sanctuary

so many frames

pictured people caught inside

safe       secure

mom dad 1950

wedding suits and gowns

so soon after war and upheaval

no sign on faces serene

on little chapel stage

and g and s and l

babies

chins resting on chub arms

already          so           them

we are all there

arranged on stand and piano

safe from sadness

and disappointment

and break-up

and hardship

and illness

and fights

and worry

just slow arpeggios and long bowed notes on the violin

Lisa doing art

oh…

and there are windows

light lifting

bright door

and there’s a drop cloth under easel

paisley draped over table paper paint plates

stool in front

painting of forest

but she stands beside canvas

brush in hand filling in a barked branch

black curls like ideas singing

bare foot pointing fearless

the world is this

tiny stroke of blue-green

upon creation

…yes

Roger's smiles

there are two

one for the camera

squint eyes

pinch mouth

dimple chin jutted

look I’m three

I know how to smile

one for himself

in midst of play

giant eyes

shine teeth

ha laugh

I’m three

I see monsters to slay

and fires to douse and

I can play a trumpet fanfare for all to hear

no camera needed

three cats

twelve paws

sixty claws

many

many meows

in a day of coming and going

in and out

two black brothers

Bilbo and Buxy

trouble in twos

and Henry the tabby

learning to be friends

in this modest home of

lived-in lustre

at least the fur is soft

box by the door

the woolens have come out

mittens

and hats

and scarves

and sweaters

that keep you in

thisthingcalledwinter

bare skin ensconced in fibres

north winds tamed

and stormy snow safe

I wear I heart NY toque

pushing heat down body

flooding inner heart warmth

on this frozen last day of

leafy October

flurries

so                           many

          old

ways      to

describe snow

but                         when    flakes

fall

randomly

on a blue             jay          in

    October                           beside

a tan            squirrel

at the                    base    of      a

pine         it’s            kinda

        new

Mennonites 2019

you wanna know about Mennonites*

build big churches now

big wide stages

drum sets

electric guitars and lots of microphones

pews nicely padded

or maybe just cushioned chairs

all in neat rows

banners hang walls with scripture

and

and

a white cross hangs from ceiling

beautifully balanced

but it ain’t just a cross

oh no

it’s gotta have some use

it’s also got Bose speakers

inside

connected to the sound booth

technician controls all

*to quote PF

leaps of boyhood

he’s got red guitar shirt

and pizza shorts

bare feet stand the stairs

bounce ball

down

each

stair

and then follow

jump the last three steps

in a graceful ballet

all body parts in harmony

first right foot in the       air

then left pushes off

just the right amount

in flight left catches up

while body leans              forward

braces for impact

knees flex on landing

hands come forward to touch floor

smile “hah”

so simple

 it looks

but it’s a symphony

of movement

such joy in what we can do

Trump haiku #16

I’m gonna take a

sharpie and cross your name off

of the last four years

Green Point

these cliffs are a story

beyond beauty

layers of shale and limestone

buckle and belt around these shoreline curves

time unfurling like a ribbon in wind

parallel harmony leading back

four hundred and eighty-five million years

to a point between epochs

look

can’t you see it?

strange and wonderful mystery

of this green/blue home

hurtling through space

Tablelands

nothing grows here on these poisonous rocks

buckled up from earth’s mantle

so long ago

inexorably slow movement of tectonic shift

part of this chaotic plan for life

on earth

except

here

these flat hills

so repellant and telling

sunrise at Cape Spear

we’re on the tip

jutting out

eastern edge of

continent with

orange glow of dawn on horizon

while whales play the surface of

Atlantic

                           peek

await the first                of sun a new day

July nineteen 2019 crashes new world

wave upon wave of wonder

so many days

so many dawns

each one a new miracle of

revolution

along the trail at 35 years

there’s a cascade behind us

white-water roaring ears 

and we stand on wooden platform looking out

faces red             salty

but smiling hope

the trail getting here a mix

of up and down

dry and muddy

sunny and shaded

and we stopped to marvel the flowers

irises and roses and pitchers and lupins

but we arrived and stand here

and pose for this picture

love and friendship intact

Signal Hill

look east

out to the old world

you are high up on windy hill

old old rocks worn down beneath feet

and what do you see

past the boats

and whales in the harbour

past the hazy horizon[?]

maybe it's the approach of crazy explorers

back a millennium

maybe it's the changing of the world

icebergs melting

maybe it's a U boat

lurking war not far

maybe it's the eons ago continental drift

still moving

maybe it's the wireless invisible beep

world shrinking[!]

Kathleen Edwards on Main Stage (folk fest '19 #3)

she strides the stage

faded jeans long hair bare arms

jangly song

falling

like spice on our tongues

footsteps tell us she’s back

taking the lead

showing the way

Sunny War at Little Stage (folkfest '19 #2)

hard core

punk

no compromise

no giving in

no weakness

all black and white t

leather boots laced up tight

stands alone

guitar

ringing voice free

yet this hard core is tender

true

young

yearning

open-hearted

William Prince at Spruce Hollow (Folk Fest '19 #1)

voice a soft

bed

of pine needles

landing arms and legs     outstretched

welcoming

sure

true

he sits with guitar

white t-shirt

no pretentions

he is present

he is wise

he is melodic

he is emotion

he is peace

he is friend

he is full of past

he is reconciliation

he is future

we gorge on rites

it’s a sacred route

grandparent/child walk

through clattering city down Locke St.

where workers tear up concrete streets

machine a giant blade cutting through to nature

cross bridge over

tracks it’s necessary to stop

and pick up small rocks

put them in backpack little

scallops to save for later feast of stones

run up and down

a ramp gaze at the train passing

underneath with all the spring garbage on 

bank and then past the dog park where gnathic

battles are fought with growls and chase and cluster

then there it is

small park with orange slide

age three mind entirely enraptured

he climbs up tall ladder strong legs lifting

and sits                 the slide down undulating

at bottom he gets up

to weave a path back to ladder

up again and down this time saying

bump bump he wears a shiny velour sweater

with orange designs as if he was dressed for this place

run back to ladder

and down bump bump and

back up again this becoming ritual

we gorge on rites wiring our brains in serpentine

structures there is a climbing wall swing set monkey bars

but it’s the slide and we are smiling audience to this holy repetition

Lake Winnipeg

this ocean placed

like a hand on the prairie

placid today pliant plush with memory

of fine fine sand sifting

through toes

as we walk and walk through shallows

waves rushing

of driftwood fires

lighting Pat beach on a summer night

of a boardwalk and dance halls

in earlier times

trains shuttling weekenders

for family time

of volunteers building the peers

that line shore every spring

each board finds its place

of fishers cresting waves

catching pickerel and goldeye

of agassiz glacier receding

leaving these basins south and north

and draining half a continent into northern bay

crow story

all day

crow perched branches in the woods

speaking the language of black

absorbing all other colours

like death

like bare branches in June

like brown grass on the lawn

like dried day lilies

wise words tell me crows don’t like shiny

like compact discs twirling in wind

so I hang them from the trees

sway and spin

like dancer catching the sun

banishing the black

psalm XIV

birds echo this cloudy morning

sound fractured in branched woods

and my cold hands touch the warm skin of my ear

perked to hear birdsong

the music of summer winging

summer solstice

wait through

bare November branches

like death            sky scratch

wait December

gnawing cold through

dark       dark nights

wait white

winter sun glinting with

waves of chill

wait early Spring

like budding trees unfurl

with returning warmth

wait May

feel sun warmth

stealth approach

for this day of

earliest morn

and latest eve

for now summer frees us

wind washing all

Phil

practical close-cropped hair

above welcoming laugh

faith lived in doing

serving tables

frying rollkuchen

shaping and guiding young lives

around template of truth

crafting lyrics and melody

into songs of smiles and tears

carefully shaping resonant wood

with curved symmetry

instrumental in creating

family

that sings together the tune

of close-cropped servanthood  

look up

green arc of tree canopy

against refracted blue

in cloudless sky

framed by tall narrow window

in this darkish room

it’s the arc we live

so delicate wavering in wind

greenness our gift to the frame

gradual up and

gentle down

I only see part

through window

from one angle

from this far away

but the story is mine

below the dome of sunspilled blue

Wednesday

and so falls the rain

grass and dandelion stand to gain

on this droughted plain

psalm XIII

there’s a beat

elusive amid rustle of

hypnotic repetition

wind waving branches

inside fabric of new leaves

kick drum heart beat

beneath interweaving brass band

flights of finery

steady always there beat

the flap of wing in

massive blue infinite

you and me

two hearts tied

leaning on those speakers

red felt bulging with beans

hand stitched

tough edges like evening caress

like us

tied to each other

year through year

in full aliveness of the other

facing out together

bulging with constant spring

family song

we would sing together

five of us

at first just children’s songs

simple hymns

little Lynette backed up into my knees

while I strummed

and then songs and hymns

in four parts

now the kids took solos and duets

clear glass voices rising together

preparation was sometimes

fraught

so easily bruised by words and looks

but sometimes a small bird was released

wings strong

and would soar in deep blue magical sky

quartet (toTim)

there’s this funny picture of the four of us

a frozen moment

and you are wearing

a beret I think

harmonizing a low note lips pursed

and ridiculously holding a ukulele

other dignified hand on hip

we are about 30 I think

give or take

I’ve got jacket slung leaning against piano

black-rimmed shades

smiling at the world

Joel plays toy silver trumpet

elbows out

black blazer

sleeves too short for his personality

and taking the front

fingers snapping

Esch is duke of earl

eyes closed red beard flaming framing face

our shadows defined

behind us on wall

yours is nearest

we didn’t see them at the time

requiem (elegy for Tim - 1960-2019)

rest now

even with so so much still

left to do

and see

your way

                bass tones chuckling

and fear assaulting

like fire from above

scorching the way ahead with

fierce rage

rest now from tasks well-done

and a life well-loved

even with all the

G. Timothy quirks

and coming up short

and sadness rising

like a flood through floorboards

soaking shoes

rest now

dear friend

for you will shine

bright chords soaring in our hearts

lingering

so rest now

et in terra pax

and on earth

peace

no

this earth bleeding

anxiety

     pain

         distrust

    anger

       death

           fear

       coldness

deep

deep sadness

falling into doubt

daring love to be present

here on terra firma

this firm earth

so frozen now under all this

suffocating

snow

and yet we bundle up

scarves

down coats

wind proof hoods

and walk

crunching ice underfoot

and smile to neighbour

and open hearts to people

let them in

yes

love be present

and on earth

yes

Trump haiku #15

what will it take to

indict impeach repeal re-

place this vileness?

Roger explores the English Gardens

hands splayed on old felled trunk

happy unguarded smile

for he’s found his spot away from

wedding ado

that connects with the life of the warm earth

under bare feet

who cares about

little button up shirt

suspenders and bow tie

so formal in the midst of this

green and gnarled brown nature

bright face and random blond curls

one with this garden

always

snow

sometimes the miracle of snow

overwhelms as it settles on every surface

the miracle of snow overwhelms

as it settles on every surface

sometimes overwhelms as it settles

on every surface the miracle of snow

sometimes as it settles on every surface

overwhelms the miracle of snow

sometimes on every surface as it settles

overwhelms the miracle of snow sometimes

caw fee

strut scraping morning on

highway 1

I see a crow land in snowy ditch

picks up part of a Timmy’s bag and flies off

maybe there’s a coupon attached

and he can light on the drive-thru window

and get a double double

if he just taps with beak on the glass

poe-like

someone will say

may I take your order please

cuz crows need coffee too

just ask ‘em

Gretna Post Office

stands sentinel

on this corner of Main and Hespelar

red burnished brick

peaked turrets

imposing                              important

impressive                          impactful

symbol of connection to

world

like the train tracks across the street

now ninety years old

not that old really

in the larger view of things

yet it shivers a patina of permanence

on this icy surface where we slip and fall

snow drifting over our

flawed forms

remember          we can still send a letter

handwritten

pen on textured paper

folded in an envelope

stamp placed carefully in corner

walk up the cement steps and drop it in the chute

and know that it will wing its way

our cry for

mercyhopeloveconnection

I read to Tim now

poetry mostly

words mysterious

seeping into spaces

between the cancer

where he still is                 Tim

I am the curator choosing

Frost and

Oliver

and Williams

                and Epp

and we gather up the filaments of  40 years

this way

slippery and delicate in our hands

our friendship

inexpressible

writers teachers singers

sports fans

sons fathers husbands men of faith

lovers of the

mystery of words

winter sunrise on highway 75

this prairie blossom

unfolds like letter from friend

love envelops me

winter day

Rachmaninov wind 

buffeting at the window

flakes driven across snowy expanse

by insistent Russian melody

bass

like Atlas holds frigid world unflagging

and we bundle in

boots

and scarves

and coats to

face the beautiful biting wind

Roger at the airport

blue jacket all zipped up

blonde curls like love

he stands on tiled floor between mother and father

big lined boots signal January

and hands grip new yellow toy backhoe and drill

because play!

parents look on ready to fly home

to the cats and apartment on a hill

yet this is the wary world right now

on departure floor of brightly lit terminal

waiting for goodbyes and hugs

and the eternal advice from Mr. Fred Penner

take good care of each other

licorice all-sorts

jazz bowl

red-rimmed

filled with sweet sugar cantata colour

bonded with

black blues

square tubular

tunnels of auto-tuned taste

all waiting for indulgence

Christmas music overdose