazel Rah!

Cleo Poem #2

meows ring out loudly from the kitchen
an alarm of burning need
she wants to get out

early morning ritual
stepping on my stomach
bladder full
to find a place to lie down

pin prick sharp claws
scratch carpet on the stairs
as tufts of tan fur get
left behind

the lovely tiny face
purring body
beauty
of form and
movement

learning forgiveness

Why I Golf

arms straight gripping club
pull back twisting, head stays down
swing through perfection

Premature Winter

snowflakes swirl counter clockwise
gently lighting on everything in
the yard

leaves load up with little mounds
weighing down
but not falling

after snow, sun begins to warm
tiny ice crystals break down
forming droplets

slipping off leaves
dripping down onto ground

a flaky thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Dinner

singing becomes the moment

sitting gathered
tables filled with colourful creations
of culinary joy

orange sweet potatoes
white turkey meat
brown gravy
green salad
red cranberries
burgundy wine

thanks giving with family

---------our abundance glaring

praise god from whom

---------overeating again

moments that need singing

Lynette

foggy plate glass obscures view
as my foggy brain struggles to
find a way

her blades cut edges in the ice
strong legs control skates
arms out to the side

balancing

across the rink

face smiling
determined eyes

spinning, jumping, twirling, gliding

over and over again

breath coming out in white clouds

a young strong body
in complete harmony

a balancing act of mind, muscle and motion
clears the fog from the plate glass

Sunset

voices all around us
standing
--------sitting
----------------white walls

looking across at the spectacle of
the sea

nightly display of beauty

gold adorned women with handbags

old men running beside donkeys
----------------one thousand steps every day

stop to look and wonder

no charge for this show

bright orange haze lowers down
--------------sinking past caldera into shimmering Aegean

voices stop for a moment and take a breath to witness

the illustration of

grace

Shower

hot water washes over body
dripping down
exquisite warmth absorbs into tired muscles

and I think of Florence

a room on Dante’s street

the cooling fan blows refreshing air over our
revealed bodies

as we drink wine and love each other

the exquisite closeness
spreads out into the room, building, street
enveloping all of Italy

dripping into our

souls

Sarah

blonde ringlets bounce
bright green eyes pierce through shadows
round cheeks
and mouth form expressions of total
involvement

singing
creating song from
items heard, learned, observed---------kings, special, easter dresses

profound innocence

blonde curls rest
tired eyes behind funky glasses
intent on page as pen
scribbles

writing
creating poems from
inner thoughts and intense experience
---------love, faith, truth, pain

showing us how

October

pushing off
hands slicing through water
beginning to stroke and kick
regular breaths
feeling the cool chlorine skim past

line on the bottom leads to the other end of
the pool

every stroke is a struggle
all-consuming
no end in mind

a gulp of water instead of a breath punctuates the repetition

just get through

laps overlap and become
one big lap

tell me again why I am doing this

Mass at St. Marks Cathedral

arches and domes dominate the square
----------Sunday morning in Venice
-----------------day after festival party
-----------------------streets littered
-----------------------------cups, bottles, cans
----------crowds of tourists create chaos

heat rises off cobblestones
----------sun glances off the cathedral
-----------------as we join line to enter
------------------------sanctuary

cool stillness envelopes us
----------notes from the organ lead on
-----------------sitting in the back we wait and marvel
------------------------who built this place?

choir sings – I know this song – “Ubi Caritas”
----------“Where charity and love are
-----------------God is there”

harmonies echo the huge expanse of arches and domes creating
-----------a sense of restoration
-----------------whoever built this place
-----------------------built it for

this…

filled with beauty, we leave to join the

hot

chaos

Gerald

long legs stretched or
tucked under

stubbled face with unruly
blonde crop of hair
glasses sit crooked

laptop propped
book on the side

music plays
Young or Dylan

Hey Dad, did you know Isaiah walked around naked for three years

his brain a repository of
knowledge
trivial and important

due date looms
a
giant foot of doom

he’s in the zone

making it happen

becoming

Delphi Marathon

carrying water bottle
-----------camera
--------------heading down the hill towards
--------------------Athena
-----------------------sanctuary


beautiful pillars standing tall and imposing
------------requests contemplation
----------------meditation

15 minutes to get there
------------it’s a dry heat – 40 degrees

Satie plays in my head
------------single notes
-----------------simple chords
----------------------so full of prayer

glance at watch
------------must get back for bus

take pictures and start climbing
------------must run if I’m going to make it

It feels like a marathon
------------sweat runs down
-----------------head pounding with heat
----------------------should I hitchhike?
will Athena help?

the ancients didn’t have to catch a bus

they didn’t have Satie either.

Dad

a gravelly whisper
“what are we waiting for?”

the white wavy hair crowning
face full of confusion

leaning to the right in
the wheelchair
no strength left to sit straight

this man of straight corn rows (and desks)
perfectly placed scrabble tiles
and the three point sermon

“what are we waiting for?”

“we aren’t waiting, dad, I’m here for a visit.”

little remembered
nothing enjoyed

What are we waiting for?

Crete

Salty waves wash warm over
stinging eyes bobbing in
blue water

waves of heat blow
across pebbly sand
reviving synapses and sinews

waves well from within
soaking in the love of one for another
sea---sun---sand---sky---skin

floating in an ocean of waves

Cleo Poem #1

a single silent leap
onto my lap

I don’t touch her as
she arranges herself
purring padding front paws
turning until ready
and settling
her weight warming my legs

I am the chosen one
but don’t touch

she wants proximity
but not affection

thick silky fur
tempts my hand

how can I not?

stroking the softness
she offers her face and I
oblige

scratching below the pointed, perfect ear

but I know the clock is running

leaping off

she glides somewhere else and

I am left
with an empty lap

Retaining Wall

concrete --------rough ---------heavy

grooves fit together
set in place

a new flower bed
limestone base
levelled

perfect curves and
straight lines…not

a wall retaining what?

remembering Frost’s poem

“Before I built a wall…”

remembering words said and not said
and laughter
damage on a summer night
with a black lake and shining moon
tossing all night in a cold bed

am I mending?

the blocks make my arms ache

working together
coming to the curve

“something there is…”

the blocks don’t fit

sunlight fades as I work backwards
moving every block again
mending

my ---------arms --------ache

remembering

Delphi

mountain top village
old man sells oregano
to internet cafe

Tuesday

clouds and fog hang low in the air
drizzle almost rain
soaks through
to brain

teetering on the edge of sadness

tables and chairs filled
backpacks and binders
open and close

desk piles with papers
poems
words scrawled and printed neatly

keys and pens get used
dozens of times

words fly through the air
exploratory tendative
no positions taken
full of respect

sitting with agendas
pretending professionalism
nothing decided

clouds still hang
driving home in fog

eating at the table
family clears clouds away
stories and giggles

Autumn

where are the sunflower dresses that
ring so true in the warm wind of my love?

where is the leftover raisin that squishes under
the feet of blind desire?

leave me a morsel of turkey breast at
the thanksgiving table of forgiveness

the jaded lightning rod of anger
comes with a money back guarantee

don’t try to understand the patterns of colour
on an autumn leaf

just fall in harmony with the sensational dying beauty

Losing Ourselves in Venice

we find the church

round and round we
go till

bumping into it

entering and thinking

Vivaldi knew these streets
going to Mass or school
didn’t get lost

strings begin and despite
warmth and sweat

getting lost in the sustained melodies
as they swirl among the medieval frescoes

young player
obviously
the time of his life
playing spring solo in venerable Venice

getting lost in his joy

walking home
the darkness fools us
doubling back
where now?

WWVD?

melodies that double back and circle and repeat till

the home key is found and we

sleep in Italy one last time.

The Acropolis

constant hum of cicadas
invisible in the trees
steady strong hot wind
blows skirts and hair
as sun heats up ancient stones
marble ruins
surrounded by miles of grime and litter of Athens

I look for the insects in the trees
but can’t see them

I wonder

did Sophocles hear the Cicadas?

as I climb the steps of the Theatre of Dionysus
placing myself in

the hot
noisy
drama of existance

Sunrise

look out balcony to see
orange glowing horizon
Apollo shows himself over
the eastern sea of Santorini

rear view mirror picture
framed by dense trees
orange glowing morning
of Manitoba Maple

Volcanic feeling of
possibility
framed by
home and
family