Christmas picture

my sister stands sadly

in deep snow

hunched

into black leather coat beside

wreath

signalling mom’s grave

under the snow

row on row of wreaths in background

it is Christmas day

eight months after

and

our eyes ache with longing

standing alone in the snow

bereft

surrounded by field of wreaths

signs of sadness

and we say

frohe Weinachten Mama

11:00 am Christmas Eve

Henry the cat stretches out

as usual

like this is any other day

on the back of blue leather couch

like a vacationer on the sand in Mexico

eyes closed

paw tucked under chin

this nap is

complete

fully relaxed

devoid of stress or worry

he floats on an ocean of dreams

which occasionally lead to a

s t r e t c h

paws splayed

and then back

to another version of slumber

outside blue sky

and the chill of winter glints snow

and we stretch our souls

for a few more hours

resting in the warmth of this approaching love

kids at Christmas

explosion of smiles

little feet dance their way into hearts

dulled with repetition

each step same as the one before

snow drifting down in soft flakes

with no magic no wonder no thrill

but bleary memories resurface

and our hands pick up little toy

and we do something on impulse

faces shine and we blow kisses

to happy boy in the cast who must sit

and wait for our touch our smile our laugh

I pick up three year old and hold her upside down

because I can and she screeches

blonde hair swaying with joy

and we become Christmas

poinsettia

gold foil

wrapped around plastic pot

crumpled corners reaching

out and up into

large green leaves

like drooping hearts

pointing down

crowned by red-veined

miracles of celebration

loving the light from

window

on this

snow-wrapped

advent day

overnight snowfall

weary world wears mask of snow this morning

covering

lawn

road

driveway

with pure white harpsichord

ringing in this mid-December

pregnancy

and open the door for the

cat

who lightly pads

leaving paw prints

as temporary evidence

of living in this masque

Paris

we watch wet empty streets

at midnight

places of panic

sedate restaurant

bullets

                bleeding

                                bodies

                                                bones

                                                                breaking

in shadow of tower Eiffel

then

concert

                crashed

guns with eyes hands    sweaty fingers

holding heavy metal hostage

young men afraid

tickets in back pockets

running the door

                trampling

                                escaping carnage

into garish light of Paris streets

                the lucky ones

and we watch and wonder

who escapes

when terror takes a city

on a drizzle-drenched Friday November night?

silence pierced by pain

wedding poem XII - Josiah and Christa

strand of pink yarn

(the old story)

tied in bow

around white napkin

tightly wrapped around

knifeforkspoon

pink sash encircles waist

of young woman

walking toward stage

of historied auditorium

pink bowtie graces neck

of young man

walking towards her

bearded chin forward

and then we sing

a cappella

filling aged space

with vital voices

needing no help to lift the harmony

up and up

until it rests in heaven

which beams down grace enough

to bless this earnest union

now bound together

by the bright yarn of love

September sun

heat wafts late summer

limpid leaves on hanging branch
endless warmth of us

wedding poem XI: Lisa and Kent

come my beloved

let us go

they tell each other with shining eyes

and us friends who witness

ancient words

spoken and sung

in ancient rite of

joining together

and looking forward

facing future

grasping bouquets of dried lavender

or wheat

harvest of love

heady aroma of joy

and when unity candle is lit

a butane lighter does the trick

because we all need help

on this journey

to the vineyards

where we give our selves

fully 

tempus fugit

it says tempus fugit

on grandfather’s clock face  

38 years old

this large presence

                a gift for years of service

first Cullen Drive

then Reay Crescent

and then on Kingsford

and now in our basement

at the bottom of the stairs

tall walnut serene sentry

ticking/chiming

seconds

 minutes

quarter-hours

pendulum ponderous portentous

mom and dad got used to the chimes

and the hourly counting to 12

twice a day

time was their friend

until it wasn’t

memories swept away

like seconds on the pendulum

dad fighting until the end

for a shred of his former self

and mom accepting the failures of the body

minutes running out on that tremendous spirit

now it continues to swing seconds away

in our house

but I can’t make the tolling chimes work properly
no matter how much I try

Keri Johnsrud at Joe Segal's place

she’s got this purple flowered dress

and red curtain hangs

draping back wall of Monday night

at Jazz Showcase in Chicago

band surrounds with confident

tight ribbons of sound

and she sings sweet cascades

reddish hair framing young face

smile hinting brilliance

and we recline in the

buoyant

chord

changes

drinking in interplay

as eyes on stage dance

in the flowered purple dress that is jazz

Hamlet and Maria in Stratford

on the same stage

a few hours apart

two sides of us

colliding

and asking for our hearts and minds

on this summer day in 2015

oh that this too

too solid flesh would melt I have

confidence in confidence alone oh cursed

spite that ever I was born

to set it right I simply remember

my favourite things get thee to a nunnery why

wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners the hills are

alive with the sound of music oh what a rogue

and peasant slave am I climb every

mountain who would fardels bear

 to grunt and sweat under a weary life

when he himself might his quietus

make with a bare bodkin ford every stream

follow every rainbow till you find your dream good night

sweet prince and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest so long

farewell auf wiedersehn good night

and so it continues

until the end of days

with no right or wrong

just Elsinore, Denmark and Saltzburg, Austria 

tugging tugging tugging

rainbow (for G and L)

driving drizzled highway

near Nipigon

packed with lives

lived elsewhere

slow steady journey

of rain and weary miles

summer sun setting

reflecting off sun-patched lake

look straight ahead

into bands of colours

prism spectrum blending

one into the other

gradually entire arc

appears glorying

evening eastern sky

with promise

and we drive

straight into shining hope

water body

before

I would walk into lake (West Hawk)

chilled water numbing

until

water up to chin

arms raised

floating the surface

tiptoing                flirting with submersion

or

stay in the shallows

hands crawling the sandy bottom

body horizontal

head tilted up

catching summer breath

don’t remember learning

it might have been in the Altona pool

hot summer outing

or a brother  showing me how

after

I would stay close to bouys

that marked off beach area

testing endurance

from one end to the other

waves lifting and lowering

my lithe form

or

dive deep

for shiny rocks on the bottom

holding breath

like a pearl finder

wondrous water enveloping

Arlo - Folk Fest 2015 poem #5

long white curls tell old stories with beauty and precision

drawing out drama and humour

creating rapt audience

out of loose collection of tarps and chairs

and then we stand as one

and sing an old Woody song about peace

and the bonds we share

call and response like a congregation

tears flow unchecked

unwiped

unstoppable

each salty drop

         a story of its own

Tyler (Dawes) Folk Fest poem #4

here by himself

alone

unassuming

no band

just him and his 

finicky guitar

and he waits/listens

‘til it’s his turn

and then with a voice

sweet as strawberries

and a song that reaches for the

ripest    best       truths

he moulds an atmosphere

of strong trees swaying in the wind

leaves rustling

and shade and sun alternating

until pact is formed

between listener and singer

an understanding of the delicateness

of life alone in a peopled world

Shred Kelly - Folk Fest poem #3

strings plucked

as though on

fire

and we move

headlong into

frantic dance of age and youth

the song both old and new

marshaling heads

to bob to the beat of pure joy

wide smile of the banjo

energises and illuminates

the heart

under this cloudless

prairie sky with

blazing sun setting 

RURA - Folk Fest 2015 poem #2

listen to the highlands sing

in intricate reels

soaring through intense heat

bagpipes and fiddle and whistle

trade the circular tune

these young men

playing love

reaching across centuries

to a time of tartan tribal tradition

and infusing warm weathered wisdom

which smiles and laughs life

into lowland souls

Dan Mangan sings "Basket" Folk Fest 2015 poem #1

button up shirt

guitar

short cropped hair

stubbled face

earnest with intent

it’s hot but we sit

in searing sun

gravelled voice lifting dust of his life

and we answer back

in waves of thought

placing puzzle pieces

on the grand

table of memories

our collective

experience

for who doesn’t have

something to add to the basket

when it comes around

each poignancy      each loss

dropped like a stone

and so we will

button on our armour

       and ride our steed

towering poplars

vertical wonders

line edge of yard along path

bend but do not break

smoke haze

can’t find sun

in grey white sky

not cloudy exactly

constant hazy reminder

of fires burning in

forests of the west

where it doesn’t rain

in this time of climate chaos

July of blue skies

and hot sun

slipping by in this endless

humid miasma of mind mixed with

a faint smell

of a burning world

house in Gretna

TV antenna

still rests atop

steep-pitched peaked roof

right above my bedroom window

looking out at the Busse house

through the line of plum trees

and the old sidewalk

almost overgrown with grass still

borders white-clad house resting

on cement foundation

remember

the time we moved the house

to dig a new basement

without a cistern

trees surround with

stately summer-green steadfastness

in yard and garden of TV antenna memories

which merge with

present panoply of

experience and concern

in this peaked childhood home

asparagus

spear straight

tip of seeds points

to sunny sky

reach down        grasp stem          snap off

fragrant green juices spray

fingers

dampened

eat tip first

fresh texture and taste filling mouth

with life

then eat the rest and survey rest

of growing garden

beans a mini canopy of giant leaves

potatoes poking out of black earth

row of beets reddish grasses

lettuce and spinach flourishing

tomatoes bathing in the warmth

taste all this growth

until the last

bite

of irises and lilacs

because ephemeral

a few days in June

this year coincide

because beautiful

blooming white light purple

petals fresh and new

because gentle

tender scents dance

in warm winds

because bountiful

profuse plenteous blossoms

a gift of risen spirits

because perennial

unbidden break into

lovely lilac hues

because love

they remind me of

you

Relay for Life - 2015

winter wind in May

leaches away warmth

like cancer

in this green hilly park

with figure eight path

lined luminary

white messages

of love and remembrance

we in our layered lined

coats and hoods

defy this wind

and walk the path

the journey

of survivors

and supporters

carrying blue baton in gloved hands

lighting fires in

cauldrons of care

beacons of warmth

in hearts that

keep beating

pumping

hope

out to buffeted hills

winter wind in May

makes faces ruddy but

we smile

and face these

hills and

walk this path

together

summer introit

new green breeze flutters

sun dappled lawn robins land

sing anthem to warmth

writing it down - Mom

and then it is over

a life of 92 years and two months

a journey breathed through

sun and storm

water and fire

in this room of breaths

eyes open           faintly focused

we gather vigilant intent

on letting ending happen

we the living

letting a part of ourselves

slip away in         these        slowing             breaths

another syringe of freedom into tube

and we touch her hand               shoulder              face

assurance of presence

until it seems it is here

a presence descending

and through tears we begin the songs

half words           half hums

melodies float on the breath of tears

and her face

changes

from tension and labour

to restful submission

we sing until the breathing seems to stop

only a few           last         gasps of struggle

and then we pray her spirit into peace

water and fire

sun and storm

a journey breathed through

a life of 92 years and two months

and then -

adoramus te (Wedding Poem X) Philip and Felicitas

thick ancient walls

recessed windows

faded frescos

echo voices

clear      angelic

overlapping and dancing

in rarified holy air

of radiant lovers’ vows

made facing imposing wooden cross

simple vase of roses

and two thick candles

burning with the e/motion of the moment

congregation sings praise to the Lord

smiles and tears overlap and dance

in morning air

with wire hearts of children

hanging in delight

and these thick walls remember these notes

of covenant and joy

as they tumble

echo

and live

in love and praise

one week after: what I will do today

walk soft lawn

of greening

blades pushing up into

gusty air warmed

by sun in May

gaze new leaves

unfurling bare branches

a billion births

unscrew valve and

let black oil of old year

steady stream out of mower

and add

a new golden year

listen to birds

sing a mozartian welcome

to this   this

so new and familiar

don’t block out

memories of mother

planting in May

garden of love

elegy - Mom (Anni Ens-1923-2015)

generic  room

white walls         third floor

Concordia hospital and

two dozen roses

pink and yellow

in vases on the windowsill

opening to the sunlight

and this woman

this mother

bruised by life   but undefeated

having won every battle

every fight

with hands of determination

shoulders of patience

tender eyes of beauty

arms of love

high head of courage

quiet solid faith in

                the sheltering wings of God

through tragic loss

fearful famine

world of war

untimely upheaval

mass migration

maze of marriage

house  of children

weary work

bereft widowhood

shrinking old age

this woman

has come to this bed

and this room to defeat death

and live on

in our many        many memories

now open to the sunlight

aufwiedersehn Mama

Pollock at the Met - NYC 2015 (3)

I arrive                  breathless           finding room

at                                            extremity of massive

museum having walked past Rodin marvels

and Impressionists          floating                 on

white walls and                 stop                       in

silence                  plaque says autumn rhythm (

number 30)        and I stand back breathing the

music of the                       paint      drips      that

curve and overlap in dissonance and harmony

browned leaves rustling in gusty swirls the flat

canvas                  envelops             me in a world

of            pleasure and      pain and Beethoven’s

Pathetique plays in my head becoming aware

of            my          breathing            once      again

Christian McBride and his Big Band - NYC 2015 (2)

Manhattan skyline constructs

background

in this jazzy 5^th floor

where

barely fits band swings

McBride’s glasses

reflect the lights from outside

fingers dance double bass

his companion for years

since he was teen

now making magic with 24 cats

in sync with his

rhythmic

laugh

and we sit and

sip our drinks

at hard-edged tables

in wonder at the

perfect

night-time
              architecture of jazz 

Birdland - NYC 2015 (1)

all is suffused with

red glowing light

like truth

at a table for four

red wine poured

mouldings on the railing behind us

have been painted

and repainted

over and over again

not hiding dents and gouges 

listening Dixieland jazz winging rhythms

in free ecstatic bursts

players in casual suits

and accountant glasses

eyes closed tight in joy

for this is life

this is worthy 

this is the red glowing moment  

Beethoven's Ninth

I.

unformed cloud

chaos

sparks gather

forces congregate into

questions

nebulous             insistant

without answers

a grand waiting           wondering

what? why? how?

clouds drift catching breath of

creator shifting beauty in patchy sunlight

II.

sparks light darkness

and a frantic pursuit

running after elusive joy

searching for tranquil pools of water

there is elation in this constant doing

this breathless expectancy

leading back to

sparks

III.

a hand reaching out

fingers curved

palm up

receptive

waiting

still

serene

for pizzicato peace

dropping from above

water running between fingers

into pools of presence

the fullness

coming

IV

thunder pounds truth

and earth responds with searching soul

not this

                it says

until from the depths it finds its voice

a lilting dance for the ages

feet nimbly stepping across floor

it kisses the heavens but holds hands with

all who join in

proclaiming

the bond between all peoples

and the smiling beautiful spark

of all creation

nine today and twelve tomorrow

violin strings sing

bright familiar tune springing

Venice sun warming 

Psalm X - sun dogs

early March and winter

clings to year

like hoar frost on branches

ice crystals

like fog hang

in shivering air

sun in south-east

suffuses morning drive

with divine squinting brightness

and then we see

prism of colour

a halo of hues surrounding

a gift of three minutes

in this day to dayness waiting

for spirit spring

Wedding Poem IX: Allison and Landon

globes suspend

                    under vaulted ceiling

dark purple                 yellow               white

and we dance and chat

                    words filling

                                         this created space of celebration where

two have become

                    love becoming more

coming into the green screen picture

of this Big Bang creation

this fertile globe suspended

                    in the vast vaulting heavens

                    created by a word

where little girls

in little purple dresses

spin smiling to ode to joy

because it was proclaimed

and it was very good

Mars and Venus converge with crescent moon

magical moon

just a bright sliver

an arc like a hand

holding the darkened orb aloft

in black western sky

and vivid Venus

a seeming companion

yet so far away

a loving beacon in

bereft winter wanderings

and just above

the faint reddish glow

of fiery Mars

a tag-along in this

trio of love and elegance

and us glancing

from this snow-drifted

highway full of consciousness

aware of the science

but caught in the magic

Monet's Field of Poppies

woman and child forever wade

through Monet’s green/gray brushstrokes

merging with the artist eye

in all of us

the boy holding poppies picked

pale red profusion

angling

down

hilly

canvas

ribbon on hat the same red

the boy a poppy

one        with       nature

mother with umbrella casually

stylishly perched on shoulder

more blue than the sky

delicately gliding through

this place of passion

keeping her cool

another woman and child

on the top of hill

blending trees’ darkness

and grey white clouds

drift                       from

edge                      to                            edge

of this particular view

and we wonder

who are these summer folk

so full of poppy breath?