Jonathan smells the flowers

purple petunias overflow

weathered

wooden

chair

with fresh beauty 

toddler leans over

white hair glowing sunlight

small arm bent

careful not to disturb 

smells fragrant flower

sky blue eyes

staring into future

fragrant world

and him in it

Wynton

hot wind gusting street when you meet him

a sun drenched day

at the end of August

but he’s wearing blue long sleeves and pants 

you shake his hand formally

ask him where he wants to go 

he signals coffee in a downtown café

so you walk the bustle and heat

                he’s swinging his arms

                in a cool saunter

until you enter relief of air

chrome and leather cafe 

he wants to talk New York

how it all works in a kind of rhythm

of taxis and sky scrapers and lights and restaurants and parks and people walking

and how everybody can find a place there

and how it’s important to think cool

even on a hot city summer day 

and you nod your head in a steady rhythm

of content agreement

sisters

in water waist deep

shoulder length blonde hair wisping in breeze

cold lake water ripples around them

their arms create a vee

as they hold hands laughing  

lake

islands

hills

forest

stretch out around them

as they stand together

commanding attention

West Hawk Lake

I would run across the street
sand sticking calloused feet
back red from sun
lunch ready inside cabin

pristine water of lake

crater created

deep as the ocean

a circle of purity

chilled to the bone
but we didn't notice
boys splashing

pretending to swim
proud to wade in chin deep

it seemed we came there year after year
it was our lake
our beach

with concrete wall and long steps leading to street
our white and green cabin
our pure sunny summer place
of sandy feet and sunburned backs

august drive

wind buffets face with relentless late august air

as I drive open-windowed down lonely 206 as

Shostakovich prelude and fugue in d minor

buffets ears with relentless sadness looking out

at ripened corn and sunflower fields waving farewell

to sunny heat of summer and greeting the

browning brittle cool of autumn with final hammer strokes

of nostalgic d major

lightning

jagged bursts light sky

looking out through cracked windshield

in awe of nature’s display

four generations

they sit on green sofa

mountain lake canvas hangs behind

light shadow colour

radiate

from snow-capped peaks and

green    liquid     tranquility 

bare feet of little boy

pink in their newness

dangle on lap of young mother 

smiling great grandmother

and proud grandmother

sit side by side shoulders touching 

four lives

each thirty years apart

radiating life lived

separate

and together

until this green-couched moment

Byrd

you meet him near park

green tunic

white collar

flowing brown hair

neat beard and moustache 

smiling in august sunshine

strolling in English garden

everything clean

manicured 

you comment on the flowers

and he expounds on them

describing the nature of

snow white daisies

yellow lilies

orange snap dragons

crimson roses

purple rhododendrons

velvet violets

ornate orchids

golden-eyed primroses

tiny pink impatiens

pale green hostas

pretty pointed foxgloves

pointing as he talks

describing how they are best arranged 

and you walk along

a step behind

resting in the lovely symetry

Sputnik

blazing sky in low orbit

bright orange shirt

flapping

in weightless atmosphere of

harmonic triplets and chromatic scales 

three antennae                                extend

from shiny

rhythmic

orb

streaking through stars

at eighteen hundred miles per hour

hair and guitars fusing into

one fiery fist of sound

an evolving ellipsis of energy

family wiener roast

chairs in tight circle

round orange flames in center

smoky smiles rise up

Reinland

I round the curve in gleaming crv

hit gravel

and I’m back in time

house barns on left and right 

village nestles sprawling trees

bumps of Pembina hills in distance 

I can hear the Low German already

spoken over cracking seeds

stories of childhoods spent mixing work and crazy adventure 

this place is the soul of my father

where he went back to

when all other memories were gone

field work and siblings

I stand among the gravestones old and new

the chiselled rounded curve on the tops

blunt fingers pointing back

to the basics

wedding poem IV - Kailey and Erny

lone piper stands in afternoon sun

ancient pibroch glinting grass and trees

on           expansive           lawn 

army jeep appears          carrying bride

gown and purple sneakers

smiling camero groom awaits 

this yard is a garden of love today

as steady drone and bright melody join as one

and a highland father looks down from above

and smiles

young filmmaker

appears like magic after movie

dark jeans

dark shirt

hands half in front pockets

shoulders up

leaning on back rest

lights slowly come on in theater

smile

twinkle…

Sarah - day one

clear bright blue morning

morning after midnight birth

your first day 

driving Pembina Highway

little boy in blue in the back

singing songs 

I tell him that you are waiting

a bundle in hospital room

we will bring our smiles and bright hearts 

with his small hand in mine

we step into elevator

rising up into the future 

your eyes pinch shut

as I hold you with grateful arms

happy baby        blessed life

Heinrich Schuetz

immaculate

with pointed grey goatee and moustache

hair combed straight back

white collar over black coat

he shakes your hand solemnly and you invite him in 

he regards you with half-closed serious eyes

and you serve him a cup of coffee

                he takes it black 

he is quiet until you ask him about his children

and then he comes alive

using words like

gift

potential

joy

faith

love

proportion

time

praise

and integrity 

his pointed words strike a chord deep within you

notes bright clean

impeccable

boy with ball

bare feet on green lawn

red and white volleyball

almost as big as you are

tree leaves brush your arms

as you chase and pick it up with both hands

turn around and throw at toyota parked on driveway 

I maneuver it with my feet and kick it back towards you

and you pick it up again

grunting as you bend your knees 

this is serious stuff

as you narrow your eyes to the task

oblivious to the sharp stones

that dig into your tender soles 

all so new

balls that roll when you kick

that bounce when you throw 

a world that begins to be

under your control

almost 28 years

it was a stuffed pepper I think

back in that first year

when everything was new

like the first bloom on a rose bush

our own one-bedroom on Roslyn Road 

cut the red pepper

open

and it became a

flower filled with a rice concoction

baked in oven in tiny kitchen 

set the table for two

vase with red rose 

didn’t taste like much

but we didn’t say anything

revelling in the company and

the rosy future of 28 plus years

of loving and being loved

Springsteen

brown paper torn at the edges

your voice documents our ragged years

always in the background of our living 

perfectly stitched baseballs

your verses curve into our hearts

telling our stories             translating our events 

heavy swinging wrecking ball

your music smashes our order

shows the elemental     dusty path 

to passion

psalm IV

sparrow whistles in the woods

on small island

on vast dotted lake 

one low burst and three high

clear as lake water

tones ring through branches

and soar into blue evening sky

until they reach almighty ear

thrilling to hear the song

planted deep in the dna of earth

so that it is never lost 

always ringing in the cosmos of life

so that my matching song

can burst out and reach the heights

tempest

comes with no warning

wind splashing face         trees bending

five minute chaos

Bruce Cockburn

you see the world through round wire rims

bright eyes magnified  

you play the world through six steel strings

flashing fingers a blur 

you sing the world through constant reedy tenor

tilted head resonating 

you story the world through poetic verse

life captured truly 

round world of need and blood and bright sun and miracle

within rim of your song

cottage (Mackie's Island)

camouflaged with trees

standing sentry

in rocky slope

rises out of hillside like mirage

place of retreat and welcome

of play and conversation

of feasts and rest

of water and sunshine

of family and contemplation

of coming and going

an island of smiles in a lake of life

nature

eagle
white head
powerful folded wings of potential
atop dead skeletal tree
framed by blue sky
on little island

we watch from white boat

powerful engine silenced
rocking in the waves
zooming pictures
digitizing white-headed nature
into pixels of proof

august

constant cricket chirp outside screened bedroom window

tells of august night as cool breeze drifts down on bare arm

consider the end of summer approaching

the shiver at the edges of the days

where crickets chirp

and autumn begins

m and m

did I really slip hard-shelled orb
into my mouth

did I really caress sweet fragility
with my tongue

did I really bite through chocolate coat
with eager jaw

did I really encounter crunchy peanut
with tough teeth

did I really maneuver two halves of peanut apart
with mouth muscles

a globe of goodness
experienced again and again
if I choose to say yes

little boy at the lake

fine fine blonde hair

gently

feathers small head
tickling tender ears
wind combing random wisps

splayed bare legs striped shirt
boy sitting

on small beach

busily intently pouring

water and sand

clouds cool sun overhead
lazy late afternoon

yawns into summer eve
as tender little life

suspends time with feather touch

Just Plumb Hollow

bile 'em cabbage down set us off
pleasing jangle of strings strummed
gathered around living room
siblings and cousins joining for
prairie bluegrass party

spilled wine made it official
laughter ringing above
cripple creek and fox on the run
and fiddle flew through devil's dream
banjo fingered jed clampett

voices rang harmony on choruses
traded solos on verses

stories told between songs
playing until fingers hurt and voices raw
and we played the last polka

cowboy hats and vests coloured
young heads and hearts
lively living loving life
toes tapping to the rhythm of
exalted existence

summer family dinner

table a T
chairs crowded around
food finds plates

oma is eighty-nine
baby is one

song heartily sung
while baby smiles and points

wine carefully poured
burgundy splashing glass

conversations tumble air
happy cacophony

laughter shakes cottage
comfortable familiarity

glasses raised to celebrate
commitment of couple

scattered family converges
around a table of love

Jonathan at the cottage

a small finger on a small hand at the end

of a small outstretched arm

pointing

at ducks in the lake
at splashing water
at smiling grandmother
at Cassie the dog
at whatever catches the eye of
blonde

blue-eyed

wonder-filled

wonderful

one year old

and we follow his lead as he

points out the way

Lin and Bob

like Baucus and Philemon

sitting together

lace table cloth at elbows

he

blue short sleeves

eyes engaged

framed by open doorway

she

face looking up

in quick smile

kitchen gleams background

abundant food adorns table

as happy conversation fills in spaces

like the bowl of fruit between them

this welcome is what they do

Britten

meet outside city in park

black curls combed back

dark wool sweater over shirt

you shake hands     firm grip

he pulls you towards him

in embrace and the walk begins

soon you are off the path

wandering English country-side

neat hills and meadows

he goes wherever he wants

over fences

through fields

he talks of the peace he feels in this place

peace is

playfulness in the heart

he says smiling

                darkness behind the eyes

and you feel the dark warm hug of curly wool

butterfly

powerful

muscular shoulders

turbo through blue water

to reach wall first fingers

touching sensitive panel

before clenching into

raised fist of

victory

fringe fest moment

woman stage alone

acting her mother’s story

dark tress beside tear