Dad's sidestroke

white head turned to side
powerful kicks splash straight up
true steady progress

the chorales in Bach's St. Matthew's Passion

they stand alone
proclaiming the truth of our red hot passion
in blue cool softness
in the midst of the great story of
God’s incredible grace

they stand alone
in suspended harmonic shifts
giving voice to the uncertain beauty of
our inconstant faith

they stand alone
surrounded by the infinite inventiveness
of a man divinely inspired and brings us back
to the stone floor of the earthly congregation

they stand alone
in lovely simple contrast
to the complexity of fighting fugue
and conniving counterpoint

they stand alone
and transport us to
solid ground of grateful growth

Pete's

sky a cloudless blue
as I round the corner

past Bueckert’s Dodge dealership
with the CP tracks on the other side

lean the bike against wall
three round steps up and then the door

ancient hardwood floor creaks under sneakers
this place has been here forever

Pete, behind the counter, smiles in my direction
and I take an empty stool ready to order

I could be Doc Holiday or Butch Cassidy
sitting at the bar with my horse waiting outside

for this ten-year-old a coke and a crunchie bar
after the paper route is just about perfect

evening walk

rounded sliver of new moon
hangs like a window ornament in evening sky
sharp crescent edge
pointing at the bottom towards
bright Venus
shooting rays of warm love down
on cold winter evening
we exhale clouds of white breath
and bask in decades old promise to
love
------- adore
-------------- cherish
through all the lunatic phases
of this lovely life
one breath at a time

ponderings at the beginning of Lent

lent
from the latin - meaning “forty”

lento
from the latin “lentos” - meaning “slow”

like driving forty miles on an icy road
with all your wits about you

like taking forty slow steps on a walk
taking in all sights and sounds

like watching forty snowflakes drift slowly to the ground
contemplating a white world

like listening to the forty half-minutes of the third movement of Mahler’s Fourth
and longing for beauty in everything

like eating forty peanuts-----one at a time
admiring texture crunch and taste--- each----time

like an uninterrupted cup of tea with a friend over lunch
sharing the hard and the easy of life

like reading forty lines of Hamlet’s soliloquy
and understanding fear------courage-------purpose in a new way

like spending forty long minutes in one position
praying
------meditating
-------------considering
---------------------thanking

lento lent life

valentine lilies

open up one by one
reveal your pink softness
pointed petals arcing
like a swan dive

your brown anthers
green pistol
attract fliers to pollinate
to find the sweet nectar

vase sits on table
ready
willing
beautiful
unloved

deluge (water poem VIII)

drowning in snow
forty inches falling and sticking to every surface
every evergreen branch laden
bent to the ground with wet heavy snow

I am Noah
building a future in this deluge
negotiating with God
who wants to start over-------begin again

and so I
dig out from under the
mounds of snow
already plummeting from branches
and greet the blueing sky
and rainbow arch of the
mighty spruce bough

Canadian Museum of Human Rights

rising monolith on riverbank
cranes surrounding
at the top a spire
------- just girders now
------- imagination fills in rest

iceberg-like with no clean corners
or discernible geometry
attracting the curious eye
to the future possibilities
of glass and steel

beneath the iceberg’s visible shape
rests the large invisible reality
--------dangerous
--------important
--------unfathomable
--------deep
--------unavoidable
--------under construction

quinzy

we made a good one once
shovelled snow into big backyard pile
and then more

let it harden with a shell
white mound
made by father and son

then dig out with tiny shovels
small hole for entrance
mother watches amused
baking cookies

we crawl in
father son daughters
cozy cocoon of white breath and smiles

a candle is lit
cookies and milk are served
warmth spreads to the icy dripping walls

crawling out
little ones first
pink snowsuit emerging
and fly off in our
different directions
with one more magic memory made

a toast to dad

raise a glass

large full table laden with food
crowded with family of all shapes
all somehow shaped by the
one
who watches from above the raised glasses
one who lived
order-------truth-------righteousness
scrabble pieces straight and even on the board
crosswords completed in ink
------- mistakes whited out
a smile at honest effort
a frown at a harsh word

a moment of reflective silence
spreads around the table
like a waft of fragrance from a bouquet of lilies

prairie pilgrims

platter flat
like a coffee table – round
red-river topography

and we drive along grid-like highway
gazing at distant orange sunset
a band of colour across the straight
straight far away knife edge

on the way back
in blackness
headlights light up broken highway lines
exposed to empty space

horizon a necklace of town and city lights
surrounding us with
a border of brightness under
satellites and stars

pilgrims on the plain flat beauty
surrounded by the lighted horizon of love

Jonathan - not yet one

ohhhh------to stand
and take your place
rise up to your full height on
tipitoes
on tiny blue shoes

hang on for dear life
as you peer into the grown-up world
with those round blue blue eyes and half smile

and soon you will walk among us
(run most likely)
but where will you run to?
what do you see that you want?

some would say
stay down
crawl slowly and avert your eyes
from the tall stormy world of darkness

but it’s in every cell of your being
in your fat fingertips clutching the furniture
in your short jumpy legs that lift lift lift
in your synaptic brain that absorbs everything
at the speed of a hummingbird

you have to rise and announce your presence
and we applaud
knowing your playful presentness
can only make us better

take note

upright alert head
of cat at window eyeing
bright new snow cover

after a restless night; or red-rimmed random thoughts

red-rimmed eyes look back at me in the mirror

lying awake
and then getting up to do iTunes task on the computer
at 3 in the morning

back in bed
fitful dreams about larry’s book
with plasticized yellow cover
and the red-highlighted passage mocking martin
laughing in the school gym

lying on blue flannel and
finally getting up and putting on
lester young bopping way too fast for my red-rimmed ears
but reminding me of the spirit of living in joy
like my cat chasing a golf tee around the house
in bursts of sinew stiff energy

but now the jazz has slowed to a blues
walking along singing the red-rimmed world
and the cat is stretched out in utter relaxation as I
gaze at the painted rock that anchors the plant filled stand
cactus and aloe
blue stars and green leaves with sparkles
and a red-rimmed circle mirroring me
and my teary eyes

thinking of Syrian children executed in hospitals
whitney in a bathtub
four men trapped in burning trailer
famililess father
and a deadly fire in Honduran prison
kids car surfing
hanging on to the top of the van as it swerves across
winter road
body flying off
and the permanent red-rimmed eyes of the
parents

for the world (water poem VII)

the world needs

in Syria so full of blood
in Palestine so full of shouting
in Greece so full of burning
in Egypt so full of the tug of power
in America so full of furious flickering
in Africa so full of empty stomachs
in cities near and far so full of empty-eyed children
in China
in Burma
in Russia
in India
in Mexico
in Central America
in Iraq
in Afghanistan
in Europe
in South America
in shrinking forests
in the melting north
in corrupt halls of power
what am I missing? a lot
in my ignorance

needed
needing
needs
a cool
refreshing
healing
peace-bringing glass of
pure
unreserved
undeserved
grace

locked (to j.)

some evenings we bundle up and
take a walk
side by side on the frozen streets
of this little windswept winter town

stars prick out the blackness
on the darker corners
and we look and
see orion
and ursa major
and other unknown collections of distant suns

and I imagine they are there just for us
lighting our joined journey
through a windy and cold world
where we
lean on the other for
strength
------- truth
-------------- assurance
-------------------------love

like a pair of suns locked in each other’s orbit
seen from below as one bright star in the chilled heavens

we will walk together
until our boots crunch the driveway snow
and we are home

Dad - my morning memories

I see him standing at the bottom of the stairs in our Gretna house
white shirt and tie calling impatiently for me to come down to breakfast
bill guest speaking importantly from the radio in the kitchen and then I
come down sleepy-eyed the only one left in the house all others off at
university or working sitting down to toast and chokecherry jam and
coffee but first he reads the calendar devotional thick index fingers
rolling up the thin paper as he reads in German of course then a prayer
and the radio goes back on cbc news marking the day with an event or
two from the middle east I may ask a question and he knows the answer
but it is usually a wordless meal before we rush into the brown dodge and
we drive the tree-lined streets to the school where he is the principal and
I am in awkward grade 9 in class he was a different person animatedly
telling stories about Martin Luther or John A. and making history come
alive me not questioning the disconnect between the taciturn father and
brilliant teacher just accepting the unspoken love that flowed between our
distant but intertwined spirits

Leonard Cohen (a tribute)

a cold draft wafts through the house as I think of you
sitting in your isolated retreat
scraps of paper strewn
verses penned by the insistant muse that keeps you going

you lived in Greece for a while
in some white-washed home
arches for doorways
with blue table
I saw pictures in a songbook
and I learned all your songs
trying to pick the guitar just like you
singing Suzanne with my cousin having no idea what it meant
but loving the language of tea and oranges

your hair was black then
your voice versatile subtle
and you wrote of love for Marianne and Suzanne
but it was more than that
because it held me in trance
the love was spiritual
Suzanne was also a church
church of body----mind------heart-----soul

and you kept going
intertwined hearts making a star of David
your ultimate symbol
and yet you also struggled with the coldness in the house
a cold and broken halleluiah
------- worth singing but fraught with middle age

and then came the mountaintop
the time for introspection
for holiness as
hair became grey
topped by a hat
and voice dropped to the depths
the basis of everything

and you showed yourself
on stage
vulnerable
praying
flying above all the others in your depth

and always like a chilled house you
presenced my life
dis/comforting like a famous
blue
raincoat

Mendelssohn

you run out to greet him
forgetting your coat in the
snow crunching cold

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you say
his frosty sideburns quiver as he smiles
and heads to the warmth of the house
rubbing hands together as he sits and waits for his tea

That’s a beautiful flower he says as he notices
the amaryllis on the table
I love flowers looking closely
the extraordinary colours and shapes

sipping, he notices your photo albums
may I look he says

you hand him a few
they are family shots of your kids mostly

he examines each carefully
noticing eager faces in the pictures
the obvious love in the eyes
the natural smiles
the busy atmosphere

treasure this
he says
such harmonic loving beauty

and you nod in the warmth of
your status so described

winter loosens grip

white undulations still dominate landscape
in the sub-zero prairie outdoors
but little semi-tones of change
whisper that winter is withering away for another year

sun staying longer in early evening
ahh dusk
rising earlier
bright morning
and rice flakes of warmth peel on a clear blue day

the ides of February approaches
with foolish fantastic thoughts of
roses bought
wrapped
and delivered to worthy waiting arms
followed by kisses

red lips meeting in anticipation

of spring!

Lynette's hugs

they started in her toes
crunching in a ball
-------she loved finding lint between those pudgy toes
and moved up those ferociously strong legs
scissoring my waist
-------legs that could bend any which way
-------and became pistons with skates leaping and twirling
-------in phrased figures
her body glued to mine in unflinching love
-------small but filled with giggles and sweet sweet summer
and then the arms around the neck vice-like
that wouldn’t let go as if love was an endurance contest
-------with perfect hands that can do anything they want

finally head buried in neck
fine hair tickling
thought forgotten in this wild explosion of pure affection

treatments (water poem VI)

like thousands of others
I have this device under my skin
right under my collarbone
connected to my vein fanning out to entire body

for eight months
I’ve gone to have a needle stuck into the
round valve
through the skin

and bags of water turned into chemical
have dripped their shaded liquid
through my veins
to every part of my fragile flesh

and now it’s over
done
finished
vessels empty

for now

water of renewal has been poured

the device stays though
-------just in case

Elegy (Blair Green 1978 - 1998)

forever the golden boy
the sun’s glow framing
blonde hair and
shining face
walking from barn to house

soft voice
polite
capable
patient
unforgettably kind

a life cut so short
so much potent portent
unrealised

and yet there he stands facing us
golden
leaning on railing
with that challenge on his chiselled countenance

remember me
remember others
remember

Berlioz

(dedicated to R. Krahn)

he walks slowly so you meet him
on the driveway
you say, “you were my first -
kinda like the first time you really notice a girl”

he just scowls
his shock of wild long hair and sideburns
long hooked nose
giving him that insane wildness

we enter the house and he sits waiting for
his glass of red

small talk in quiet tones escalates into
near shouting
as he downs his wine
(which you fill again and again)

he passions about integration
boxes don’t suit him well
he gesticulates a large circle
almost singing his words

EVERYTHING can fit into the circle
he says
and if not
make the circle larger

exclusion hurts his wild head

never forget to think of everything
otherwise you truly are not
living or growing

and you understand why he was your first

four days of hoar frost

white crystals clinging
branches heavy with beauty
a midwinter gift

cancer fog

descending like dust from a demolition
and hanging in the psyche
covering
liming limbs with piano cadence crystals
limiting sight to
only what is directly ahead or behind

we continue
almost blind

to stop is to invite disaster
to go back is just a fantasy
and so we move forward cautiously
inching our way towards
future fate

the soft white winter counterpoint
providing measure by measure of hope

Benny (Goodman)

with hair parted on the side and slicked back
wire rims framing intense eyes
he stays in the driver’s seat and motions for you to join him in his
immaculate black cadillac

he wants to drive where it’s all happening
so you direct him through the city places and
he talks about how people are so mesmerizing
some just lazing around all day
and others can’t stop moving/doing
he says the trick is to get things done
but feel like the guy relaxing on his front steps

it’s all in the attitude…
and in the practice
and a smile finally breaks out

and it’s only then that you notice the cat
lounging in the back seat
and you begin to get the hang of it

februum (Water Poem V)

I can see you now

you’ve just had that shot of vodka and
sat in sweating sauna at 97 degrees
inhaling pine scent poured over red hot rocks
even breathing hurts

in mid-air leaping off the dock
about to hit cold black lake water
so refreshing and soul cleansing

but before the splash
I imagine this fleeting thought ripples
why this ritual right now?
is it pure fun or something deeper?
pure depth?

and you climb out to make it
a third time – all things three
it seems

these thoughts on a hoar frost
day - the first of February
black branches whitened
into crystal miracle

Amaryllis II

Oh thou surprisingly pink crown of petals
on thick green carriage makes my wounded
heart drown in delight and wonder at thy courage
to bloom on mundane kitchen table in winter’s
monochromatic middle tiny veins of green and
white intermingle on petals pointed and bunched
like a riddle you were supposed to be red – vivid,
bold or so the accompanying papers said but you
defied the genetic code and decided to emerge pink
instead and so my submerged heart emerges to
celebrate the wonder of counter surges