Most of the following poems were written and published in the period between 2007 and 2008, but a few first published in 2007 - 2008 were actually composed between 2005 & 2006, and can be found in that folder.
1. A Cup of Laughter
A cup of laughter in your voice,
I drink this sunlit wine
to warm the cold-swept soul
that parades itself as mine,
that longs to shed its gloom
to see the world anew,
and yearns to take its place
beside the warmth of you.
If only I could weather
the storms my heart endures
with the grace that you exhibit
when sorrow strikes down yours,
for even in the darkness,
when clouds obscure the light,
that laughter in your voice
releases me from fright,
and causes me to try once more
to slake my burning thirst
with the nectar born of love,
and feel no longer cursed.
2. A Song of the Sea
Floating cradled on the waves,
my island ever sings the sea,
knows its wild and roiling ways,
yet cherishes the salty breeze;
washed by changing ocean tides
since all of Time began,
my island takes full pride
in wind, and wave, and sand.
I am a child of earth and water,
I walk upon a storm-lashed shore
and pretend that Neptune's daughter
is gazing on the sea once more --
the sea that never stays the same,
so alive to those who dwell above,
takes our hearts and sets her claim:
this sea is my forever love.
3. A Thousand Suns, 1
He
is not like me –
when
I rage like ocean
he
stands firm as earth,
when
I cry in anger
he
speaks soft in love;
to
my pain he offers balm,
heals
the wounds I bear
unmindful
of the scars
that,
deep within his heart,
speak
his own pain;
his
strength to my weakness,
his
light to my darkness –
he
strikes the smallest match
and
my universe explodes
into
a thousand suns.
4. A Thousand Suns, 2
4. A Thousand Suns, 2
A thousand suns are burning still,
bright guardians to lead me home
to one who reaches out for me,
to one whose heart surrounds my own;
like candles lit on altars dark,
or lights to guide the sailor lost,
his suns protect me from the fate
of all who drift on waters tossed.
A thousand suns he sends my way
to lighten paths now cloaked in
black,
and never does he ask of me
to give my soul to pay him back;
his love stands unconditional,
steadfast when winter winds descend,
and even when I stumble down,
I know his love will never end.
5. Achilles' Dilemma
His
mother told him so,
but
he did not believe –
easy
to arrive at Troy
but
harder much to leave,
and
when she spoke of Sirens
atop
their jagged crags,
he
thought of winsome maids
and
not of ugly hags.
She
said he was naïve
expecting
gratitude,
that
he was not exempt
from
the vulgar or the rude;
he
should have listened well
and
spared himself the pain –
have
hid in shadows mute
from
those who called his name.
Now
crossroads lie ahead
and
decisions must be made:
to
take up again the fight,
or
let his honour fade;
no
sleep comes to Achilles,
bewildered
in his tent,
angry
and exhausted,
his
energy full spent.
Yet
nought awaited him
upon
retreat from war
but
to pass his days alone,
judged
a coward evermore,
his
sword to lie abandoned
upon
the blood-drenched plain –
the
curse the gods give all
who
play the hero game.
6. Aftermath: Hurricane Juan
Devastation in its wake,
the fury of a storm unleashed
to shake foundations
of even firmest stone,
and raise the waters
of primeval Ocean.
Earth and sky in conflict,
howling gales rampant
over human creations;
waves wash over the city,
boats stranded like whales
beached in twisted agony,
while ancient trees surrender
to forces unimaginable.
And in the dark aftermath
all I gaze upon is debris,
our fatal infirmity exposed
in the angry maw of Nature;
hubris to think otherwise,
we have seen the wind.
7. After the Storm
Clouds finally lifting,
the sky expands
into a blue balloon
tinted by golden rays.
Calm softly descends,
a gentle hush that sings
of release from rain
that dulls each day.
The hues of a rainbow
break the horizon,
colour dances where
the dark held sway.
I cower no more
in the face of the storm,
bright freedom stirs
and takes grief away.
New storms may come
to beat me down,
but nothing will sully
the light of today.
8. All I Can Be
6. Aftermath: Hurricane Juan
Devastation in its wake,
the fury of a storm unleashed
to shake foundations
of even firmest stone,
and raise the waters
of primeval Ocean.
Earth and sky in conflict,
howling gales rampant
over human creations;
waves wash over the city,
boats stranded like whales
beached in twisted agony,
while ancient trees surrender
to forces unimaginable.
And in the dark aftermath
all I gaze upon is debris,
our fatal infirmity exposed
in the angry maw of Nature;
hubris to think otherwise,
we have seen the wind.
7. After the Storm
Clouds finally lifting,
the sky expands
into a blue balloon
tinted by golden rays.
Calm softly descends,
a gentle hush that sings
of release from rain
that dulls each day.
The hues of a rainbow
break the horizon,
colour dances where
the dark held sway.
I cower no more
in the face of the storm,
bright freedom stirs
and takes grief away.
New storms may come
to beat me down,
but nothing will sully
the light of today.
8. All I Can Be
I will never scale mountains
nor soar to the moon,
the darkness encroaches,
consumes me too soon;
I will never paint portraits
nor sculpt figures fine,
such skills are transcendent,
and can never be mine.
Let others examine the stars,
construct cathedrals from stone,
I am but a humble bard
who treads her path alone;
to play with words sublime
is what Nature gave to me,
and I can only acquiesce:
that is all I can ever be.
nor soar to the moon,
the darkness encroaches,
consumes me too soon;
I will never paint portraits
nor sculpt figures fine,
such skills are transcendent,
and can never be mine.
Let others examine the stars,
construct cathedrals from stone,
I am but a humble bard
who treads her path alone;
to play with words sublime
is what Nature gave to me,
and I can only acquiesce:
that is all I can ever be.
9. April
Ghost
Walking
by the sea today
I
saw a ghost arise,
a
grimace on her face
and
sorrow in her eyes,
as
if she mourned the sailors
adrift
on April waves,
their
vessels doomed to lie
in
dark pelagic graves.
For
April shows no mercy
to
those who come from land,
whose
ghosts are sent to warn
of
danger in her hand;
yet
even through wild waters
the
sailor dares to go,
to
conquer Father Neptune
or
become a ghost below.
10. August Tears
10. August Tears
Clouds
like curtains
drawn
across the sky,
the
sun gives way
to
rampant thunder;
sharpened
bolts of flame
cascade
upon the earth,
pyrotechnic
dances
of
timeless wonder.
The
tears of August
rush
towards the sea,
disappearing
in haste
into
the deeps;
and
I lie awake,
witness
to the power
unleashed
by sorrow
when
summer weeps.
11. Bacchus in September
September gales fly from the north,
heralding the coming cold,
branches whirl like Maenads crowned
with hair of Dionysiac gold,
white caps upon the ocean rage
like ecstatic sycophants,
foaming, striking with a crash
in their frenzied Bacchic dance.
Ships grasp the shore in terror,
fearing they be swept away,
tossed on sea and lost on shore,
sacrificial rites to pay,
and I put on my woolen cloak,
raise up the thyrsus in my hand,
against the cold of autumn
joining in this maddened band.
12. Between
After she left me,
and before he came,
I drifted in sorrow
on a sea with no name.
Alone with the waves
absorbing my tears,
I saw no safe haven
from desolate fears.
Each slap of the water
portended a storm,
the ocean within me
an ominous form.
Battered by currents,
cast up on the land,
my craft broke apart
on granite and sand.
I stood in the wreckage,
no rescue foreseen,
abandoned and grieving
the time in between.
13. Bewitched
11. Bacchus in September
September gales fly from the north,
heralding the coming cold,
branches whirl like Maenads crowned
with hair of Dionysiac gold,
white caps upon the ocean rage
like ecstatic sycophants,
foaming, striking with a crash
in their frenzied Bacchic dance.
Ships grasp the shore in terror,
fearing they be swept away,
tossed on sea and lost on shore,
sacrificial rites to pay,
and I put on my woolen cloak,
raise up the thyrsus in my hand,
against the cold of autumn
joining in this maddened band.
12. Between
After she left me,
and before he came,
I drifted in sorrow
on a sea with no name.
Alone with the waves
absorbing my tears,
I saw no safe haven
from desolate fears.
Each slap of the water
portended a storm,
the ocean within me
an ominous form.
Battered by currents,
cast up on the land,
my craft broke apart
on granite and sand.
I stood in the wreckage,
no rescue foreseen,
abandoned and grieving
the time in between.
13. Bewitched
The
soft sound of the Siren
captivated
his heart,
drawn
by invisible chains
destined
to tear him apart;
so
innocent her beauty,
sad
torment in her tears –
sorrow
for the pain she bore
despite
her tender years.
A
hero sailing from afar,
her
saviour would he be,
come
to love this maiden fair
imprisoned
by the angry sea;
but
when his barque drew close
and
truth he finally spied,
too
late the revelation –
for
on her rock he died.
14. Black Holes
Deep within the galaxies,
churning through light
and swallowing stars
like flimsy bits of dust,
black holes hide
in their dark cloaks,
invisible monsters
ever feeding their rage.
Deep within the human soul
the harshest black hole
eats away relentlessly,
savouring the spirit,
bringing me to my knees
in hope of divine intervention --
but prayers drift away on winds
as darkness consumes me.
15. Blank Pages
Expectant,
ready to be filled
with musings
not yet created,
blank pages
stare back at me,
daring my pen
to touch them;
eager to devour
the dark secrets
I harbour within,
a bird of prey
watching me
with keen eye,
patiently waiting,
marking time.
I lift my pen,
hesitate a moment,
then surrender
all that I am.
16. Branded by Pain
14. Black Holes
Deep within the galaxies,
churning through light
and swallowing stars
like flimsy bits of dust,
black holes hide
in their dark cloaks,
invisible monsters
ever feeding their rage.
Deep within the human soul
the harshest black hole
eats away relentlessly,
savouring the spirit,
bringing me to my knees
in hope of divine intervention --
but prayers drift away on winds
as darkness consumes me.
15. Blank Pages
Expectant,
ready to be filled
with musings
not yet created,
blank pages
stare back at me,
daring my pen
to touch them;
eager to devour
the dark secrets
I harbour within,
a bird of prey
watching me
with keen eye,
patiently waiting,
marking time.
I lift my pen,
hesitate a moment,
then surrender
all that I am.
16. Branded by Pain
The
stab of a needle,
the
slash of a knife,
the
dagger that plunges
and
alters your life,
the
bullet that enters,
the
bomb that erases,
internal
implosions
leaving
their traces.
The
shame of rejection,
the
sting of “alone”
that
burns like a flame
as
you sit at home,
the
heart lying wounded,
the
soul that is shattered,
the
mind killed by knowing
it
all never mattered.
Each
one has its torment,
unique
and unwanted,
ghosts
to make mortals
fearful
and haunted;
you
pray for some God
to
extinguish their reign,
but
none can escape
our
private brands of pain.
17. Broken Dreams
17. Broken Dreams
Bonds of hope take many forms --
a child, a lover, a friend --
someone to share our dreams with,
while their own we gently tend
like flowers in the forest
that are reaching for the sun,
for comfort in the darkness
before springtime has begun.
Yet bonds of hope are fragile
in a world where faith is frail,
the love we share together
errant time may yet assail,
and so we steel our spirits
to survive a broken heart --
for, no matter how we try,
sometimes dreams just fall apart.
18. Bullies and Vandals
Protected by nightfall,
paint can in hand,
they vie with each other
to play the big man,
to show off their power
by venting their hate,
to strike a dark house
when the hour is late,
to spray a swastika
or burn down a school,
ravage a graveyard
just to be cool.
With beer in their bellies
and spite in their hearts,
they pounce on a queer
and tear him apart,
beat up a black man,
show him who’s boss,
so what if he dies –
it’s not a big loss.
Bullies and vandals
loose in the night,
strike from behind
to avoid a fair fight,
the prey is just garbage,
so different from them,
go torture and maim,
then strike out again.
And we in our houses
who turn a blind eye
are guilty of murder
if someone should die,
but few have the courage
to stand up and yell,
protecting the guiltless
from this living Hell;
far safer to play dumb
and ignore what they do -
until the day comes
when they desecrate you.
18. Bullies and Vandals
Protected by nightfall,
paint can in hand,
they vie with each other
to play the big man,
to show off their power
by venting their hate,
to strike a dark house
when the hour is late,
to spray a swastika
or burn down a school,
ravage a graveyard
just to be cool.
With beer in their bellies
and spite in their hearts,
they pounce on a queer
and tear him apart,
beat up a black man,
show him who’s boss,
so what if he dies –
it’s not a big loss.
Bullies and vandals
loose in the night,
strike from behind
to avoid a fair fight,
the prey is just garbage,
so different from them,
go torture and maim,
then strike out again.
And we in our houses
who turn a blind eye
are guilty of murder
if someone should die,
but few have the courage
to stand up and yell,
protecting the guiltless
from this living Hell;
far safer to play dumb
and ignore what they do -
until the day comes
when they desecrate you.
19. Confessor
He
tried so hard to comfort,
to
find the words to mend
a
soul that lay in tatters,
afraid
to love again,
he
spoke of days to come
with
the promise of new light,
a
time when grief would end
and
peace return at night,
when
tears would yield at last
to
hope in love restored,
the
path of desperation
to
beckon her no more.
But
his words flew to the wind,
left
no solace in their wake –
to
pretend a cure existed
was
perhaps his chaste mistake,
for
those who lose at love
bear
scars no words erase –
there
is no balm in Gilead,
there
is no trust in Grace.
20. Cycles
Black holes, bright suns,
light born of darkness,
cycles of creation
contracting and expanding
in a universal dance;
surrounded by the music
of Pythagorean spheres,
I waltz with shadows,
each step a return
to primordial matter,
then burst with light
as if a candle flares
in cosmic masquerade,
igniting the suns
of latent galaxies;
I am, and I am not,
chameleon in cycles
of reeling bipolarity,
ballet of darkness
dancing for light.
21. Daily Grind
Each day begins with a rush
banishing visions of night,
images dancing with colours
that fade at the coming of light;
I run out the door after breakfast –
the office will open at eight –
wait for the bus in a downpour
and pray that the driver’s not late.
Work hurries past in a rustle
of papers and forms to be filed,
clients are getting impatient
and rarely has anyone smiled;
ahead lie chores of the home,
but I stop at the grocery first:
we ran out of butter and milk –
my headache is now getting worse.
Laundry awaits my arrival,
and cleaning I missed yesterday,
then to begin making supper –
I sense you are not far away;
the car pulls in very slowly –
your day was no better than mine –
we embrace in resigned fatigue,
pretending our day has been fine.
When dinner and dishes are done,
scant hours are left in the night –
time to read the newspaper,
lament that the world is not right;
climb into bed feeling weary
from all of the things I must do,
yet, as we cling to each other,
I pray that the cycle renew.
22. December Deep
December sets a seal upon the year,
the final entry in this book of days
destined to record the passage of Time
in which I play my meagre part;
yet another year glides away from me,
so unaware that I am looking back
in tears at all that might have come my way,
had I the strength to bare my heart,
had I but seen on January days
the nascent sun a herald of new birth,
and had the courage to embrace each hour,
deny my soul the chance to weep;
but month by month the sadness grew within,
until the greying skies of Autumn came,
a shroud to cloak the heavens from my view
and leave me in December deep.
23. December’s Reel
And so you have returned –
The air that you breathe
smells like a sewer,
a mixture concocted
by some evil brewer.
The rain that falls down
in septic showers
is burning the land
and killing the flowers.
The winds take more lives,
slam again and again,
destruction at hand,
though no one knows when.
We did it ourselves,
this rape of the Earth,
our gift to the Mother
who gave us all birth.
So go close your eyes,
pretend it's not true,
but doomsday is coming
for me and for you.
25. Encounter
Walking deep among the brambles
I came upon a hidden rose,
sown by hands that dearly loved her
but left alone as winter grows,
subjected to autumnal gales
that strike with never yielding wrath,
turning meadows into barrens
as August sun deserts its path.
One fading bloom remained to touch,
her petals withered by the chill,
an omen of the dark to come
for roses left to winter’s will;
I lingered long to savour it
till evening forced me to depart,
but as I walked away from her
I left behind my summer heart.
26. Epitaph
I wanted a diamond
but they gave me clay,
so I took up my gift
and fast hid it away;
I wanted the sunshine
but they offered me night,
I wandered in darkness,
unknown to the light.
I begged for their mercy,
for one glimpse of gold,
to see radiant beauty
before I grew old;
they mocked and betrayed me,
though others fared well,
and how I was different
they never did tell.
Perhaps they were busy
the day that I came,
bestowing on others
vast riches and fame;
perhaps they were testing
the strength of my thread,
for too soon did it break,
too soon I lay dead.
But now looking back
at the journey I made,
I see you beside me,
and all envies fade.
27. Escape
I push the world aside,
weary of the noise
buffeting my ears,
the senseless babble
of a million voices;
I send my mind away
on a far-flung cosmic quest,
the wonder of Creation
calling out to my soul,
a voyage through eternity.
I gaze at stars resplendent,
galaxies that pirouette
to music never heard before,
and my ears are cleansed
by this divine libation;
if only I could remain here,
orbiting a nascent star,
with you alone beside me,
binary souls set free at last
to dance in loving harmony.
The audience stays silent
as you speak your final word,
and you wonder as you exit
if they have even heard
a fragment of your heartache,
a pittance of your pain,
or have they merely wandered in
to stay out of the rain?
You played the role assigned
at the moment you were born,
but now the stage is empty
and you begin to mourn
the things that never were,
the paths you never took,
the many you performed for
who never even looked
to see a fellow pilgrim
lost among the crowd,
who never paused to hear
the pain you voiced aloud.
But now it matters not at all,
the die has long been cast,
the final curtain hides the stage,
this role has been your last.
29. Falling into Night
Seasons turn like thieves,
steal away in silence –
peaceful sighs of summer
yield to winter’s violence;
grass entombed by snow,
a blanket on the ground
set in place to cover,
to muffle human sound.
Winds blow from the north,
the sun withdraws its face,
yielding to the darkness
in unrelenting pace;
those who trust in spring
dismiss the failing light,
but she just closed her eyes
while falling into night.
30. Fatal Fear
Bold mountains rising to the sky
and forests dark with tangled trees,
streams that rage in icy torrents –
I never had a fear of these;
foul monsters born in story books,
Minotaurs with foreboding faces –
these would never shatter sleep
or keep me from exotic places.
In carefree walks in winter’s realm,
oblivious to wind and snow,
no thoughts of danger reached my mind
from clouds above, or cold below,
set free to stand in nature’s path,
to watch as lightning struck the ground,
and stand at peace within the storm
as thunder roared its growling sound.
But my courage had a weakness,
one terror stayed to pierce me through –
for never could I overcome
the fatal fear of losing you.
31. Fevered Grace
In fevered grace I dreamt of you,
attired in shaman’s magic cloak,
holding out the balm of love
and watching me until I woke;
the chill that burrowed in my flesh,
the pain that never ceased to be –
what demons ran from your dark eyes,
what will to live you brought to me.
In fevered grace I felt your heart
as if it were within my own,
each beat a summons to the light,
a wizard’s call to take me home;
perhaps my mind was mad with fire,
perhaps my soul beset by fear –
it mattered not, for I awoke
to see my shaman sitting near.
32. Final Chapter
Within the shroud of night she read
the final pages of a tale,
a story, wrapped in mystery,
of those who win, and those who fail,
with characters who faced the dark
while others basked in endless light,
but all ordained to play their roles
determined by the author’s might.
So many pages stained by tears
and chapters read at midnight’s call
when all around the silence fell
in shadows stretching ever tall;
but when the closing chapter came
her grief at last she hoped would heal,
for this was just a book of dreams,
and, in the end, it was not real.
33. Final Voyage
Many a storm the Captain had seen
on this lake where waters run wild,
where deep below in the darkness
the corpses of ships have been piled,
but no night so crazed he recalled,
though many long years he had sailed,
when the sky itself seemed on fire
and even the waves loudly wailed.
His ship took a blow at the stern
and the load she carried shifted,
she started to heel on her side
as out of control she drifted;
tormented by blasts out of Hell,
a veil of black fast descended,
and the crew and the Captain knew
this voyage would soon be ended.
Caught in the maws of a whirlpool,
the vessel spun wildly around,
no ship lay nearby to assist,
no earthly haven to be found,
and on the bridge the Captain knew
what doom this night did herald,
for when the morning came once more,
gone was the Edmund Fitzgerald.
34. Final Words (for Emily D.)
She knew her life would never be
the subject of a mighty tome,
nor would a statue made of bronze
reside within her earthly home,
her legacy would not be sung
by those who lived in later days,
no sweet-voiced bard to pen an ode
in honour of her verbal grace.
She lived alone, in solitude,
akin to nuns within their cells,
no callers came to take some tea
or share the news they had to tell;
with curtains drawn she shunned the light,
embracing darkness as her friend,
determined to shut out the world
until she met her sheltered end.
The poems she placed upon the page
would rest in silence, gather dust,
musings furtive, hidden away
from prying eyes she could not trust –
except for one she wrote to her
whose heart was pledged in perfidy,
and there she sang her deep desire
and signed it, sadly, Emily.
35. Flower in the Dark
Petals folded, cocooned
against the cold,
waiting for the storm
to vent its force,
in silent expectation
of the sun's return,
flower in the dark.
Swaying to the wind,
its staccato rhythm
pounding like thunder,
the dulcet breeze
now a dim memory,
defiant to the end,
flower in the dark.
36. Guests Upon the Sea
We are but guests upon the sea,
fragile creatures born of earth,
scorned by those below the waves
to whom we seem of little worth;
our crafts reflect fragility,
playthings of the wind and wave,
one sudden blow will take them down,
condemn them to a salty grave.
The sea rejects our courtship,
its passion rests with those beneath,
mortals bearing earthly gifts
are turned away in lonely grief;
sail gently on her fluid path,
pay homage to her power --
she who wields a scimitar
cuts down the prideful flower.
37. Homestead: Saskatchewan, 2008
There were ghosts in the field,
summoned by footsteps
and silently watching
as I roamed the land
once harrowed by them;
their ramshackle buildings
swayed and bowed to the winds,
some barely recognizable
as artifacts of hopeful men
armed with nails and hammers.
Here they built their dreams,
sweat pouring in the prairie sun
that sang of cattle and of wheat,
of endless fields to be harvested
before the dark rage of winter;
sacred ground beneath my boots,
shrines of wood, offerings of steel,
all left abandoned in despair,
sacrifices to the barren time
when all dreams had vanished.
38. Hope in Ruins
This world needs songs of joy,
hymns to peace and to goodwill,
poems to the glory of Creation --
but my pen takes me elsewhere:
it walks on rubble-strewn streets,
it gazes at the remnants of homes,
at the detritus of human lives
sacrificed in the pursuit of power;
in far-flung places upon this earth
killing fields still bloom and grow,
gorging upon vast pools of blood.
My pen falls silent, unable to write
poems of peace and endless joy,
when all it sees is hope in ruins.
39. I Thought of You
I roamed in distant places
with strangers all around,
I sang upon the sea
and danced along the ground;
flowers beyond measure
lay blessed by morning dew,
treasures teased my senses,
but still I thought of you.
Among a thousand voices
I longed to hear just one,
the lips that whispered love
when every day was done;
castles and cathedrals
exposed before my view
do not transcend the heart,
and so I thought of you.
40. Immortal
Much has been forgotten,
much I yearn to forget,
to erase forever from my mind –
but not her,
I hear her voice, immune
to the passage of time,
the soft sweet sound
of enduring love,
I see her face, scarred by age,
yet ever smiling at me
with no disappointment
in her eyes,
and I know she is near
when I walk in darkness,
to offer balm to my pain
with healing touch,
for love survives the grave
and transcends time,
as long as my heart beats
she cannot die.
41. In the Arms of the Sea
No horizon between sea and sky,
each dissolving into the other
with the ease of ancient acquaintance,
their love eternally predestined;
now, as it was in the beginning,
every molecule of water
permeates existence thoroughly,
Prometheus offering new life.
In the arms of the sea we are born,
cradled on waves not of our making,
children adrift and gazing skywards
in expectation of salvation,
until we are cast upon the earth,
naked and abandoned by parents
lost in the rapture of their passion,
erasing the horizon again.
42. Into Your Arms
Strong arms embrace me,
all fears disappear,
secure in this moment
as morning draws near,
lost is the nightmare
of life without you,
new dreams take wing
and soar into view;
the beat of your heart
brings solace to mine,
drives away sadness
and offers more time,
time to grow older
with all terrors calmed,
to surrender myself
into your loving arms.
43. Janus of the Sea
I am the wave that rushes
like a bull upon the sands,
bearing down on ancient rock
unafraid of mortal hands;
I am the wave receding,
yielding to the tidal force,
torn away from solid ground,
pained to alter my set course.
I am harsh and I am mild
dancing with the lordly moon,
source of joy and source of woe,
Siren with a fickle tune;
I am Janus of the sea,
twin-faced god upon your coast,
adrift in contradiction:
I destroy what I love most.
44. Just a Book
Hold it tightly,
open it carefully,
the words fall out
and tumble down
like dying leaves
in Autumn’s breath.
My life is there,
written in words
torn from my heart
in anguished moments
when all seems lost,
and I am afraid.
It is just a book,
but knows my sorrows,
has felt the pain
I can no longer hide,
and may, simply by being,
witness my existence.
45. Last Touch
Castles of sand
without foundation,
foolish dreams
of imagination,
flights to the stars
on gossamer wings,
away from the sorrow
reality brings.
The earth falls away
and higher I wheel,
just a delusion –
this lightness I feel;
darkness returns
to cast out the glow,
just give me your hand
and then let me go.
46. Light in the Darkness
Lost in the forest of his grief,
the path obscured by willows,
each a marker of his despair
and ever growing,
no rippling stream gave comfort,
the flowers at his weary feet
lay wilted in the autumn cold,
never to rise again,
his eyes bathed the ground in tears,
his ears heard only distant cries
as if, somewhere in these woods,
a soul was dying;
if only he had raised his eyes
beyond the trees, to the sky above:
for there the sun was all ablaze,
on fire just for him.
47. Looking for Light
In the darkness of night
20. Cycles
Black holes, bright suns,
light born of darkness,
cycles of creation
contracting and expanding
in a universal dance;
surrounded by the music
of Pythagorean spheres,
I waltz with shadows,
each step a return
to primordial matter,
then burst with light
as if a candle flares
in cosmic masquerade,
igniting the suns
of latent galaxies;
I am, and I am not,
chameleon in cycles
of reeling bipolarity,
ballet of darkness
dancing for light.
21. Daily Grind
Each day begins with a rush
banishing visions of night,
images dancing with colours
that fade at the coming of light;
I run out the door after breakfast –
the office will open at eight –
wait for the bus in a downpour
and pray that the driver’s not late.
Work hurries past in a rustle
of papers and forms to be filed,
clients are getting impatient
and rarely has anyone smiled;
ahead lie chores of the home,
but I stop at the grocery first:
we ran out of butter and milk –
my headache is now getting worse.
Laundry awaits my arrival,
and cleaning I missed yesterday,
then to begin making supper –
I sense you are not far away;
the car pulls in very slowly –
your day was no better than mine –
we embrace in resigned fatigue,
pretending our day has been fine.
When dinner and dishes are done,
scant hours are left in the night –
time to read the newspaper,
lament that the world is not right;
climb into bed feeling weary
from all of the things I must do,
yet, as we cling to each other,
I pray that the cycle renew.
22. December Deep
December sets a seal upon the year,
the final entry in this book of days
destined to record the passage of Time
in which I play my meagre part;
yet another year glides away from me,
so unaware that I am looking back
in tears at all that might have come my way,
had I the strength to bare my heart,
had I but seen on January days
the nascent sun a herald of new birth,
and had the courage to embrace each hour,
deny my soul the chance to weep;
but month by month the sadness grew within,
until the greying skies of Autumn came,
a shroud to cloak the heavens from my view
and leave me in December deep.
23. December’s Reel
And so you have returned –
hair
crested with fresh snow,
frost
adorning your cape,
knives
of ice in your hands.
Come
and sit down with me,
my
long expected guest,
and
take the warmth of tea
into
your frozen heart.
Then
tell me of your plans -
speak
of clouded mornings
and
dark lingering nights
under
a bitter sky.
Describe
the storms ahead:
endless
curtains of white,
sharp
blasts of angry winds,
steel-grey
waves in torment.
So
much time we two have
to
dance apart from light –
you
and I in thrall to
December’s
ancient reel.
24. Desecration
24. Desecration
The air that you breathe
smells like a sewer,
a mixture concocted
by some evil brewer.
The rain that falls down
in septic showers
is burning the land
and killing the flowers.
The winds take more lives,
slam again and again,
destruction at hand,
though no one knows when.
We did it ourselves,
this rape of the Earth,
our gift to the Mother
who gave us all birth.
So go close your eyes,
pretend it's not true,
but doomsday is coming
for me and for you.
25. Encounter
Walking deep among the brambles
I came upon a hidden rose,
sown by hands that dearly loved her
but left alone as winter grows,
subjected to autumnal gales
that strike with never yielding wrath,
turning meadows into barrens
as August sun deserts its path.
One fading bloom remained to touch,
her petals withered by the chill,
an omen of the dark to come
for roses left to winter’s will;
I lingered long to savour it
till evening forced me to depart,
but as I walked away from her
I left behind my summer heart.
26. Epitaph
I wanted a diamond
but they gave me clay,
so I took up my gift
and fast hid it away;
I wanted the sunshine
but they offered me night,
I wandered in darkness,
unknown to the light.
I begged for their mercy,
for one glimpse of gold,
to see radiant beauty
before I grew old;
they mocked and betrayed me,
though others fared well,
and how I was different
they never did tell.
Perhaps they were busy
the day that I came,
bestowing on others
vast riches and fame;
perhaps they were testing
the strength of my thread,
for too soon did it break,
too soon I lay dead.
But now looking back
at the journey I made,
I see you beside me,
and all envies fade.
27. Escape
I push the world aside,
weary of the noise
buffeting my ears,
the senseless babble
of a million voices;
I send my mind away
on a far-flung cosmic quest,
the wonder of Creation
calling out to my soul,
a voyage through eternity.
I gaze at stars resplendent,
galaxies that pirouette
to music never heard before,
and my ears are cleansed
by this divine libation;
if only I could remain here,
orbiting a nascent star,
with you alone beside me,
binary souls set free at last
to dance in loving harmony.
28. Exit Stage Right
The audience stays silent
as you speak your final word,
and you wonder as you exit
if they have even heard
a fragment of your heartache,
a pittance of your pain,
or have they merely wandered in
to stay out of the rain?
You played the role assigned
at the moment you were born,
but now the stage is empty
and you begin to mourn
the things that never were,
the paths you never took,
the many you performed for
who never even looked
to see a fellow pilgrim
lost among the crowd,
who never paused to hear
the pain you voiced aloud.
But now it matters not at all,
the die has long been cast,
the final curtain hides the stage,
this role has been your last.
29. Falling into Night
Seasons turn like thieves,
steal away in silence –
peaceful sighs of summer
yield to winter’s violence;
grass entombed by snow,
a blanket on the ground
set in place to cover,
to muffle human sound.
Winds blow from the north,
the sun withdraws its face,
yielding to the darkness
in unrelenting pace;
those who trust in spring
dismiss the failing light,
but she just closed her eyes
while falling into night.
30. Fatal Fear
Bold mountains rising to the sky
and forests dark with tangled trees,
streams that rage in icy torrents –
I never had a fear of these;
foul monsters born in story books,
Minotaurs with foreboding faces –
these would never shatter sleep
or keep me from exotic places.
In carefree walks in winter’s realm,
oblivious to wind and snow,
no thoughts of danger reached my mind
from clouds above, or cold below,
set free to stand in nature’s path,
to watch as lightning struck the ground,
and stand at peace within the storm
as thunder roared its growling sound.
But my courage had a weakness,
one terror stayed to pierce me through –
for never could I overcome
the fatal fear of losing you.
31. Fevered Grace
In fevered grace I dreamt of you,
attired in shaman’s magic cloak,
holding out the balm of love
and watching me until I woke;
the chill that burrowed in my flesh,
the pain that never ceased to be –
what demons ran from your dark eyes,
what will to live you brought to me.
In fevered grace I felt your heart
as if it were within my own,
each beat a summons to the light,
a wizard’s call to take me home;
perhaps my mind was mad with fire,
perhaps my soul beset by fear –
it mattered not, for I awoke
to see my shaman sitting near.
32. Final Chapter
Within the shroud of night she read
the final pages of a tale,
a story, wrapped in mystery,
of those who win, and those who fail,
with characters who faced the dark
while others basked in endless light,
but all ordained to play their roles
determined by the author’s might.
So many pages stained by tears
and chapters read at midnight’s call
when all around the silence fell
in shadows stretching ever tall;
but when the closing chapter came
her grief at last she hoped would heal,
for this was just a book of dreams,
and, in the end, it was not real.
33. Final Voyage
Many a storm the Captain had seen
on this lake where waters run wild,
where deep below in the darkness
the corpses of ships have been piled,
but no night so crazed he recalled,
though many long years he had sailed,
when the sky itself seemed on fire
and even the waves loudly wailed.
His ship took a blow at the stern
and the load she carried shifted,
she started to heel on her side
as out of control she drifted;
tormented by blasts out of Hell,
a veil of black fast descended,
and the crew and the Captain knew
this voyage would soon be ended.
Caught in the maws of a whirlpool,
the vessel spun wildly around,
no ship lay nearby to assist,
no earthly haven to be found,
and on the bridge the Captain knew
what doom this night did herald,
for when the morning came once more,
gone was the Edmund Fitzgerald.
34. Final Words (for Emily D.)
She knew her life would never be
the subject of a mighty tome,
nor would a statue made of bronze
reside within her earthly home,
her legacy would not be sung
by those who lived in later days,
no sweet-voiced bard to pen an ode
in honour of her verbal grace.
She lived alone, in solitude,
akin to nuns within their cells,
no callers came to take some tea
or share the news they had to tell;
with curtains drawn she shunned the light,
embracing darkness as her friend,
determined to shut out the world
until she met her sheltered end.
The poems she placed upon the page
would rest in silence, gather dust,
musings furtive, hidden away
from prying eyes she could not trust –
except for one she wrote to her
whose heart was pledged in perfidy,
and there she sang her deep desire
and signed it, sadly, Emily.
35. Flower in the Dark
Petals folded, cocooned
against the cold,
waiting for the storm
to vent its force,
in silent expectation
of the sun's return,
flower in the dark.
Swaying to the wind,
its staccato rhythm
pounding like thunder,
the dulcet breeze
now a dim memory,
defiant to the end,
flower in the dark.
36. Guests Upon the Sea
We are but guests upon the sea,
fragile creatures born of earth,
scorned by those below the waves
to whom we seem of little worth;
our crafts reflect fragility,
playthings of the wind and wave,
one sudden blow will take them down,
condemn them to a salty grave.
The sea rejects our courtship,
its passion rests with those beneath,
mortals bearing earthly gifts
are turned away in lonely grief;
sail gently on her fluid path,
pay homage to her power --
she who wields a scimitar
cuts down the prideful flower.
37. Homestead: Saskatchewan, 2008
There were ghosts in the field,
summoned by footsteps
and silently watching
as I roamed the land
once harrowed by them;
their ramshackle buildings
swayed and bowed to the winds,
some barely recognizable
as artifacts of hopeful men
armed with nails and hammers.
Here they built their dreams,
sweat pouring in the prairie sun
that sang of cattle and of wheat,
of endless fields to be harvested
before the dark rage of winter;
sacred ground beneath my boots,
shrines of wood, offerings of steel,
all left abandoned in despair,
sacrifices to the barren time
when all dreams had vanished.
38. Hope in Ruins
This world needs songs of joy,
hymns to peace and to goodwill,
poems to the glory of Creation --
but my pen takes me elsewhere:
it walks on rubble-strewn streets,
it gazes at the remnants of homes,
at the detritus of human lives
sacrificed in the pursuit of power;
in far-flung places upon this earth
killing fields still bloom and grow,
gorging upon vast pools of blood.
My pen falls silent, unable to write
poems of peace and endless joy,
when all it sees is hope in ruins.
39. I Thought of You
I roamed in distant places
with strangers all around,
I sang upon the sea
and danced along the ground;
flowers beyond measure
lay blessed by morning dew,
treasures teased my senses,
but still I thought of you.
Among a thousand voices
I longed to hear just one,
the lips that whispered love
when every day was done;
castles and cathedrals
exposed before my view
do not transcend the heart,
and so I thought of you.
40. Immortal
Much has been forgotten,
much I yearn to forget,
to erase forever from my mind –
but not her,
I hear her voice, immune
to the passage of time,
the soft sweet sound
of enduring love,
I see her face, scarred by age,
yet ever smiling at me
with no disappointment
in her eyes,
and I know she is near
when I walk in darkness,
to offer balm to my pain
with healing touch,
for love survives the grave
and transcends time,
as long as my heart beats
she cannot die.
41. In the Arms of the Sea
No horizon between sea and sky,
each dissolving into the other
with the ease of ancient acquaintance,
their love eternally predestined;
now, as it was in the beginning,
every molecule of water
permeates existence thoroughly,
Prometheus offering new life.
In the arms of the sea we are born,
cradled on waves not of our making,
children adrift and gazing skywards
in expectation of salvation,
until we are cast upon the earth,
naked and abandoned by parents
lost in the rapture of their passion,
erasing the horizon again.
42. Into Your Arms
Strong arms embrace me,
all fears disappear,
secure in this moment
as morning draws near,
lost is the nightmare
of life without you,
new dreams take wing
and soar into view;
the beat of your heart
brings solace to mine,
drives away sadness
and offers more time,
time to grow older
with all terrors calmed,
to surrender myself
into your loving arms.
43. Janus of the Sea
I am the wave that rushes
like a bull upon the sands,
bearing down on ancient rock
unafraid of mortal hands;
I am the wave receding,
yielding to the tidal force,
torn away from solid ground,
pained to alter my set course.
I am harsh and I am mild
dancing with the lordly moon,
source of joy and source of woe,
Siren with a fickle tune;
I am Janus of the sea,
twin-faced god upon your coast,
adrift in contradiction:
I destroy what I love most.
44. Just a Book
Hold it tightly,
open it carefully,
the words fall out
and tumble down
like dying leaves
in Autumn’s breath.
My life is there,
written in words
torn from my heart
in anguished moments
when all seems lost,
and I am afraid.
It is just a book,
but knows my sorrows,
has felt the pain
I can no longer hide,
and may, simply by being,
witness my existence.
45. Last Touch
Castles of sand
without foundation,
foolish dreams
of imagination,
flights to the stars
on gossamer wings,
away from the sorrow
reality brings.
The earth falls away
and higher I wheel,
just a delusion –
this lightness I feel;
darkness returns
to cast out the glow,
just give me your hand
and then let me go.
46. Light in the Darkness
Lost in the forest of his grief,
the path obscured by willows,
each a marker of his despair
and ever growing,
no rippling stream gave comfort,
the flowers at his weary feet
lay wilted in the autumn cold,
never to rise again,
his eyes bathed the ground in tears,
his ears heard only distant cries
as if, somewhere in these woods,
a soul was dying;
if only he had raised his eyes
beyond the trees, to the sky above:
for there the sun was all ablaze,
on fire just for him.
47. Looking for Light
In the darkness of night
with no moon in the sky,
the harbour stood lonely
as no sailors passed by;
a desert of water
lay enrobed all in black,
each ship at her hawser
begging light to come back.
I walked by the moorings,
heard the clamour of lines
that reached out for breezes
like a lover who pines,
whose heart has been broken
by the sea’s sudden roar,
who fears that her loved one
will embrace her no more.
The child of the ocean
knows the ebb and the flow,
that the blessings of life
may appear, but soon go,
that we drift upon waves
of unspeakable might,
and drown into darkness
as we look for the light.
48. Lost Words
The desert stretches to infinity.....
upon its sands she walks alone,
feeling the sun burning through her,
her flesh reduced to ashes –
ashes that fall upon the sands
in her final bid for mystic union,
an offering only to be rejected,
for each grain of sand changes
into a snake that slithers away
as if in fear of contamination.
A dream, yet not a dream…..
the sense of desiccation remains
even as she wills herself awake,
her hunger and thirst as real
as the room in which she sleeps;
wildly she reaches for a pen
to set down the message of the night,
but from its tip flows only sand,
each grain leaving behind no imprint,
lost to her hunger for words.
49. Lucy Maud and Anne (In Memoriam: L.M. Montgomery)
She cloaked her pain with a pen:
a laughing red-headed child
born of her imagination,
indomitable, filled by hope,
the girl she never could be;
her Anne would not surrender
to the darkness of defeat –
she was the much loved rainbow
coming in the wake of storms,
welcome herald of the sun.
But Lucy Maud wrote her dreams
in ink of desperate hue,
ever pretending at love
where bleak loneliness resided,
no solace taken from her fame;
and so she wrote one final page,
speaking in a voice set free,
turned away from Green Gables
and yielded at last to the beast
that consumed her from within.
50. Maritime Winter, 2007-2008
For this winter to depart
I am indeed much eager,
I sit at home too long
assailed by cabin fever,
adrift in sun-kissed daydreams
of grasses in the fields,
imagining my freedom
when this season finally yields.
This climate is a harsh one,
replete with ice and snow,
no wonder to the southern climes
so many of us haste to go,
where the ocean lingers warm
even in December,
drinking in the sunbeams
Canadians remember.
But solid to my native ground
I remain forever rooted,
looking at my summer clothes
which now are so ill suited;
the time will come to dance
in the woods amidst the flowers,
but until that fateful day
I nap and count the hours.
51. Masks
Actors in Greek tragedy,
garishly masked,
hiding their faces
from the attentive crowd,
their names forgotten
in the march of history,
their roles play on.
The mask I wear
is much like yours:
designed to obscure
both heroes and villains;
to reveal is dangerous,
opens the heart to harm,
the soul to despair,
leaves us vulnerable
when the curtain falls.
52. Moonlight on the Sea
December winds are growing mild,
brief respite from the coming storm,
clouds disappear from winter skies
and moonlight on the sea is warm –
a mirror spread before my eyes
reflects a glow within the dark,
a promise of the fire to come,
ignited by the springtime spark.
But months of cold must first be met,
as mirrors are but fickle glass,
tomorrow clouds descend again
and make us wait for time to pass;
the rage of winter will return
to batter hearts that seek the light,
so I must sit upon the dock
and revel in this glow tonight.
53. Morning Fog
I awake early, far too soon
to heal from yesterday,
still feeling numb inside;
outside the fog rolls in,
placing its cloudy mantle
upon the shoulders of my world;
I wish to become one with it,
become lost within its embrace,
invisible to all prying eyes.
There is a gentle peace in fog,
a silencing of raucous voices,
a deadening of my senses.
I become an island of my own,
cut off in splendid isolation,
alone with my fractured thoughts;
but soon the fog will fade,
doomed by the power of the sun
to an ephemeral existence,
and, as daylight fills the sky,
my eyes retreat in sorrow,
grieving its departure.
And so I will wait another day
for this loving cloud to reappear
and hold me close again.
54. Nameless
Restless at daybreak,
rampant by dusk,
in waves my mind
ebbs and flows,
desiring departure,
destination unknown,
drifting jetsam that
comes and goes;
no haven of peace
within earthen walls,
no guard against
the wind-borne blows.
Child of the sea,
emergent from foam,
seeking to hide where
no one knows –
where nameless I stand
fearing no storm,
becalmed by the dark
where nothing shows.
55. Neptune's Graves
A lonely guard upon a cliff,
its light a beacon on the sea,
a fire to guide the sailor home,
heedful of her desperate plea;
for lost on swells she found herself,
adrift alone with none nearby,
no sun, no moon to lead her craft,
no stars to beckon in the sky.
If only she had not embarked
when winds erupted from the north,
if only she had furled her sails
to stay at home, not venture forth –
but now her eyes look for the light,
that final chance to flee the waves,
and though the beacon seeks her out
her ship descends to Neptune’s graves.
56. Newborn
Unborn as I write,
unseen chrysalis
longing to touch
the fire of life;
its form unknown,
its cry unheard,
an enigmatic child
to those who attend.
Perhaps light with joy,
perhaps dark with pain,
its voice uncertain
until emergence;
the final pangs come,
the last push onward,
and I release the pen,
the poem newborn.
57. Night-dream
I push the world aside,
weary of the noise
buffeting my ears,
the senseless babble
of a million voices;
I send my mind away
on a far-flung cosmic quest,
the wonder of Creation
calling out to my soul,
a voyage through eternity.
I gaze at stars resplendent,
galaxies that pirouette
to music never heard before,
and my ears are cleansed
by this divine libation;
if only I could remain here,
orbiting a nascent star,
with you alone beside me,
binary souls set free at last
to dance in sacred harmony.
58. Night Vision
A mermaid came to me last night,
a ghostly creature from the sea,
her scales reflected mottled light,
her eyes were dark as blue can be,
she whispered words of summer sun,
of ice retreating from the shore,
she told me winter’s course was run,
the snow to trouble me no more;
the waves would frolic in the bay,
their frozen coat no longer worn,
and boats would gently find their way
among the dolphins newly born.
A dream of warmth amidst the cold
to fast arouse a sleeping mind,
for winter’s lash is harsh and bold,
a chain much hated by our kind –
for sea-folk rail against the blasts
that keep us bound to barren land,
that fashion ice upon our masts
and bury rudders in the sand;
I woke with pleasure at the thought
that soon the ocean would roll free,
what vision of release was wrought
the night the mermaid came to me.
59. Nobody's Girl
The mirror in the hallway
catches not a glance,
she rushes by too quickly,
deprives it of a chance
to see the face she wears
as a new day opens wide,
an enigmatic mask
to veil the truth inside.
A looking glass is faulty
and cannot see within,
no wonder she ignores it
amidst the growing din,
and looks instead to windows
with their promises of light,
the chance to test her wings
in the ecstasy of flight.
The mirror in the hallway
knows nothing of her world –
its eyes see just a phantom,
just another faceless girl;
it never comes to realize
that its face is made of sand –
nobody’s girl can change it
to diamonds in her hand.
60. Nocturnal Flames
Last night the dragon came
to intrude upon my dreams,
calling out to me by name
while casting deadly beams,
flares that flickered boldly
to scorch my heart and mind,
a flame that touched so coldly,
yet left ashes close behind.
Last night I sought to banish
this foe I know too well,
to make his lightning vanish
and cast him down to Hell,
but still I was consumed
by strength above my own,
my feeble efforts doomed
by his ecstatic moan.
Tonight my eyes will close
in hope no monsters roar,
to dream as deep as those
who fear such beasts no more,
whose visions bring release
from dragons in the dark –
to find the grace of peace
beyond that hostile spark.
61. November Courting
Kiss of Winter on the sea,
yearning for a new embrace,
but autumn waters tremble,
knowing Winter’s lack of grace;
the suitor brings no comfort,
sings instead of steel-grey days
when no sun will come to soothe
those imprisoned in bleak bays.
Touch of Winter on the shore,
grasping for a stronger hold,
the land retreats in panic
at the courting of the cold;
the suitor is persistent –
time will stand along his side,
and soon, so soon, the north wind
stands, victorious, astride.
62. Officer Down: For Chris, Doug and All the Rest (November 2007)
Called to the scene,
domestic dispute,
rush to the car,
no time to lose;
knock on the door,
say you’re a cop,
hear shouts and blows,
tell them to stop.
Enter the house,
break up the fight,
no beatings of wives
take place tonight;
a man with a gun
shoots off a round –
fall to the floor,
officer down.
63. Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time
there were no demons,
day faded gently
into velvet night;
silence in the dark,
dreaming of heroes
with lances of gold,
her heart slumbered light.
Then came the darkness,
shattered lay her dreams,
their crystal beauty
no longer sublime;
her face turned away,
she tends to her scars,
tries not to recall
once upon a time.
64. Pirate of My Heart
I plied the seas, unknown to bliss,
my sails reflecting only night,
blackened shrouds in tatters rent,
remnants of a beggar’s plight –
an empty hold, a wooden tomb,
bereft of life from dawn to dusk,
my planks to groan with every swell
begotten by November’s gusts.
But just before the final blow,
as I prepared to meet my fate,
a privateer came into view
defiant of the ocean’s spate,
and led me to a gentle lee
from which all whirlwinds did depart,
and there I learned the grace of love
from this bold pirate of my heart.
65. Playful Love
To celebrate love with rhyme
has fallen out of favour,
but now I think it time
to take up this playful labour,
and merrily sing out loud
the love I feel for you,
a prince among the crowd,
no matter what they do.
I shall hold you in my heart,
whether there be rain or shine,
and we two shall never part,
for I am yours and you are mine.
And now with hearty laughter go
and tell the world that we are one,
and just in case they do not know,
this tortured poem is finally done.
66. Prairie Winds
I stand among the prairie winds,
a stranger come from far away,
my salt-tinged breezes left behind
with tall ships waiting in the bay;
beneath my feet the fertile soil
as gentle as a baby’s kiss,
above extends an endless sky
unlike the fog I dare to miss.
This land breathes sunlight into me,
revives a spirit with its fire,
and even as the leaves fall down
to linger long is my desire,
to walk the paths in poplar stands
and sit beside the lakes of Fall,
so easy now to understand
how prairies hold you in their thrall.
But western winds are growing cold
and tell us we must soon depart,
the eastern shore exerts its pull
despite the pleasure in our hearts;
to stand once more by ocean tides --
their Siren call assaults my ears,
yet, even as we set our sails,
a part of me stays anchored here.
67. Rainbows
He sings of sorrow,
of broken hearts
and shattered dreams,
of death too soon,
of life in shreds;
he walks along the shore,
his soul cold as the ice
that surrounds him.
Yet love is also his,
warming him slowly,
freeing him from sadness
and the lonely world
of his dark mind.
I want to walk with him,
to look out upon the sea
and show him rainbows.
darkness that rules undisputed
as light withdraws from the east –
tears are falling from Heaven,
rivers cascade in the streets,
and I, like those around me,
abscond in sullen retreat,
and wait for Time to stroll by
in houses curtained in grey,
begging the rain to depart,
the vulture fat with its prey;
perhaps the sun will return,
and so I wait out the days,
rain-stayed in body and mind,
child of the fog and the haze.
69. Rainy Day Vision
I saw her walk among the clouds
as if enchanted by their touch,
they swirled around her in a mist
like suitors who did love too much,
who could not bear to leave her side
lest their existence cease to be,
who knew no joy apart from her,
imprisoned in sweet passion’s lee.
I watched her merge into the haze
in a blissful consummation,
relieved at last of mortal woes
by a silent affirmation,
then suddenly the sun broke through
and the clouds in haste ascended,
conveying her in tender wisps
to a place where heartbreak ended.
70. Rape of the Sea
Nets crafted by demons
descend to cold depths,
To Heaven limbs aspire,
ascending into light,
well nourished by the fire
that flames against the night,
while sounds of angel choir
accompany their flight.
Kyrie Eleison
Oh Lord, incline Thy face
on creatures such as these,
behold, with loving Grace,
the beauty of the trees,
take Mercy on this place
and hear our anguished pleas.
Dies Irae
A shroud of ice entombs,
weighs down their branches high,
and, in the lasting gloom,
death falling from the sky
creates the day of doom –
Oh Lord, we ask Thee why.
Agnus Dei
Come, Lamb of God, to heal
those who mourn the dying,
their torment You must feel
as You hear them crying,
Oh Lamb of God reveal
Love of no denying.
Sanctus
Holy be the rebirth,
the planting of the new
to stand upon the earth
made sacred by the dew,
the land again to girth
with willow and with yew.
72. Revenge
Kids killing kids,
no reason at all,
plunge in a knife,
see how they fall,
watch as their blood
pools on the floor,
she was a loser,
he was a bore.
Pull out a gun,
take your best shot,
that kid in the hall
deserved what he got,
he looked at your girl
when you weren’t there,
so what if he’s dead –
will anyone care?
That bat in your hand
can bash in a brain,
no one will call you
bad names again;
killing is cool,
revenge tastes so fine,
but don’t wait around –
you’re next in line.
73. Sacred Solitude
Sheltered from the world profane,
in the sacred solitude of Ocean
I sit and watch the sea gulls wheel
upon the breeze,
hear the waves upon the bay
touch the land with loving lips,
earth and water bound together
in peaceful ease.
Here I build my soul’s cathedral
among the lofty spruce and pine,
a preacher with no congregation,
I stand alone,
content to feel the summer sun,
the rain that feeds the fertile soil,
to smell sweet wildflowers in the field
so gently grown;
the sea becomes my hallowed wine,
the forest offers up the host,
and as I take these holy gifts
my spirit soars,
released from bondage to a world
made corrupt by human greed,
to sing aloud a hymn of grace,
enslaved no more.
74. Sacred Union
The sea and sky are one tonight,
locked in love’s embrace,
the clouds provide a haven,
the moon has turned her face;
no stars invade their passion,
no planets dare look on –
all is lost in darkness
until this night is done.
Lovers for eternity,
entwined by water’s kiss,
no power in the universe
to slake their thirsty bliss,
each giving to the other
the power to withstand
the prying eyes of those like me
who walk upon the land.
The sea and sky are one tonight,
all else is pushed aside,
the seeds of life are falling,
to drift upon the tide.
75. Safe Haven
Day ends,
rocked by waves
of turmoil
I seek release,
a safe haven
where I am healed,
my wounds tended
in the calm
of night.
No raging wind,
no dark fog,
just a peaceful place
for my soul,
away from the surging
of the tides.
In the dark of night
I come to you,
keeper of my heart,
the only one who knows
the journey I make;
your open arms
become a shelter
from the daily storms
that batter me,
I find my safe haven
in you alone.
76. Samhain Song
Luna in her chariot
guards the sky
as the passage opens
between our worlds;
swiftly the winds abate,
clouds stay fixed,
and all is quiet
as realms embrace.
Moonlight gleams
in your gentle eyes --
I see you now as then,
I love you now as then.
Death releases you
for but a moment,
yet that one moment
is all love needs.
77. Shooting Stars
A flash against the midnight sky
too brief to leave a mark,
just a light that quickly flares,
then leaves the heavens dark;
its name unknown forever,
its destiny unclear –
will it come to us again,
or is destruction near?
An omen prized by ancients,
an answer to their prayers,
a message sent from heaven,
the coinage of soothsayers.
So we too will briefly glow,
then vanish from this earth,
unknown the names we carry,
unknown our place of birth,
just pilgrims on a journey,
in search of who we are,
but in the end no different
than transient shooting stars.
Words from another,
songs from afar
will never reveal
just who you are;
no matter their beauty,
no matter their style,
they echo your soul
for only a while;
sing words of your own,
forged like a chain
from darkness and grief,
to ponder your pain;
sing melodies sweet
for moments of peace,
the love that restores,
the joy of release;
to celebrate life
and all that it brings,
let go your voice,
and hear how it sings.
79. Sorrow’s Reign
Sorrow is a vapour,
a mist around the heart,
clouding your emotions
long after tears depart;
it seeps into the mind,
an enemy within,
foundering in darkness
the dream that might have been.
Sorrow is a river
in which the lover drowns,
the flame of passion lost,
the soul now seaward bound;
if only hearts could flee,
escape from sorrow’s reign,
perhaps they would find strength
to overcome love’s pain.
80. Sphinx
Too many tears had carved
a canyon upon her heart,
a scar to last the ages,
long after tears depart;
too many words fell hollow
in deception and disdain,
echoing within her soul
where no other words remained.
In silence she sought comfort
apart from tears and lies,
a Sphinx within a solitude
removed from mocking eyes;
but one there was who waited
to heal her with his touch,
who knew the pain she suffered
when living hurt too much.
He offered her his own scarred heart
in words that formed a vow –
together would they stay the storm
that overwhelmed her now;
and in his strength she understood
how love could set her free,
and so she found her voice again –
the Sphinx that once was me.
81. Standing in the Sun
The light almost blinds me,
weakened by winter’s haze,
the warmth again reminds me
of the calm in summer days.
I am simply standing in the sun,
and yet my spirit now feels free
to shout aloud that spring has won,
has driven darkness far from me.
If only days like this could stay
to ease the fear I feel inside,
I would gladly pass each day
with newfound hope and pride,
proud that winter’s child again
can see the glory of the Earth
and finally cast off icy pain,
enchanted by the world's rebirth.
82. Street Kid
Huddled in the doorway,
refuge from the cold wind
that cuts right through,
freezes your emotions,
you smoke a cigarette,
warmth for inner chill,
drink the bottle in the bag,
and retreat from reality.
Home never really existed:
violence and abuse lived
where families ought to be;
but escape brought new pain,
the curse of being alone.
Lie down in the sleeping bag
donated by the Sally Ann,
maybe you won’t die tonight,
maybe you’ll see sunrise
when tomorrow comes,
or maybe you’ll be dead –
will anybody really care?
83. Summer Flame
The end of August blows in,
bending trees and roiling waters
that prepare for winter's rage;
the birds of summer depart,
leaving only memories of songs
to wake the soul in joy.
I watch as leaves change colour,
a living rainbow, soon to carpet
the cooling ground I walk upon;
even the sky seems different,
now hoarding the sunlight
as the days grow dark so quickly.
Summer stays with us too little,
a hurried guest longing for home
as savage winter nips its heels;
in the grey months I see before me
I shall hold summer in my mind,
a fragile flame to keep me warm.
84. Summer Sea
The boat rocks lazily
in mild summer waves,
reflecting the rhythm
of the season itself;
life slows down
as winter worries fade,
new dreams take wing
like the circling gulls.
I share this boat with you,
keeper of my heart,
content to drift forever
as long as you are there;
I fear no sudden storm,
no fatal blast of wind
will dare to stir my soul
as I float into your arms.
85. Sweet Madness
Infected by passion
with no hope of cure,
fevered insanity
fated to endure,
the mind’s grey asylum
to provide no release,
reason lies vanquished
by this sweetest disease.
I yield to the madness
without fear of the flame
that burns to the marrow
at the sound of your name;
no matter what sorrows
submission portends,
belief remains constant
that love never ends.
86. Sweet Release
The sea is throwing off her chains,
her cloak of ice, her veil of cold,
and even though a chill remains
her arms now gently do unfold
to lure the restless voyager
to venture on her waiting waves,
to render up his soul to her
unmindful of her hidden graves.
The sun is shining on the sea
as if a lover has returned,
long lost in some far distant lee
but burning with a heart that yearned
to kiss again those salt-stained lips,
caress the waters now at peace,
and smile upon all sailing ships
to celebrate this sweet release.
87. The Audience
The audience wants love poems,
sweet hymns to hearts and passion,
sung to make their souls believe
that dreams are still in fashion.
To sing of pain dismays them
as they seek to hide their grief –
drive from the stage the poet
who will not confer relief;
build barriers to heartbreak,
remove the stain of torment,
pretend that life is perfect,
if only for one moment.
Deep within they know the truth
that a poet never fears –
how love is a fleeting gift
in a world replete with tears.
88. The Bully
She's just a teenager
and you're such a stud,
show her who's boss,
treat her like mud,
push her around,
make her fall down,
she can't do a thing
in this macho town;
the suits look away
and leave you alone,
so take secret pictures
on your camera phone,
stalk her in silence,
then grab at her tit,
you're a big man,
and she's just a twit;
leave her with bruises,
blacken her eyes,
all women deserve it --
make sure that she cries,
beat her so bad
she's covered in blood,
she's just a teenager,
and you're such a stud.
89. The Calendar
The book of days she held
displayed an empty page,
the first day of the year,
the world a brand new stage,
no ancient mark to stain
a heart in search of peace,
no omens of despair,
no chains that cry release,
a world not made by man,
awaiting her desire
to drink the cup of life
and feel the living fire
that burns within her soul
to purify and cleanse,
and offers her the strength
to trust in love again.
90. The Choice
Each one is of her flesh,
foetal, lying in wait,
expectant of living
in corporeal state;
some, planted in summer,
seek to sing of lovers,
those planted in winter
hold their hearts from others.
To choose is a burden,
harsh weight upon her mind –
of children treasured so,
which can she leave behind,
condemned by her judgement
to never see the light,
and which can journey on
to stand in their own right?
The choice must now be made,
grim decisions taken,
some will shout in triumph,
some will not awaken;
but those she leaves unborn
she hopes would never rage
to see their siblings thrive,
set free upon a page.
91. The Crystal Tree
Clad in January ice,
Life burns hot,
embers flaring into flames
at the time of birth,
fire in the breath,
heat in the blood,
consuming the flesh
day after day
in ecstatic combustion.
Life turns cold,
wizened hair white with frost,
ice bursting veins
frozen by time
until no time exists,
every spark chilled,
night after night
in eternal extinction.
93. The Dark Month
A shadow over thirty days,
a veil made not of silk
but of vapour and wind;
in its embrace I lived
without substance,
as if vapour and wind.
But he was there,
to comfort me
in night’s domain,
to light a candle
as the shadow grew,
enfolding each new day.
There are times of fear,
and times of loss,
times when shadows come
to seize the soul,
but there never was a time
he turned away.
94. The Gentle Man
He came late at night,
I ask you no diamonds,
no gifts from afar,
your wealth lies in being
just as you are;
I ask you no pledges
of deeds beyond measure,
your presence alone is
my greatest treasure.
I ask you to stay here
when I lose my way,
to guide me from darkness
and lead me to day;
I ask you to love me
in sickness and health,
and to give me forever
the gift of yourself.
96. The Journey
I journey to a river
whose source remains unknown,
I cannot ask for guidance –
I make my way alone.
I pass by ancient mountains
whose roots are buried deep,
no living soul awaits me
for mortal eyes now sleep.
I walk the barren tundra
where stones cry out the names
of those who walked before me,
erecting shrines in vain.
I reach my destined haven
without ever knowing why,
or how I shall exist here
without you by my side.
97. The Last Petal
The tulips lasted long this spring,
holding on to life as if possessed
by some immortal cosmic force
that paid no heed to death’s request,
as if all life were everlasting
and seasons could refuse to change,
as if one moment stayed forever
where cyclic time dared not to range.
But June did conquer dreams like these,
and one by one the petals fell,
coloured robes to cloak the grass
that grew upon our mortal dell;
their stalks are left behind to mourn
like silent sentries at a grave,
and to them now I swear an oath:
the final petal I shall save.
98. The Lighthouse
She stood there for a hundred years,
a beacon for those lost at sea,
stalwart in the face of winds
that Nature’s angry hand set free,
clinging to the barren rocks,
a widow on a lonely peak,
looking out towards fatal waves,
her vigil sacrosanct to keep.
For one she loved was drifting,
alone and lost in ocean’s swell,
her light to make the difference
between a haven and a hell;
if only he could see her there,
turning faithful in the haze,
to set his course upon her eye
and live to sail on gentler days –
but she would stand forever,
assaulted by fierce wind and rain,
never giving up the dream
that he would come to her again.
99. The Oracle
I am the Pythia,
priestess of Apollo,
ask me your questions,
the god will reply;
within these columns
I inhale sacred fumes
from Mother Earth,
transporting me;
I know no man,
the god himself decrees
my endless chastity,
my womb ever barren;
I will speak of children
never to be my own,
of cities I shall never see,
of deaths I shall not mourn;
omniscient, they call me,
and sing of my wisdom,
I know everything, except
who I really am.
100. The Refugee
He sat by himself,
drink in hand,
all infinity encompassed,
impossible to rend,
love flowing on forever
with two made into one,
life imitating nature –
the circle of the sun,
a bond surpassing riches
though plain enough to see,
what mystery resides within
the ring you gave to me.
102. The Survivor
She had empty eyes,
eyes that saw too much death
and had no tears left to cry,
eyes old with darkness.
She had silent ears,
ears that heard their pain,
their pleas for mercy,
but God never spoke.
She tasted only dust,
the ashes of the dead
as she spoke their names,
to remember.
She had numbers on her wrist,
carved upon innocent flesh,
scars never to heal,
never again.
103. The Village Idiot
I exist to ease your pain,
to bring you merry laughter
with antics sublimely bizarre:
shall I bark like a frenzied dog,
or flap my arms like a crow,
perhaps even bay at the Moon
wearing the mask of a wolf,
shall I dance like a Bacchic maid,
landing flat on my painted face?
The bells that jingle on my cap
proclaim me your physician:
give me your deepest pain,
and I will make it vanish,
give me your tearful sorrow,
and I will make you smile.
You cannot exist without me.
104. The Wall
She leaned against a wall
built to keep her out,
stone heaped upon stone
in false accusation,
and though she had never
committed a crime,
she was sentenced to life
in crazed condemnation.
She tried to escape,
to say her farewells
to those who looked on
in sad resignation,
but leaving was hard
after so long a stay,
and she remained bound
in chained hesitation.
105. True
I read her poems the other night,
her soul revealed to mine,
a look of iron on her face
as before her she did stand
to speak of sinful lust,
the shame upon her soul,
that she must say farewell
to make her spirit whole.
She turned and walked away
as if it were a simple act,
no thought of her distress,
nor of their secret pact;
whom once she loved was spurned,
left to bide in silent grief,
no solace gained from God,
no hope of sweet relief.
She slowly closed the curtains
and placed a lock upon her heart,
no more would Love descend
to ply his mocking art;
the pen upon the table
poured forth her cries of pain,
knowing that the sun was gone,
replaced by days of rain.
107. When Words Fall Silent
There is a place I go
when words fall silent –
nothing exists there:
no walls, no windows,
no light, no sound
save a voice I know,
speaking in whispers
that only I hear,
reminding me of things
I want to forget.
But I know the words
are waiting for me,
unborn till I return
to give them life,
to speak their names
not in a whisper,
not in the dark;
yet wait they must:
this is the place I go,
my mute Gethsemane.
108. Without Care
In the absence of pain
she lived with no fear,
laughter released her,
let others come near,
just as a snowdrop
will welcome the sun,
secure in the knowledge
that springtime has come.
In the presence of love
no limits existed,
the world was all hers
and nothing resisted;
the heart held no secrets,
the soul was exposed --
the book of her torment
was finally closed.
But the pain of love lost
would bring back the tears,
leave her in sadness,
alone with her fears;
a flower in winter,
condemned to despair,
yields to the darkness,
forgets how to care.
109. Yellow Tulips
Yellow tulips,
a congregation of spring
basking in the salvation
brought by light renewed,
the warmth of the sun,
the host that is earth,
the wine that is rain,
all elements conspiring
in priestly guise,
resurrection of colour
from the bleak darkness
that is winter;
I bow in worship
before this bright altar,
embracing the gospel
of yellow tulips.
the harbour stood lonely
as no sailors passed by;
a desert of water
lay enrobed all in black,
each ship at her hawser
begging light to come back.
I walked by the moorings,
heard the clamour of lines
that reached out for breezes
like a lover who pines,
whose heart has been broken
by the sea’s sudden roar,
who fears that her loved one
will embrace her no more.
The child of the ocean
knows the ebb and the flow,
that the blessings of life
may appear, but soon go,
that we drift upon waves
of unspeakable might,
and drown into darkness
as we look for the light.
48. Lost Words
The desert stretches to infinity.....
upon its sands she walks alone,
feeling the sun burning through her,
her flesh reduced to ashes –
ashes that fall upon the sands
in her final bid for mystic union,
an offering only to be rejected,
for each grain of sand changes
into a snake that slithers away
as if in fear of contamination.
A dream, yet not a dream…..
the sense of desiccation remains
even as she wills herself awake,
her hunger and thirst as real
as the room in which she sleeps;
wildly she reaches for a pen
to set down the message of the night,
but from its tip flows only sand,
each grain leaving behind no imprint,
lost to her hunger for words.
49. Lucy Maud and Anne (In Memoriam: L.M. Montgomery)
She cloaked her pain with a pen:
a laughing red-headed child
born of her imagination,
indomitable, filled by hope,
the girl she never could be;
her Anne would not surrender
to the darkness of defeat –
she was the much loved rainbow
coming in the wake of storms,
welcome herald of the sun.
But Lucy Maud wrote her dreams
in ink of desperate hue,
ever pretending at love
where bleak loneliness resided,
no solace taken from her fame;
and so she wrote one final page,
speaking in a voice set free,
turned away from Green Gables
and yielded at last to the beast
that consumed her from within.
50. Maritime Winter, 2007-2008
For this winter to depart
I am indeed much eager,
I sit at home too long
assailed by cabin fever,
adrift in sun-kissed daydreams
of grasses in the fields,
imagining my freedom
when this season finally yields.
This climate is a harsh one,
replete with ice and snow,
no wonder to the southern climes
so many of us haste to go,
where the ocean lingers warm
even in December,
drinking in the sunbeams
Canadians remember.
But solid to my native ground
I remain forever rooted,
looking at my summer clothes
which now are so ill suited;
the time will come to dance
in the woods amidst the flowers,
but until that fateful day
I nap and count the hours.
51. Masks
Actors in Greek tragedy,
garishly masked,
hiding their faces
from the attentive crowd,
their names forgotten
in the march of history,
their roles play on.
The mask I wear
is much like yours:
designed to obscure
both heroes and villains;
to reveal is dangerous,
opens the heart to harm,
the soul to despair,
leaves us vulnerable
when the curtain falls.
52. Moonlight on the Sea
December winds are growing mild,
brief respite from the coming storm,
clouds disappear from winter skies
and moonlight on the sea is warm –
a mirror spread before my eyes
reflects a glow within the dark,
a promise of the fire to come,
ignited by the springtime spark.
But months of cold must first be met,
as mirrors are but fickle glass,
tomorrow clouds descend again
and make us wait for time to pass;
the rage of winter will return
to batter hearts that seek the light,
so I must sit upon the dock
and revel in this glow tonight.
53. Morning Fog
I awake early, far too soon
to heal from yesterday,
still feeling numb inside;
outside the fog rolls in,
placing its cloudy mantle
upon the shoulders of my world;
I wish to become one with it,
become lost within its embrace,
invisible to all prying eyes.
There is a gentle peace in fog,
a silencing of raucous voices,
a deadening of my senses.
I become an island of my own,
cut off in splendid isolation,
alone with my fractured thoughts;
but soon the fog will fade,
doomed by the power of the sun
to an ephemeral existence,
and, as daylight fills the sky,
my eyes retreat in sorrow,
grieving its departure.
And so I will wait another day
for this loving cloud to reappear
and hold me close again.
54. Nameless
Restless at daybreak,
rampant by dusk,
in waves my mind
ebbs and flows,
desiring departure,
destination unknown,
drifting jetsam that
comes and goes;
no haven of peace
within earthen walls,
no guard against
the wind-borne blows.
Child of the sea,
emergent from foam,
seeking to hide where
no one knows –
where nameless I stand
fearing no storm,
becalmed by the dark
where nothing shows.
55. Neptune's Graves
A lonely guard upon a cliff,
a fire to guide the sailor home,
heedful of her desperate plea;
for lost on swells she found herself,
adrift alone with none nearby,
no sun, no moon to lead her craft,
no stars to beckon in the sky.
If only she had not embarked
when winds erupted from the north,
if only she had furled her sails
to stay at home, not venture forth –
but now her eyes look for the light,
that final chance to flee the waves,
and though the beacon seeks her out
her ship descends to Neptune’s graves.
56. Newborn
Unborn as I write,
unseen chrysalis
longing to touch
the fire of life;
its form unknown,
its cry unheard,
an enigmatic child
to those who attend.
Perhaps light with joy,
perhaps dark with pain,
its voice uncertain
until emergence;
the final pangs come,
the last push onward,
and I release the pen,
the poem newborn.
57. Night-dream
I push the world aside,
weary of the noise
buffeting my ears,
the senseless babble
of a million voices;
I send my mind away
on a far-flung cosmic quest,
the wonder of Creation
calling out to my soul,
a voyage through eternity.
I gaze at stars resplendent,
galaxies that pirouette
to music never heard before,
and my ears are cleansed
by this divine libation;
if only I could remain here,
orbiting a nascent star,
with you alone beside me,
binary souls set free at last
to dance in sacred harmony.
58. Night Vision
A mermaid came to me last night,
a ghostly creature from the sea,
her scales reflected mottled light,
her eyes were dark as blue can be,
she whispered words of summer sun,
of ice retreating from the shore,
she told me winter’s course was run,
the snow to trouble me no more;
the waves would frolic in the bay,
their frozen coat no longer worn,
and boats would gently find their way
among the dolphins newly born.
A dream of warmth amidst the cold
to fast arouse a sleeping mind,
for winter’s lash is harsh and bold,
a chain much hated by our kind –
for sea-folk rail against the blasts
that keep us bound to barren land,
that fashion ice upon our masts
and bury rudders in the sand;
I woke with pleasure at the thought
that soon the ocean would roll free,
what vision of release was wrought
the night the mermaid came to me.
59. Nobody's Girl
The mirror in the hallway
catches not a glance,
she rushes by too quickly,
deprives it of a chance
to see the face she wears
as a new day opens wide,
an enigmatic mask
to veil the truth inside.
A looking glass is faulty
and cannot see within,
no wonder she ignores it
amidst the growing din,
and looks instead to windows
with their promises of light,
the chance to test her wings
in the ecstasy of flight.
The mirror in the hallway
knows nothing of her world –
its eyes see just a phantom,
just another faceless girl;
it never comes to realize
that its face is made of sand –
nobody’s girl can change it
to diamonds in her hand.
60. Nocturnal Flames
Last night the dragon came
to intrude upon my dreams,
calling out to me by name
while casting deadly beams,
flares that flickered boldly
to scorch my heart and mind,
a flame that touched so coldly,
yet left ashes close behind.
Last night I sought to banish
this foe I know too well,
to make his lightning vanish
and cast him down to Hell,
but still I was consumed
by strength above my own,
my feeble efforts doomed
by his ecstatic moan.
Tonight my eyes will close
in hope no monsters roar,
to dream as deep as those
who fear such beasts no more,
whose visions bring release
from dragons in the dark –
to find the grace of peace
beyond that hostile spark.
61. November Courting
Kiss of Winter on the sea,
yearning for a new embrace,
but autumn waters tremble,
knowing Winter’s lack of grace;
the suitor brings no comfort,
sings instead of steel-grey days
when no sun will come to soothe
those imprisoned in bleak bays.
Touch of Winter on the shore,
grasping for a stronger hold,
the land retreats in panic
at the courting of the cold;
the suitor is persistent –
time will stand along his side,
and soon, so soon, the north wind
stands, victorious, astride.
62. Officer Down: For Chris, Doug and All the Rest (November 2007)
Called to the scene,
domestic dispute,
rush to the car,
no time to lose;
knock on the door,
say you’re a cop,
hear shouts and blows,
tell them to stop.
Enter the house,
break up the fight,
no beatings of wives
take place tonight;
a man with a gun
shoots off a round –
fall to the floor,
officer down.
63. Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time
there were no demons,
day faded gently
into velvet night;
silence in the dark,
dreaming of heroes
with lances of gold,
her heart slumbered light.
Then came the darkness,
shattered lay her dreams,
their crystal beauty
no longer sublime;
her face turned away,
she tends to her scars,
tries not to recall
once upon a time.
64. Pirate of My Heart
I plied the seas, unknown to bliss,
my sails reflecting only night,
blackened shrouds in tatters rent,
remnants of a beggar’s plight –
an empty hold, a wooden tomb,
bereft of life from dawn to dusk,
my planks to groan with every swell
begotten by November’s gusts.
But just before the final blow,
as I prepared to meet my fate,
a privateer came into view
defiant of the ocean’s spate,
and led me to a gentle lee
from which all whirlwinds did depart,
and there I learned the grace of love
from this bold pirate of my heart.
65. Playful Love
To celebrate love with rhyme
has fallen out of favour,
but now I think it time
to take up this playful labour,
and merrily sing out loud
the love I feel for you,
a prince among the crowd,
no matter what they do.
I shall hold you in my heart,
whether there be rain or shine,
and we two shall never part,
for I am yours and you are mine.
And now with hearty laughter go
and tell the world that we are one,
and just in case they do not know,
this tortured poem is finally done.
66. Prairie Winds
I stand among the prairie winds,
a stranger come from far away,
my salt-tinged breezes left behind
with tall ships waiting in the bay;
beneath my feet the fertile soil
as gentle as a baby’s kiss,
above extends an endless sky
unlike the fog I dare to miss.
This land breathes sunlight into me,
revives a spirit with its fire,
and even as the leaves fall down
to linger long is my desire,
to walk the paths in poplar stands
and sit beside the lakes of Fall,
so easy now to understand
how prairies hold you in their thrall.
But western winds are growing cold
and tell us we must soon depart,
the eastern shore exerts its pull
despite the pleasure in our hearts;
to stand once more by ocean tides --
their Siren call assaults my ears,
yet, even as we set our sails,
a part of me stays anchored here.
67. Rainbows
He sings of sorrow,
of broken hearts
and shattered dreams,
of death too soon,
of life in shreds;
he walks along the shore,
his soul cold as the ice
that surrounds him.
Yet love is also his,
warming him slowly,
freeing him from sadness
and the lonely world
of his dark mind.
I want to walk with him,
to look out upon the sea
and show him rainbows.
68. Rain-Stayed
Clouds that gather like vultures
prepared for a regal feast,Clouds that gather like vultures
darkness that rules undisputed
as light withdraws from the east –
tears are falling from Heaven,
rivers cascade in the streets,
and I, like those around me,
abscond in sullen retreat,
and wait for Time to stroll by
in houses curtained in grey,
begging the rain to depart,
the vulture fat with its prey;
perhaps the sun will return,
and so I wait out the days,
rain-stayed in body and mind,
child of the fog and the haze.
69. Rainy Day Vision
I saw her walk among the clouds
as if enchanted by their touch,
they swirled around her in a mist
like suitors who did love too much,
who could not bear to leave her side
lest their existence cease to be,
who knew no joy apart from her,
imprisoned in sweet passion’s lee.
I watched her merge into the haze
in a blissful consummation,
relieved at last of mortal woes
by a silent affirmation,
then suddenly the sun broke through
and the clouds in haste ascended,
conveying her in tender wisps
to a place where heartbreak ended.
70. Rape of the Sea
Nets crafted by demons
descend to cold depths,
greed is the weaver,
the legacy death;
crash into coral
and rip up the reefs,
crunching and cracking,
the jaws never cease;
from day into night
all creatures consumed,
the present is fatal,
the future is doomed;
and when they have gone
to rest in the lee,
they give not a thought
to the rape of the sea.
71. Requiem for Trees (Ice Storm, 2008)
Introit
To Heaven limbs aspire,
ascending into light,
well nourished by the fire
that flames against the night,
while sounds of angel choir
accompany their flight.
Kyrie Eleison
Oh Lord, incline Thy face
on creatures such as these,
behold, with loving Grace,
the beauty of the trees,
take Mercy on this place
and hear our anguished pleas.
Dies Irae
A shroud of ice entombs,
weighs down their branches high,
and, in the lasting gloom,
death falling from the sky
creates the day of doom –
Oh Lord, we ask Thee why.
Agnus Dei
Come, Lamb of God, to heal
those who mourn the dying,
their torment You must feel
as You hear them crying,
Oh Lamb of God reveal
Love of no denying.
Sanctus
Holy be the rebirth,
the planting of the new
to stand upon the earth
made sacred by the dew,
the land again to girth
with willow and with yew.
72. Revenge
Kids killing kids,
no reason at all,
plunge in a knife,
see how they fall,
watch as their blood
pools on the floor,
she was a loser,
he was a bore.
Pull out a gun,
take your best shot,
that kid in the hall
deserved what he got,
he looked at your girl
when you weren’t there,
so what if he’s dead –
will anyone care?
That bat in your hand
can bash in a brain,
no one will call you
bad names again;
killing is cool,
revenge tastes so fine,
but don’t wait around –
you’re next in line.
73. Sacred Solitude
Sheltered from the world profane,
in the sacred solitude of Ocean
I sit and watch the sea gulls wheel
upon the breeze,
hear the waves upon the bay
touch the land with loving lips,
earth and water bound together
in peaceful ease.
Here I build my soul’s cathedral
among the lofty spruce and pine,
a preacher with no congregation,
I stand alone,
content to feel the summer sun,
the rain that feeds the fertile soil,
to smell sweet wildflowers in the field
so gently grown;
the sea becomes my hallowed wine,
the forest offers up the host,
and as I take these holy gifts
my spirit soars,
released from bondage to a world
made corrupt by human greed,
to sing aloud a hymn of grace,
enslaved no more.
74. Sacred Union
The sea and sky are one tonight,
locked in love’s embrace,
the clouds provide a haven,
the moon has turned her face;
no stars invade their passion,
no planets dare look on –
all is lost in darkness
until this night is done.
Lovers for eternity,
entwined by water’s kiss,
no power in the universe
to slake their thirsty bliss,
each giving to the other
the power to withstand
the prying eyes of those like me
who walk upon the land.
The sea and sky are one tonight,
all else is pushed aside,
the seeds of life are falling,
to drift upon the tide.
75. Safe Haven
Day ends,
rocked by waves
of turmoil
I seek release,
a safe haven
where I am healed,
my wounds tended
in the calm
of night.
No raging wind,
no dark fog,
just a peaceful place
for my soul,
away from the surging
of the tides.
In the dark of night
I come to you,
keeper of my heart,
the only one who knows
the journey I make;
your open arms
become a shelter
from the daily storms
that batter me,
I find my safe haven
in you alone.
76. Samhain Song
Luna in her chariot
guards the sky
as the passage opens
between our worlds;
swiftly the winds abate,
clouds stay fixed,
and all is quiet
as realms embrace.
Moonlight gleams
in your gentle eyes --
I see you now as then,
I love you now as then.
Death releases you
for but a moment,
yet that one moment
is all love needs.
77. Shooting Stars
A flash against the midnight sky
too brief to leave a mark,
just a light that quickly flares,
then leaves the heavens dark;
its name unknown forever,
its destiny unclear –
will it come to us again,
or is destruction near?
An omen prized by ancients,
an answer to their prayers,
a message sent from heaven,
the coinage of soothsayers.
So we too will briefly glow,
then vanish from this earth,
unknown the names we carry,
unknown our place of birth,
just pilgrims on a journey,
in search of who we are,
but in the end no different
than transient shooting stars.
78. Songs
Words from another,
songs from afar
will never reveal
just who you are;
no matter their beauty,
no matter their style,
they echo your soul
for only a while;
sing words of your own,
forged like a chain
from darkness and grief,
to ponder your pain;
sing melodies sweet
for moments of peace,
the love that restores,
the joy of release;
to celebrate life
and all that it brings,
let go your voice,
and hear how it sings.
79. Sorrow’s Reign
Sorrow is a vapour,
a mist around the heart,
clouding your emotions
long after tears depart;
it seeps into the mind,
an enemy within,
foundering in darkness
the dream that might have been.
Sorrow is a river
in which the lover drowns,
the flame of passion lost,
the soul now seaward bound;
if only hearts could flee,
escape from sorrow’s reign,
perhaps they would find strength
to overcome love’s pain.
80. Sphinx
Too many tears had carved
a canyon upon her heart,
a scar to last the ages,
long after tears depart;
too many words fell hollow
in deception and disdain,
echoing within her soul
where no other words remained.
In silence she sought comfort
apart from tears and lies,
a Sphinx within a solitude
removed from mocking eyes;
but one there was who waited
to heal her with his touch,
who knew the pain she suffered
when living hurt too much.
He offered her his own scarred heart
in words that formed a vow –
together would they stay the storm
that overwhelmed her now;
and in his strength she understood
how love could set her free,
and so she found her voice again –
the Sphinx that once was me.
81. Standing in the Sun
The light almost blinds me,
weakened by winter’s haze,
the warmth again reminds me
of the calm in summer days.
I am simply standing in the sun,
and yet my spirit now feels free
to shout aloud that spring has won,
has driven darkness far from me.
If only days like this could stay
to ease the fear I feel inside,
I would gladly pass each day
with newfound hope and pride,
proud that winter’s child again
can see the glory of the Earth
and finally cast off icy pain,
enchanted by the world's rebirth.
82. Street Kid
Huddled in the doorway,
refuge from the cold wind
that cuts right through,
freezes your emotions,
you smoke a cigarette,
warmth for inner chill,
drink the bottle in the bag,
and retreat from reality.
Home never really existed:
violence and abuse lived
where families ought to be;
but escape brought new pain,
the curse of being alone.
Lie down in the sleeping bag
donated by the Sally Ann,
maybe you won’t die tonight,
maybe you’ll see sunrise
when tomorrow comes,
or maybe you’ll be dead –
will anybody really care?
83. Summer Flame
The end of August blows in,
bending trees and roiling waters
that prepare for winter's rage;
the birds of summer depart,
leaving only memories of songs
to wake the soul in joy.
I watch as leaves change colour,
a living rainbow, soon to carpet
the cooling ground I walk upon;
even the sky seems different,
now hoarding the sunlight
as the days grow dark so quickly.
Summer stays with us too little,
a hurried guest longing for home
as savage winter nips its heels;
in the grey months I see before me
I shall hold summer in my mind,
a fragile flame to keep me warm.
84. Summer Sea
The boat rocks lazily
in mild summer waves,
reflecting the rhythm
of the season itself;
life slows down
as winter worries fade,
new dreams take wing
like the circling gulls.
I share this boat with you,
keeper of my heart,
content to drift forever
as long as you are there;
I fear no sudden storm,
no fatal blast of wind
will dare to stir my soul
as I float into your arms.
85. Sweet Madness
Infected by passion
with no hope of cure,
fevered insanity
fated to endure,
the mind’s grey asylum
to provide no release,
reason lies vanquished
by this sweetest disease.
I yield to the madness
without fear of the flame
that burns to the marrow
at the sound of your name;
no matter what sorrows
submission portends,
belief remains constant
that love never ends.
86. Sweet Release
The sea is throwing off her chains,
her cloak of ice, her veil of cold,
and even though a chill remains
her arms now gently do unfold
to lure the restless voyager
to venture on her waiting waves,
to render up his soul to her
unmindful of her hidden graves.
The sun is shining on the sea
as if a lover has returned,
long lost in some far distant lee
but burning with a heart that yearned
to kiss again those salt-stained lips,
caress the waters now at peace,
and smile upon all sailing ships
to celebrate this sweet release.
87. The Audience
The audience wants love poems,
sweet hymns to hearts and passion,
sung to make their souls believe
that dreams are still in fashion.
To sing of pain dismays them
as they seek to hide their grief –
drive from the stage the poet
who will not confer relief;
build barriers to heartbreak,
remove the stain of torment,
pretend that life is perfect,
if only for one moment.
Deep within they know the truth
that a poet never fears –
how love is a fleeting gift
in a world replete with tears.
88. The Bully
She's just a teenager
and you're such a stud,
show her who's boss,
treat her like mud,
push her around,
make her fall down,
she can't do a thing
in this macho town;
the suits look away
and leave you alone,
so take secret pictures
on your camera phone,
stalk her in silence,
then grab at her tit,
you're a big man,
and she's just a twit;
leave her with bruises,
blacken her eyes,
all women deserve it --
make sure that she cries,
beat her so bad
she's covered in blood,
she's just a teenager,
and you're such a stud.
89. The Calendar
The book of days she held
displayed an empty page,
the first day of the year,
the world a brand new stage,
no ancient mark to stain
a heart in search of peace,
no omens of despair,
no chains that cry release,
a world not made by man,
awaiting her desire
to drink the cup of life
and feel the living fire
that burns within her soul
to purify and cleanse,
and offers her the strength
to trust in love again.
90. The Choice
Each one is of her flesh,
foetal, lying in wait,
expectant of living
in corporeal state;
some, planted in summer,
seek to sing of lovers,
those planted in winter
hold their hearts from others.
To choose is a burden,
harsh weight upon her mind –
of children treasured so,
which can she leave behind,
condemned by her judgement
to never see the light,
and which can journey on
to stand in their own right?
The choice must now be made,
grim decisions taken,
some will shout in triumph,
some will not awaken;
but those she leaves unborn
she hopes would never rage
to see their siblings thrive,
set free upon a page.
91. The Crystal Tree
Clad in January ice,
a cloak of cruellest cut,
the ancient tree bent down,
too burdened to rise up;
the weight upon its limbs
grew heavier each day,
no sunlight came to heal,
to chase the ice away.
Battered by the north winds
that roared across the land,
the branches came to see
the trunk could no more stand,
and as the final blast
propelled them to the ground,
they left behind an elegy –
a haunting crystal sound.
92. The Cycle
Life burns hot,
embers flaring into flames
at the time of birth,
fire in the breath,
heat in the blood,
consuming the flesh
day after day
in ecstatic combustion.
Life turns cold,
wizened hair white with frost,
ice bursting veins
frozen by time
until no time exists,
every spark chilled,
night after night
in eternal extinction.
93. The Dark Month
A shadow over thirty days,
a veil made not of silk
but of vapour and wind;
in its embrace I lived
without substance,
as if vapour and wind.
But he was there,
to comfort me
in night’s domain,
to light a candle
as the shadow grew,
enfolding each new day.
There are times of fear,
and times of loss,
times when shadows come
to seize the soul,
but there never was a time
he turned away.
94. The Gentle Man
He came late at night,
struck quick at the door
and entered with a bow,
took a chair by the window,
the moon casting pale light
on his ancient brow,
and spoke to her softly
on the matter of life
in sweet tender tones.
She spoke of the sorrows
inscribed on her heart,
as heavy as stones,
yet told of the love
that lightened the load
in passion unbound,
the pleasures of living
that mitigate pain,
the peace she had found.
In the glow of the moon
she could tell that he smiled
in comfort to see
that fair fortune had come
to mix sadness with joy
and set her soul free;
so he rose at that moment
to come closer still,
then held out his hand,
and how quickly she grasped it,
with no horror or fright
for this most gentle man.
95. The Gift
no gifts from afar,
your wealth lies in being
just as you are;
I ask you no pledges
of deeds beyond measure,
your presence alone is
my greatest treasure.
I ask you to stay here
when I lose my way,
to guide me from darkness
and lead me to day;
I ask you to love me
in sickness and health,
and to give me forever
the gift of yourself.
96. The Journey
I journey to a river
whose source remains unknown,
I cannot ask for guidance –
I make my way alone.
I pass by ancient mountains
whose roots are buried deep,
no living soul awaits me
for mortal eyes now sleep.
I walk the barren tundra
where stones cry out the names
of those who walked before me,
erecting shrines in vain.
I reach my destined haven
without ever knowing why,
or how I shall exist here
without you by my side.
97. The Last Petal
The tulips lasted long this spring,
holding on to life as if possessed
by some immortal cosmic force
that paid no heed to death’s request,
as if all life were everlasting
and seasons could refuse to change,
as if one moment stayed forever
where cyclic time dared not to range.
But June did conquer dreams like these,
and one by one the petals fell,
coloured robes to cloak the grass
that grew upon our mortal dell;
their stalks are left behind to mourn
like silent sentries at a grave,
and to them now I swear an oath:
the final petal I shall save.
98. The Lighthouse
She stood there for a hundred years,
a beacon for those lost at sea,
stalwart in the face of winds
that Nature’s angry hand set free,
clinging to the barren rocks,
a widow on a lonely peak,
looking out towards fatal waves,
her vigil sacrosanct to keep.
For one she loved was drifting,
alone and lost in ocean’s swell,
her light to make the difference
between a haven and a hell;
if only he could see her there,
turning faithful in the haze,
to set his course upon her eye
and live to sail on gentler days –
but she would stand forever,
assaulted by fierce wind and rain,
never giving up the dream
that he would come to her again.
99. The Oracle
I am the Pythia,
priestess of Apollo,
ask me your questions,
the god will reply;
within these columns
I inhale sacred fumes
from Mother Earth,
transporting me;
I know no man,
the god himself decrees
my endless chastity,
my womb ever barren;
I will speak of children
never to be my own,
of cities I shall never see,
of deaths I shall not mourn;
omniscient, they call me,
and sing of my wisdom,
I know everything, except
who I really am.
100. The Refugee
He sat by himself,
drink in hand,
his eyes far away
in a distant land;
memories teased
his clouded mind,
fading images
left far behind
as he fled across
the howling sea,
his family lost,
and so was he.
A war had come,
bombs that killed
both young and old,
their bodies filled
crude ditches dug
in red stained soil;
he left them there,
the price of oil;
just pawns they were
in a larger game,
the dead and living,
the blind and lame.
While laughing tyrants
pulled the strings,
safe from the death
destruction brings,
he made a vow
to return one day,
to set things right
in his own way;
so he drank all alone,
making his plans
to take his revenge
in one final stand.
To murder the villains
who governed the earth,
to give them exactly
what they were worth --
dreams and delusions
dulled his senses,
left him exposed
with no defences;
his descent into madness
was well under way
as he sat, drink in hand,
that long ago day.
101. The Ring
The everlasting circle,
beginning without end,all infinity encompassed,
impossible to rend,
love flowing on forever
with two made into one,
life imitating nature –
the circle of the sun,
a bond surpassing riches
though plain enough to see,
what mystery resides within
the ring you gave to me.
102. The Survivor
She had empty eyes,
eyes that saw too much death
and had no tears left to cry,
eyes old with darkness.
She had silent ears,
ears that heard their pain,
their pleas for mercy,
but God never spoke.
She tasted only dust,
the ashes of the dead
as she spoke their names,
to remember.
She had numbers on her wrist,
carved upon innocent flesh,
scars never to heal,
never again.
103. The Village Idiot
I exist to ease your pain,
to bring you merry laughter
with antics sublimely bizarre:
shall I bark like a frenzied dog,
or flap my arms like a crow,
perhaps even bay at the Moon
wearing the mask of a wolf,
shall I dance like a Bacchic maid,
landing flat on my painted face?
The bells that jingle on my cap
proclaim me your physician:
give me your deepest pain,
and I will make it vanish,
give me your tearful sorrow,
and I will make you smile.
You cannot exist without me.
104. The Wall
She leaned against a wall
built to keep her out,
stone heaped upon stone
in false accusation,
and though she had never
committed a crime,
she was sentenced to life
in crazed condemnation.
She tried to escape,
to say her farewells
to those who looked on
in sad resignation,
but leaving was hard
after so long a stay,
and she remained bound
in chained hesitation.
105. True
I read her poems the other night,
her soul revealed to mine,
deep passion everlasting
in images sublime,
colours of the rainbow,
precious gems and speaking eyes,
times of sadness and regret,
whispered love that never lies;
contentment mixed with yearning,
a heart that feared no cold,
fingers, skin and yearning lips
with sagas to be told,
the secrets and the questions
that bound the souls of two,
and as she sang of tangled threads
I knew it all was true.
106. Unhallowed Love (for Emily Dickinson)
A wraith in black she came,
the book of books in hand,a look of iron on her face
as before her she did stand
to speak of sinful lust,
the shame upon her soul,
that she must say farewell
to make her spirit whole.
She turned and walked away
as if it were a simple act,
no thought of her distress,
nor of their secret pact;
whom once she loved was spurned,
left to bide in silent grief,
no solace gained from God,
no hope of sweet relief.
She slowly closed the curtains
and placed a lock upon her heart,
no more would Love descend
to ply his mocking art;
the pen upon the table
poured forth her cries of pain,
knowing that the sun was gone,
replaced by days of rain.
107. When Words Fall Silent
There is a place I go
when words fall silent –
nothing exists there:
no walls, no windows,
no light, no sound
save a voice I know,
speaking in whispers
that only I hear,
reminding me of things
I want to forget.
But I know the words
are waiting for me,
unborn till I return
to give them life,
to speak their names
not in a whisper,
not in the dark;
yet wait they must:
this is the place I go,
my mute Gethsemane.
108. Without Care
In the absence of pain
she lived with no fear,
laughter released her,
let others come near,
just as a snowdrop
will welcome the sun,
secure in the knowledge
that springtime has come.
In the presence of love
no limits existed,
the world was all hers
and nothing resisted;
the heart held no secrets,
the soul was exposed --
the book of her torment
was finally closed.
But the pain of love lost
would bring back the tears,
leave her in sadness,
alone with her fears;
a flower in winter,
condemned to despair,
yields to the darkness,
forgets how to care.
109. Yellow Tulips
Yellow tulips,
a congregation of spring
basking in the salvation
brought by light renewed,
the warmth of the sun,
the host that is earth,
the wine that is rain,
all elements conspiring
in priestly guise,
resurrection of colour
from the bleak darkness
that is winter;
I bow in worship
before this bright altar,
embracing the gospel
of yellow tulips.
"Have I told you..." oh,yes I did! Brilliant collection!
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