dark into light

it’s a December thing 

that tells me to look to the light 

when it’s the darkest 

light up Christmas tree 

and house 

and candy canes stuck in the frozen ground 

and candles on piano 

and every day 

sun goes down a little earlier 

darkness in our hearts gaining purchase 

but December has other plans 

beginning the climb 

out of the longest night 

into O Holy Night

advent again

I see this room 

reflected 

in the round green candle holder on the table 

the tree lit in the corner 

the crèche on the shelf 

the angels on the piano & 

on this first of December 

advent arrives like a feathered snowfall 

lighting on a tired earth 

look into the green tinted glassiness 

and feel shoulders soften 

heart slow 

mind empty 

& listen to the harmony of 

hope rising

earth vespers

feel the song coming from deep below 

of fear and grief 

bass notes shaking 

    shuddering 

        rising 

            intense 

feel it in our bodies 

so full of anxiety 

wanting to hope in the

hopelessness of rising seas & 

    rising flames & 

        rising floods & 

            rising heat shimmers & 

                rising fumes from burning oil 

feel it coming from above 

from voices who have gone before 

see this blue green home & 

sing along  

winterland

and so winter begins on this 

plain snow brushing across yard through 

trees harried by the 

wind 

    incessant 

        unrelenting 

            without mercy 

and slowly the mounds and drifts 

grow to make a white world wasteland 

called mid-November

11/21

snow is becoming

there in the cold clouds above

November’s cruel gift

wet day

jazz drizzles October grass 

with cool melody 

an improvisation of finger snaps 

making puddles here and there 

dry ground sponge 

listening to brushes on ride cymbal 

in this mist 

mister Davis’ perfect trumpet tone 

tells our sadness 

on wet fall day 

our new language

anti-maskers don’t social distance 

protest mandates 

unfollow public health orders 

filling ICUs 

use up ventilators 

and we zoom 

can’t understand  vaccine hesitancy 

watch live-stream 

quarantine 

create protocols 

some carriers are symptom-free 

booster shots for immune-compromised 

create antibodies in the double-vaxxed 

who carry a vaccine passport 

and work towards a new normal 

cuz aerosol droplets are  

despite PPE 

test positivity rides the waves 

and we get rapid tests 

is this an essential service 

what happened to flatten the curve 

hit by the first wave 

and the second wave 

and the third wave

look a fourth wave cuz variant of concern 

and the delta variant 

crazy contact tracing 

after community spread 

we tried remote learning 

more regressive learning 

it’s all a supply chain delay

garden journal #6

pull tomatoes wire-

wound fragrance wafts ‘round

roots firmly earthbound

j. s. fall

and then leaves start 

letting 

go 

colours like dropped arpeggios after 

a spring and summer of green 

holding on through gales and rare rain 

and heat and then these trees 

go into winter mode and cut ties 

litter ground with 

yellow brown and red 

reasons to rake all my 

autumn questions into piles of brittle 

questions of age and want 

and fear and love 

and ok 

where did Bach’s music come from 

notes showered on our lives 

with overwhelming beauty 

like answers  from an inscrutable oracle

garden journal #5

purple red and white

blossoming in green pre-frost

sweet pea happiness

 

birthday thoughts

another September 

signposts

another birthday 

this time 60 

being on the tail end 

of the boom part (booming party)

of the lucky post-war generation 

and now we take everything with us 

money 

    climate 

        democracy 

            civility 

all swept up in our massive broom 

rushing to personal happiness 

our children 

and their children 

left 

to try to stab the litter left behind 

scraping it into plastic bags

and so I’m 60 

20 years since 9/11 

and 37 years since 1984 

Orwellian nightmares notwithstanding 

so tip my hat to youth 

and say hello to autumn leaves brittling

garden journal #4

redding tomatoes

grow in sun warmth and rain drops

harvesting august

the beauty of bluegrass

yes 

hearts do break 

when people cheat or say goodbye 

and yes

lonely souls pine on river banks 

and life sometimes doesn’t seem worth living 

        wind keening along flat prairie 

        yellowed with drought 

but when wailed 

in high close harmony 

and danced along the tight strings 

of banjo and mandolin 

something breaks in the body 

like a wave on the shore 

and we tap our toes to the tragedy 

Andre speaks to his family

leaf flag flutters shoulders 

stands bare feet 

faces screen 

Oakleys nestled in hair 

gold not yet around neck 

they can see him there 

in the heat of Tokyo tired 

from the torrid pace of fastest man through 200 

feet flitting track 

stride after stride 

breath after breath 

sun and moon and 

sky and earth 

all merge and compress 

into experience and weight on the soul 

that still soars through ache and loss 

and he can see them 

mother and children jumping in joy 

to see their dad 

and says I love you 

see you soon 

garden journal #3

potato plants dying

lying brown on droughted soil

treasures underneath

garden journal #2

carrots and beets in

boxes stunted unfruited

many maple roots

suf-fo-ca-ting

I can’t breathe

knee presses down on 

back of black neck face against hard world of pavement

officer’s white hand nonchalant inside pocket palm dry 

get up why aren’t you getting up 

trying to wrest free trying to breathe 

officer Tao by watches doing a balter feet shuffling 

ignores people’s urges to check pulse 

and George suffocates under white weight 

I can’t breathe 

virus invades lung lacuna filling spaces 

eyes pink body fevered nose runny nothing helps 

not even old fashioned mustard plasters 

only scarce breathing machines do the work 

and no one can witness hold a hand

outside hospitals we isolate inside 

keep apart six feet of separation

and suffocate under sheer latter-days loneliness 

I can’t breathe 

excess CO2 overwhelms this mother earth 

and forests turn to embers and species vanish vanquished 

while we embank our minds against truth 

spelled out in the clouds 

and by the young ones like Greta who whizzed through our world 

that suffocates under moneyed millions 

I can’t breathe

kestrals

klee klee klee 

these small falcons 

claimed home high in a spruce on the yard 

klee klee klee

curved beak between close set beaded eyes 

raying through my upturned cranium tilted up 

klee klee klee 

another joins ruffling brown feathers 

mating or fighting can’t tell 

klee klee klee 

fills air all other sounds from trees 

bow in silence 

as they hunt 

for grasshoppers or mice 

diving down to prairie grass 

klee klee klee 

and this is what we do 

watch listen

in this yard 

our invasion into leafy buggy living eco 

figuring out the 

klee klee klee

garden journal #1

something ate bean leaves 

little holes green lace on stem

wait for recovery 

boy and dog

long happy tongue reaches face 

blonde summer curls cradle cringing smile 

eyes confident in this affection 

this love 

not easily deterred 

pressing forward 

opening heart 

getting full attention 

lungs full of safe air 

lucky air of inseparability 

 

a hot day in June

parrot preens a shopper’s 

shoulder (truly) blue jay fast past the glass 

doors turtle natures golf cart 

path orange cat slows 

sidewalk killdeer laughing up the 

sky rabbit tentative sniffs 

grass robin hops lawn in search 

of crow high up calls 

tree Irish setter out for happy walk such a good 

dog small grey goslings dot green shore with father and 

mother sparrow winging into 

wind 

such summertime sights 

event

hard to plumb what 

kind of wind it took to crack 

pine tree in the corner 

twelve feet up 

so that the top fell on top 

of the giant cedars growing just behind 

arms extended to hold up the toppled tip 

a wind that wrests anxious hearts 

out of kilter and 

squints eyes with dust 

that makes it hard to think of anything else 

except for what a volatile violent world 

we inhabit here in the middle of a continent

Tuesday afternoon

still quietness 

a bird trills 

a dog’s high desperation 

wheels dusting breeze on dry gravel 

car horn dissonance 

motorbike’s unmuffled rev and 

my breathing in this taste of summer 

settling on the prairie in this rare 

quiet stillness

tulips and kildeer

they’re yellow fluted glasses 

pointed tips 

commencing to open up 

into teacups 

balanced on green stem 

held in crystal vase 

while killdeer fills the air outside with urgent cry 

and bright sky invites a chittering response from us 

to become flutes that gather the morning dew 

and sing our sadness to the sky

reluctant spring

she’s shy about coming out 

from under heavy table 

big brother with icy smile 

too much for her 

to trust that she can make 

her way in this world as well 

we cajole bribe coax say spells 

welcome her into the open 

where she can shine her spritely 

love on everyone and everything 

c’mon now

boy and bike

there are strips of 

black 

rubber 

on the sidewalk outside his home 

this is what he does on red bicycle 

at superspeed 

all the way from the corner 

legs piston pedals 

hands steering with no fear 

until he’s suddenly here 

and the foot kicks back 

locking brakes 

and he skids to a stop 

ready for the next trip 

    the next challenge 

        the next season 

to make his mark

 

April storm

just stand in the wind

flakes arpeggiating cheeks

ruddy from spring sun

 

deep calls to deep

whale song sounds the sea 

searing softened ears 

and we watch from shore 

as they arc jumps in this cove 

with crashing waves on rocks 

it is early sunrise 

on this eastern edge 

and we are deep inside this life 

on the cliff of change 

of melting floes and wilding fires 

of killing droughts and fatal floods

of species sinking into earth 

deeper 

and deeper 

and they sing their dirges 

and we must listen fully 

fathoms down

and sing along

wind

when spring sun severs ribbon 

with winter 

and ties a bow to warmth 

when snow dissolves into thawing earth 

waking waiting roots 

when low pressure invites the rushing in 

of stinging north or melting south 

then leaves tumble across grass 

branches bend and sway 

small birds struggle to find perch 

hearts soar tugging string 

unrolling in practiced hands 

for summer’s coming 

on-rushing

cat nap

my cat 

like a flute cadence 

reposes on navy loveseat 

soft paws extended under resting face 

striped tail encircling hind legs 

eyes pinched closed rhythmic breaths 

with a barely heard purr 

from deep within 

he plumbs the peace of 

the perfect end of a classical phrase

it's coming up on Easter

it’s coming up on Easter and 

earth sits in pandemic posture 

tawny grass 

naked trees 

march wind blowing is dry 

and we wait for vaccine rain injected 

an IV of goodness pumped 

into waiting world 

like a baroque motet 

all sincerity uncompromised un-ironic 

to resurrect this patient in ICU 

lulled by beeps and breaths faces covered by ppe

its coming up on Easter 

but first the death must be complete

ides of March

all coloured jackets walk to school 

under daylight saving sky 

wispy blue 

to soundtrack of waltzes 

killing brutal winter (et tu?)

lilting us into 

spring 

    frueling 

        printemps 

            primavera

        ver 

anniversary (10 years)

world stops 

in a hospital 

and you are hooked up to an iv pole 

beside the bed 

waking up to a new reality 

as cancer survivor 

your body altered 

rearranged 

set on a new path 

of pin-like 

                turns 

and steep inclines 

and gentle lovely woodsy walks 

always attended by 

warm rearward breeze 

    fresh and inspiring 

        honest and true 

            committed and full of grace 

                unflinching and brave 

this love above all

 

last of the snow

patches here and there 

or on the side of the ditch 

no longer pure white 

but dirty crystalled fragile 

ground already drying 

left to fend 

it’s the last song of winter 

flattening away into trickles 

of water filling ditch 

and we say farewell 

to hard unforgiving cold 

and look to uncertain hope 

that green will spring freely again

the dance

candle flame dancing 

on wick 

to the music of Satie 

        stately unsettled 

eating air 

wicking wax 

giving sacred light to the dim 

room adorned with reminders of familiars 

fading in and out in wavering lumens 

and we can stare 

into orange heat and hear 

the faint heartbeat of life 

        so precious

 

can spring be on the way

can spring be on the way 

voicing an echoed hello 

from far away lift 

yourself out of winter’s trap 

and listen 

can spring be on the way 

light splashes colour in the east 

our way out of darkness 

just look 

can spring be on the way 

tender hand brushing cheek 

just for a moment 

feel     receptors aware

can spring be on the way 

unwrap the last valentine chocolate

and taste it on your moistened lips 

for spring is on the way

catapult

it’s inside ribbed plastic bin 

    oma can I play with this now I’m five 

carry to the living room and open the world 

of medieval make believe with 

flying dragon 

    knights on horseback 

        castle pieces with turrets and towers 

            and small plastic boulders that fit in the spoon 

of the catapult

to be hurled across the room 

unleashed on the enemy 

behind the grey walls of the fortress 

and all disappears 

the chairs 

    the carpet 

           the tv 

                the windows 

until it’s time to find all the plastic balls 

and swords

    and helmets 

        and chains 

and put them back into the bin 

along with a piece of you 

catapulting through epochs of time

this cold

like large icicled 

fist holding strangled white world

weary with winter

pine tree in the wind (for Bob B.)

snowy ground underneath circled with 

needles     cones detritus 

solid trunk rises sixty feet 

green branches oscilating with 

the gusts of February fanning fists 

but the tree withstands endures

it was made for this with 

roots reaching deep beneath the snow 

into frozen ground 

    into Manitoba clay 

        into the tangle of pedigrees from other trees oh 

to be a pine tree 

needles facing wind with 

sharp confidence

rising from a circle of love

COVID birthday boy

he’s now five years old and

we stand on the snow in the front yard 

outside to be safe and follow pandemic guidelines 

snow underfoot crunching in 

twenty-five below we all wear winter togs 

and he stands smiling with his new gifts wrestled open 

on the stoop blue cupcake in 

mitten sparklers did not light in the icy wind 

but he eats the cold icing sweet under cloud of warm breath 

and we heartily sing the birthday 

song for all the neighbourhood to hear and

soft blushed cheeks tell the sweet story five years in the making

motion and memory

there’s that scene in Dr. Zhivago 

of Yuri pilgriming through the snowy plains 

of Russia 

that adheres my mind 

it seems when I was a kid 

when there was a movie 

featured in the gymnasium 

of our small town it was either 

Gone With The Wind or Dr. Zhivago 

and even though I was unable to hold 

the geopolitics or romantic entanglements 

in my young cupped hands

these images of snow-swept cold 

lodged in my body so that 

I’ll never see gloves with fingers cut off 

without calling them into focus 

body shivering 

and today as I look out at blinding whiteness 

and hear Gorecki’s slow march 

it’s me on that long icy trek 

making prints in the Manitoba snow 

towards my love

an orange sled

an orange sled 

    a bumpy ride 

a playful pup 

    with wagging tail 

a snowy bank 

    a happy scream 

a run uphill 

    a helpful oma 

a boy who’s five 

    or almost there 

a hood and scarf 

    a darking sky 

five more times 

    one last slide 

time to go 

    the puppy’s done 

Twitter feed post-impeachment (one word from 61 consecutive tweets)

                                               loser 

                          incited mob 

            insurrections breaking history

                 I fault vile sociopathic

  hate systemic racist disinformation unacceptable

fundamentalist moron Matt followers impeach cancel

  take anyone responsible shame shot rioters failure

correction mom thanks true defended democracy dying failures

   yes conscience excluded account perplexed covid collection

      psychedelic reconnaissance wolf pack song confusion

              complain violently omit ideal coffee

              reminder welcome care coincidence

                          climate aged honey 

                                 hope alive

hoar frost sunrise

follow hydro line

to woods so white rimmed with ice

and bathe in orange

2021

and we s l i d e 

into January 

like jazz saxophone 

sad distant meandering 

snow underfoot 

and icy wind stiffening masks 

covering noses and mouths 

but this Coltrane 

feeling will fade 

as time’s arrow heads for spring 

and a poke in the arm 

that may let us sing together once more 

harmonies washing souls 

and waking soles 

into a dance of togetherness 

new year

I shall ring 

wing 

sing 

in the year 

with Mahler’s 4th jingling room 

littered with Christmas detritus 

cards chocolates gifts candles 

and music crescendos 

into ominous chords 

jingling in minor key 

but movement ends 

in stately hope 

strong melody flinging in face 

of audacious odds 

and I think of a puppy 

finding his feet in new snow 

chasing a small boy on forest path 

collar tinging “hello ‘21”

Christmas Eve videochat

messenger for kids

has Santa reindeer and elves

filters for Christmas