Christmas Eve 2016

there’s a storm coming

I tell the cat who lies un-

caring at my feet

love songs for Mary (Renaissance Voices at Young United Dec. 2016)

dark hot mulled redness

in wave after wave washes

this holy space

like Hans Leo's cadences

voices intertwining in glassy outpouring

like Sue’s phrases

wonderment at mystery and mercy

like Arvo’s constant C magnifying

tremendous crescendo bells clanging

like Don’s languid lilt

blooming rose sounding and resounding

like Jesse’s total tonal landscape

of love and breath

like Mary’s starlit tears of yes

welling up again and again

this holy space

in wave after wave washes

dark hot mulled redness

winter poem

and then winter comes

snow and wind strong and steady

and we stop and look out of windows

to see world changed

upended

black and white

auburn autumn finished

tilt of earth finally taking over

el nino relenting

I reach out through window

catch falling flakes of memory

to hold and feel before they melt

stand with me on the top of this hill

formed of drifting snow

through wind tunnel around tall white house

in this little childhood town

where all is possible

and we are kings and queens high above our winter realm

advent dance

we anticipate

in three-four time

a dance by Bach or Handel

we prepare

dance lighting dim world

like strings of bulbs

outlining house on winter evening

we watch

a floating chorale

above the lilting windwork

such peace

we dare

for good is coming

we already see it in the miracle of birth

and wide-eyed we run

bathrobes tangling in our legs

the song of wings ringing our ears

we experience

enter floodlit stable

with care yes     yes

we recognize

this gentle love

glimpse of full-hearted 

waltz revealing

Lisa; pastor

a trip to the desert

barren

dry

heat reaching into

marrow

to live vertically

looking up in virtual vision

of the Other

ready to leave behind

aching trappings

of layered life

and then journey back

to begin again

new horizontal life

arms outstretched

to the world

this

this was pastoring not with words

or gestures

but with a very public human life

showing

the way and the Way

for us

and always

always

with eyes that engage

smile that warms

and hands that bless with a touch

thoughts after the first days of Trump

days and nights of fog

white mist obscuring

all

closing in

we are socked in

encircled like fear

inertia of the world

inching forward

headlights glaring back at us

and then wake up to sun

blue sky

clarity returns and

we see down the road again

open and bright

as the ringing tone of piano hammers hitting

well-tempered and tuned strings

here it is

we must be kind we must

stand up

we must speak up we must

love

we must not normalize we must

join together

we must not hate we must

galvanize

we must be strong we must be

brave

we must live truthfully

we must not settle we must

read

we must listen we must

create beauty

we must love beauty we must

seek justice

we must welcome the stranger we must

work for shalom

bed of leaves 7:30 am

orange glow rises

like lay’red hope as sun glances

this autumn morning 

Elegy for LC

voice that flows

from beneath conscious knowing

into the bones of feeling

and attaches like moss

on the bark of trees

during a rainy spell

and grows like grass

in a concrete crack

pushing apart

bringing grasping life

where there is death

where there is drought  

bringing embracing humanity

where there is only angel or demon

sinner or saint

bringing caressing reconciliation

between body and soul

between earth and heaven

and so we say goodbye and thank-you

Leonard

great mystic halleluiah of our age  

a walk in autumn

every leaf a poem

they litter path with

edges burnt

still green at heart

walking Bruce Trail

on escarpment Niagara

mother

with child riding her back

leading the way

and we follow climbing

climbing

treading these large

maple leaves

and then we reach

the freeway that climbs

steep bank

walk along railing looking

down on the city below

some have climbed over

this rail and fallen leaf-like

to hopeless death

you can read messages to them

on the concrete

we walk past and I think

of the child on the mother-back

so secure and loved

and part of us  

a poem of warmth and evergreen heart

1st of September

morning shiver

through open window

and heart contracts

into chest

eyes

look outside

the green has changed

become dusty

crinkled edges of the day fold in

and the heavy dew from the night

drips

onto backyard deck

school thoughts

snake their way into the last free hours

leaving slimy trail of

new names

and papers to mark

and meetings

and early mornings

and long hallway walks

yet the day

still fills with sunwarmth

gently easing us into

strange delights of

             life’s passing seasons 

great grandpa holds Roger Abram

ninety-four years of

life/work/love

in hand that

wraps around

small baby body

on tender lap

and they play

with orange spoon

game of mouth

tug of war

and you can

almost

hear

the soft giggles

rising up up off

the picture

delicate bubbles of life

gently exploding

poof poof

the room where my gaze

marvels at miracle

of a beautiful bond

across the decades

cemented with a silly game

and still the hand stays

firm and sure

kd lang sings "Helpless" at The Forks - Aug. '16

lonely bass ostinato

begins this hymn

as darkness wafts in around us

like perfume

she begins in the hush

there is a town

applause rises up

she wears black

barefooted like always

voice of exquisite emotion

steps on speakers

in front of the lights

we see her outline

and sing along

helplessly engaged to her

magnetic

power

and we take it all in

in the cradle

where two great rivers meet

shadowed by round-windowed structure

celebrating humanity

this meeting place

where now meet

Young

and lang

connecting through

blue blue windows of love

Lake of the Woods

lake waves

break

ing on rocky shield shore

savours ear looking

out through trees at

sundrenched water

here through

ages of time dark

depths in

middle continent archipelago forest

life-teeming

and here I sit on

cottage deck connected to computer

boatsounds and planes

blanket nature

but I just have to

peek

underneath

to hear wavesbirdsleavesinbreeze

and become

the world that ice left behind

before borders and boats

made this summer world

for us to sing

         our jangly songs

field of yellow

these are sunflowers

turning toward loving light

lift head seedladen

camping with Ulysses

saw a doe

black flies sprayed off

swam lake

slept tent

thunderstorm

drip drops on shoulder

built fire

did crossword

walked to bathroom

stupid toilet

saw stars

spilled beer

mosquitoes

cooked burgers over open

soapy dishes

basked sun

hiked hill

sat on rock

ice cream cone

chopped wood heavy axe

cracked sunflower seeds

used flashlight

wore hat

private conversations on beach

hammered tent pegs

insomnia

thoughts  everywhere

grandson Trump

meteors millions ago formed this lake

stream bubbles past our site

and I’m reading Bloom’s

every

synaptic

spark

on deck end of July

sun dapple through maples

drops from sprinkler

wet green garden

oh the beans

tomatoes

potatoes

beets

rhubarb

flowers

morning sounds in the trees

oh the birds

squirrels

saws

breezes twirl poplar leaves

and brush past my

unshaven face

oh sitting in half shade

kienseling beans

what do they call that in English

watering hose snakes across lawn

and I pop a bean into my mouth

oh crunch green

goodness and

contemplate soft warm quiet of a

blue sky morning

nothing hurried

nothing stressed and

by now I am in full sun

oh the heat reaching

into my heart and

holding on

just as I will hold

on

to the oh of this

midsummer morning

our cat emerges from the breezy trees
where has he been I wonder 

the wonder of hands

he reaches up and

grasps fingers wrap green plastic

smiles proud chuckles

The Staves (Folk Fest '16 #4)

I move towards the stage

finding our staked out square

in a sea of tarps

and they start singing

blended voices soaring

over prairie

an eagle in flight

catching updrafts of

six thousand people

loving the sun

and the sky

and the flap of wings

as three sisters of song

glide their way into

constant commotion of our quilted lives

I have stopped walking to just listen

my feet sinking into solid prairie grassland

until the voices stop and I breathe again

man sleeping at Bur Oak (Folk Fest '16 #3)

take a picture with iPhone

lighter dangles in one hand

cigarette holder in the other

as he reclines

against tree trunk

banded cowboy hat

leather vest

white shirt

open at the chest

handkerchief around neck

he’s impossibly sleeping

white pants and cowboy boots

long stringy hair

patchy beard

aviator sunglasses

where did he come from?

this time traveler from the old west

this is not a costume

he wears these clothes like a layer of skin

and the music from the stage

hearkens back and connects us

past and present

me in my reclining lawn chair and

floppy hat from Panama

quick     take a picture with iPhone 

Alan Doyle and baby Roger at Big Bluestem (Folk Fest '16 #2)

celtic beats recoil

like beams of sunlight

reflecting off flower petals

and me with grandson

in my arms

bouncing

and walking

and dancing

far away from the stage

along the beer tent fence

his cries insistent

irrational

mingle the music

a very real juxtaposition

only my muted jigging quiets him

as I speak soft words of assurance

it’s ok it’s ok

and strangers’ eyes beam light

as they walk by

for they know the jigging

joy

and privilege

of consoling a tired child

it’s ok it’s ok

San Fermin at Bur Oak (Folk Fest '16 #1)

he plays ostinato

with right pinky as he stands

professorial off to the side

singers take center stage

intense baritone

sunglassed soprano

this is music for a hall

not this oak surrounded stage

with gray-blue skies above

but somehow we are sent

flinging through a wormhole

light years away

and we listen and watch

suspended in liquid space

a cosmic wind buffeting our souls

with constant ostinato

the little finger

of time 

saskatoons

reach up and pull

down

berry laden branch

choose roundest

blue-red fruit

bring to mouth and

burst between teeth

onto tongue

sweet juice creating

this moment of intense

vibration

standing in warm sun

path beside

wide      river

quick current taking

this moment of berry joy with it

north and east

through prairie valleys

vein carrying lifeblood

of this land

just reach then                  and take

Debussy's grave

journey in the heart/heat of Paris

to find Debussy’s grave

and stand in a flood of jumbled notes lapping at your knees

forget to bring a flower

but there is a rose

is there a difference between knowing it is there

and being there

does the pilgrimage make it

mean

something

you feel it in your feet

dust from cobblestones

in your body

sweating from Paris summer sun

and at your side is the girl

with flaxen hair

that you are going to marry

with Debussy playing in background

in a few weeks

a lifetime love journey

to the depths of the heart

true story

today I opened

my copy of

Ulysses

that I bought used somewhere

an old Penguin paperback with black cover

originally sold for $1.95

paged through it

and it opened to a page

where a pressed

four-leaf clover

rested                   pale green

brittle

near the spine

don’t know how long it had been there

but I lifted it out

and felt a strange lifting of my mood

rising notes of a flute

like I had cheated death

or something

maybe I did

James Taylor

still long      lankey

angular face now lined and fissured

flat cap hat

plaid shirt            rolled-up sleeves

ready to work

guitar a steady friend

and the fingers play

then the honey voice

sweetens it all

liquid love flowing out

to the five thousand

lifted aloft with waves of lilt

smile then

for this is antidote

maple tree haiku #5

seed pods in full flight

twirling whirling down to green

beige carpet of hope

maple tree haiku #4

half-size leaves in wind

twigs lined with wing-like seed pods

soon helicopters

Relay For Life 2016

dark clouds hover horizon

and we begin this walk

that began long ago

waking from dream

to hear white coat say

there is something there

a dark cloudy mass

and so began

a walk of fear and doubt

and readying for the coming rain

and the clouds gathered

and came near

and the drizzle started

but we kept walking

path marked by

glowing hands and faces

of love

and then the clouds

settled in the west

with setting sun glowing rays

shooting through darkness

and we walk on

made by

they made schoolbags for MCC

hundreds of them

she cutting and sewing expertly

in her 8^th decade of

doing

never idle hands

hands that rolled a million buns

seeded planted hoed gardens

and flowers

year after year

cooking meals and jam

canning a future life on shelves

they made schoolbags for MCC

maybe thousands

he did the finishing touch

threading the string through the top

using a tool fashioned from wire

to wind the string through the loop

and then tie together

this after life of heavy work

with lumber

and on the farm

constant cycle of the seasons

they made schoolbags for MCC

they didn’t count

and in another place

a boy walks the sunny dirt road

carrying a few books and a pencil

in a bright cloth bag

made by Sarah and Abe

maple tree haiku #3

greenness shouts greeting

sweet leaves half-formed shade robins

beaks active in search

maple tree haiku #2

spring sky blues background

bud laden branches bask breeze
sparrow sings welcome

Glen Eden: one year later

vase of flowers graces grave

mom     dad side by side

in this vast manicured glen

lawn and paved, curved roads

it’s April and a north wind

needles our bodies standing

looking down at the question

framed by grass and stone

but here they are and are not

together in this not life

not death

granite and flowers mark place

in this unlikely Eden

and we, hunched together against

numbing cold say lives well-lived

as if in answer

maple tree haiku #1

something’s happening

dusting off rust of winter

ruddy red buds grow

Roger's world

my giant finger becomes part

of his small world

gripped tight by hand

miraculous

I look with my heart

at child asleep in my arms

worlds open up

where I grip possibilities

of links in a strand

   of knots tightly tied

      of light diffusing out

        of roots reaching down

          of wings catching wind

            of waves washing sand

              of eyes meeting eyes

my finger gripped still

just below cheek

just below cheek

and beside nose

skin like moon

almost translucent

glowing from within

soft tender light

singing song of grace

touches my lips

and I smile knowing

sweet bells have rung

twitching my ears

in their direction

soft soft peels of

new life

holy week

snow melts

sun sings

music mists

paska wafting

daffodils yellow

grass uncovers

shadows obscure

candles lit

bread rough

cup red

hearts waken

aunts

hair falls in smiles framing faces

arms are tenderness

welcoming wonder

small baby

big love

head rests in crook

carefully cradling

oh the joy

of blanketed boy
held close

lenten psalm

it’s a reflection

of frosted branches in

glass-topped coffee table

random pattern of branches leading

to little offshoots

each tender twig trembling with

temporary crystals

brief beauty

‘cause the wind

sometimes carries a tuft away

so I look down

that is up 

into winter hanging on

Trane

always seems leaning                    forward

you walk the park path

daffodils blooming all around

those are my favourite he says

voice clean and clear

you ask why and he smiles

bending at the knee bending     over

to touch one

the yellow flower soft in his hand

I like the random order

the way they                     announce

the wonder of life the truth of spring

the delicate way that they look                                 ahead

he stands up black jacket

casual around his shoulders

and he looks at you

eyes holding  you

and you lean with him                   towards

the next turn in the path

baby's breath

it is world

when you hold him close

and he is sleeping

sometimes

in short shallow sweet puffs

sometimes

in long contented chest-raising sighs

sometimes

it is through congested struggling passages

but always there

the surest sign of life

of being

of presence in this world

so tired of the harsh cynical breathing of winter people

and his sure lungs

breathe the flute of spring

leading us into

garden of good

Roger's awake haiku

there are tales to tell

eyes open focused and free

to absorb and learn

reading Aristotle to Roger

because total trust

because a father’s voice

because words dance

because blankets swaddle

because trees point

because blossoms

because city surrounds

because boys

because it’s never too

because families form

because journeys

because time

because 2016

because smiles curve

because spring will

because life

Monk

there’s

someone coming this way dark

coat flapping wind

stride so confident

round sunglasses and no brim hat

I meet him and we walk

along seawall gulls

calling    landing

wings battling breeze

his voice sand and gravel punctures

holes in thick air

tells of surprising swell

of ocean

rogue waves crashing

and the path that we walk

shadows lengthening

and the risks we all must take

coats like wings flying 

to Roger, from Opa

I sing songs to you from

far away as

you lie in bassinet so sweet

and I sing

of skies so blue and

branches true

snow that falls and

raven calls

prairie views and

rainbow hues

story turns and

how one learns

of cleansing rain and

poem’s refrain

a good day’s work we

must not shirk

of guitar strings and

things Santa brings

of confusing thoughts and

grandpa’s knots

a world of places and

endless faces

of fields of grain and

a horse’s mane

the wings of a dove and

God’s great love

these songs I sing from far away

barely above a whisper

so that you are sure to hear

lullaby haiku

sleep now tiny one

eyes shut to this flashing world

wrapped in love’s blanket

chatting with little Roger

five hours old new

cheeks new

skin new

eyelashes

wrapped in white

tenderly held

in careful father hands

striped sweater crouched over this

newness

whispering sweetness

into new

ears

welcome little one

son

you are

loved

you are

a part of us

grow play learn laugh cry love

and we will watch and

weather the storms with you

our hands a cradle

twenty-sixteen

then dance

in three-four time

cadencing            balancing

on precipice

then dance

trumpets

heralding             ushering

new and old

then dance

January wind-chill

settling in            stilling

tipping point of winter

then dance

violet blossoms

defying                purpling

a smiling softness

then dance

azure sky through bare branches

brighting              basking

this all snow

then dance

a new year

unrelenting        unstopping

        this waltz of life

cold snap

and then it turns

(the weather I mean)

into a shiver

snow squeaking under boot

sun raining frost bullets

in middle of mild winter

taut string struck

with wooden mallet

pure sound rings in room

pure perfect cold

and I in

insulated heated home

let the snap invade my skin because

I am north

I am 49^th parallel

I am prairie

I am Ukraine steppe

I am windswept

I am Bach

I am Paert

I am Schaeffer

I am Stravinsky 

I am home