Folder One
This folder includes not only poems from 2004 but also many that were written prior to that date (these early poems go back into the 1990s). In 2004 I got my courage up and self-published my first book of poems, unoriginally entitled "One Hundred Poems."
1. A Celebration of Love
I shall not sing
of death today,
how savage life
throws joy away,
how hopes and dreams
just fade and die,
flowers thirsting
in a sun-burnt sky;
instead my song
shall soar above,
leave woes behind
in praise of love.
I hold you close
and dry your tears,
my love a fortress
against your fears;
the bond of love
will banish pain
and give us strength
to laugh again,
to see the world
in brighter hues,
to celebrate love
as two souls fuse.
It matters not
what life may bring,
our hearts united
will bravely sing
of love that heals
each hurtful scar,
that takes grief’s fire
and creates a star.
2. A
Moment of Sorrow
Tears
flow freely
in
a moment of sorrow:
tears
for all the pain
we
lock deep inside,
for
all the jagged wounds
life
has imposed on us.
We
struggle hard to disguise
the
sadness lying within,
but
tears betray us:
in
an unguarded moment,
pouring
out, bitter,
they
proclaim the hurt
we
wish so much to hide,
exposing
our broken hearts,
and
the vanished dreams
that
haunt us forever.
3. A
Quiet Afternoon
Morning
rush fades
as
she sits with a book
and
tries to lose herself,
entering
a world
not
of her making;
inside
the covers
a
girl she cares about
throws
her life away,
her
dreams aborted,
and
she cries for her.
Words
create pictures
so
terrifyingly real:
she
has been there,
the
place the girl inhabits,
knows
well the terrain
and
senses her fear;
yet
she cannot save her,
her
end predestined
by
the author’s hand.
This
book entraps her,
an
act of seduction
she
is unable to resist;
but
within this trap
she
becomes free again
from
that other world
of
real illusion.
4. A
Simple Act of Love
The
touch of a comforting hand,
a
gentle hug in times of sorrow,
a
softly spoken word of solace,
the
promise of a bright tomorrow –
these
little things reach out
to
banish even darkest days
and
make calm a troubled soul
that
seeks to drive the world away.
You
need not wave a magic wand
to
vanquish human woe and fear,
it
only takes a simple act of love
to
show someone that you are there,
that
you will not ignore their pain
or
quickly disappear from view,
that
even in their bleakest time
they
can find a friend in you.
Such
little things can bring a smile
where
tears saw just calamity,
and
in such giving of ourselves
resounds
our shared humanity.
5. Abandoned
The Lady on the Bow
watched the waves alone,
adrift upon the ocean
so many leagues from home;
her crew had left her there,
abandoned and bereft,
and as the storm was coming
so little time was left,
time to wonder at her fate
and lament her final night,
when storms that rage at sea
would vent their fatal spite.
So many years she sheltered them
and brought them back to port,
delivered them to loved ones
so dreams would not abort,
but now her hopes were dying
at the advent of the wind,
and the Lady on the Bow
would never sail again,
but rest below in fathoms deep,
cursing those she loved,
who saw the sun rise every day
in the land that lies above.
5. Abandoned
The Lady on the Bow
watched the waves alone,
adrift upon the ocean
so many leagues from home;
her crew had left her there,
abandoned and bereft,
and as the storm was coming
so little time was left,
time to wonder at her fate
and lament her final night,
when storms that rage at sea
would vent their fatal spite.
So many years she sheltered them
and brought them back to port,
delivered them to loved ones
so dreams would not abort,
but now her hopes were dying
at the advent of the wind,
and the Lady on the Bow
would never sail again,
but rest below in fathoms deep,
cursing those she loved,
who saw the sun rise every day
in the land that lies above.
6. Actors
Put
on the face required,
the
mask of ancient Greeks,
whether
tragic or comic,
and
stand on the stage;
read
your lines with feeling,
become
the character you play,
clowning
with boundless mirth
or
howling in endless rage.
The
hardest performance of all
is
getting through each day,
making
the audience believe
the
character is really you;
like
actors, we need applause,
craving
to be accepted,
to
hear words of approval
in
all we attempt to do.
But
when the lights go down
and
you are all alone,
you
remove the mask
and
become who you are:
just
a minor bit player
in
a drama called Life,
always
standing in shadows,
and
never a star.
7. Amizade
A special kind of bond,
the music of two souls
joined in sweet harmony,
a duet of the dulcet kind;
each note reaches out
to find its sound-mate,
bringing peace to turmoil,
turning despair to hope.
For this is healing music:
its passion is innocent,
its power all-pervasive
if we choose to listen.
Let us join the symphony,
cherishing each movement
as sound washes over us
in friendship’s mellow love.
8. Anchors
A small boat dances
in the swirling breeze,
a pirouette of grace
in motion,
lightly set upon the tide,
obedient to Moon,
and warmed by Sun
upon the ocean;
an anchor stone deep
beneath the water’s face,
guardian of a fragile craft,
holds tight,
unseen but loyal,
a stalwart champion
in watery lists,
deep as night.
I am akin to boats:
my soul exposed
to changing winds,
course unclear,
seeking a haven
to offer protection
from elemental force
so near
as I drift in terror,
abandoned and alone,
sent astray by storms
unceasing,
unless my loving anchor
draw me back,
from all my fears
releasing.
7. Amizade
A special kind of bond,
the music of two souls
joined in sweet harmony,
a duet of the dulcet kind;
each note reaches out
to find its sound-mate,
bringing peace to turmoil,
turning despair to hope.
For this is healing music:
its passion is innocent,
its power all-pervasive
if we choose to listen.
Let us join the symphony,
cherishing each movement
as sound washes over us
in friendship’s mellow love.
8. Anchors
A small boat dances
in the swirling breeze,
a pirouette of grace
in motion,
lightly set upon the tide,
obedient to Moon,
and warmed by Sun
upon the ocean;
an anchor stone deep
beneath the water’s face,
guardian of a fragile craft,
holds tight,
unseen but loyal,
a stalwart champion
in watery lists,
deep as night.
I am akin to boats:
my soul exposed
to changing winds,
course unclear,
seeking a haven
to offer protection
from elemental force
so near
as I drift in terror,
abandoned and alone,
sent astray by storms
unceasing,
unless my loving anchor
draw me back,
from all my fears
releasing.
9. And Nobody Waved Goodbye
She
and the rain were one,
her
tears became cloudbursts,
her
anger the lightning
that
she herself feared;
no
point in going on,
this
journey had no end
and
brought only pain.
Happy
endings for fairytales,
sorrow
in the life she lived,
her
dreams lying aborted
like
the children she never had;
she
thought she found a place
where
some sun existed,
but
she never would:
she
belonged to the dark
of
this stormy night,
she
belonged to shadows.
With
one last glance back,
she
shut the door and left,
and
nobody waved goodbye.
10. Anne's Island
Red dust on my feet
speaks of escape,
a refuge from the now
into yesterday,
where rolling hills
sing out a welcome
as blue herons glide
upon sea-blessed winds.
My maternal island sings
a soft homecoming,
promises calm waters
after Winter’s blasts,
and even if I cannot stay,
every moment is a gift,
a gracious offering
cloaked in red dust.
10. Anne's Island
Red dust on my feet
speaks of escape,
a refuge from the now
into yesterday,
where rolling hills
sing out a welcome
as blue herons glide
upon sea-blessed winds.
My maternal island sings
a soft homecoming,
promises calm waters
after Winter’s blasts,
and even if I cannot stay,
every moment is a gift,
a gracious offering
cloaked in red dust.
11. Apocalypse
Voices
tearing at my skull,
invading
my mind with ferocity
never
before imagined,
and
I am crying.
Words
from these voices
speak
of Apocalypse,
the
end of all things,
and
I am dying.
Dancing
with destruction,
whirling
around the cosmos,
a
waltz of utter chaos
enraptures
me.
Music
grows into cacophony,
all
sounds become one,
an
unceasing wail of doom
captures
me.
Time
slows, begins to stop,
the
universe implodes,
turning
me into stardust,
and
I am free.
Eternity
is only Nothingness,
a
place devoid of hate and fear,
I
embrace with love this quiet calm,
I
cease to be.
12. April Seas
The chill of winter lingers,
glacial winds still sound
warnings of caution
for April seas;
yet, in the lull of dawn,
the sun is rising higher,
each day pressing closer
to final release,
waves weary of turmoil
feel the touch of spring,
revive their aching dream
of gentle breeze;
caught in the net of seasons
on the cusp of change,
ships on the shore abide
in anxious peace.
12. April Seas
The chill of winter lingers,
glacial winds still sound
warnings of caution
for April seas;
yet, in the lull of dawn,
the sun is rising higher,
each day pressing closer
to final release,
waves weary of turmoil
feel the touch of spring,
revive their aching dream
of gentle breeze;
caught in the net of seasons
on the cusp of change,
ships on the shore abide
in anxious peace.
13. At
Midnight
At
midnight I put aside
all
thoughts of the day,
no
turmoil great enough
to
erase the love I feel,
at
midnight, in your arms.
A
blessed silence comes,
no
words are needed
for
what we have to say,
hearts
speak more clearly
at
midnight, in the dark.
This
night will soon pass,
a
new dawn cleansing
the
clouds of today,
a
new hope for tomorrow
at
midnight, together.
A
sacred truth stands guard:
that
love alone breaks down
the
barriers we impose,
and
sets our spirits free
to
soar at midnight.
14. Autumn Sea
14. Autumn Sea
The waves are growing stronger,
as if they know that Winter
silently stands on the shore,
ice in hand,
resenting their wild freedom,
determined to rein them in
and bind them without mercy
to the land,
enslave the lakes and ocean
to endless months of waiting
for the sun to rise on high,
and bring light
to vanquish all the terror
that begins to fill the bay
and threatens to entomb us
this dark night.
15. Beached
A wooden carcass rotting,
askew upon the shore,
and knowing in her heart
that she will sail no more;
abandoned by her captain
on a beach so far from home,
gone the many journeys,
the places she did roam,
gone the storms she battled
despite the ocean’s rage,
and gone her gleaming deck,
surrendered to advancing age.
A loyal servant had she been
and proud to sail the seas,
to spread her sheets in sunshine
and catch the steady breeze,
but Time in its progression
had made her obsolete,
unable to keep pace with
the new ships in the fleet,
and so she lies here mournfully,
while I caress her broken frame,
knowing that some day I too
will suffer much the same.
Fall
back into the silent crowd
and
fade away from sight,
you
then may find the peace
which
eludes you every night.
The
eyes that haunt you
will
forever disappear,
and
no one will curse you
or
cause you to fear.
Not
to be seen, not to be known
will
allow you to sleep,
to
breathe in the calm
and
no longer weep
over
things that are done,
or
wounds that have bled;
turn
your face towards the sea,
inhale
the deep instead.
17. Bells in the Distance
17. Bells in the Distance
I walked alone at daybreak
through a gentle mist,
hearing the echoing sound
of bells in the distance;
their music drew me,
the sweet metallic ring
embracing the silent hills
and the slow running river.
Hypnotized, I left my path,
drawn to the magical clamour
as if by a powerful magnet,
as if the bells were calling me;
perhaps they asked my presence
at some secret ceremony,
summoning me to bear witness
to whatever mystery they hold.
Slowly I drew ever closer,
no fear invading my body,
only a growing sense of purpose
that soon quickened my feet;
at last I stood upon the final hill
and looked down upon a church
standing majestic in solitary peace,
a burial ground its sole companion.
The bells ceased their ringing
as I approached an open grave,
felt my living flesh dissolve
to become again the ghost I am.
18. Berth-Mates
In
chilling gloom
the
two ships stood,
one
of metal
and
one of wood,
one
a tall ship,
so
fine and fair,
her
mate a ship
of
war’s despair,
two
different lives,
two
different tales,
as
each took on
Atlantic
gales.
The
tall ship sped
before
the breeze,
her
sails well set,
she
moved with ease,
a
thing of grace,
well
built and sleek,
exotic
harbours
were
hers to seek,
no
foe to fear
except
the sea,
she
travels still,
so
wild and free.
The
metal ship,
the
child of war,
bound
to the dock
to
sail no more,
had
seen the blood
of
many shed,
their
bodies strewn,
the
waters red,
had
fought for life
with
every breath,
her
engines fast,
escaping
death.
What
tales they told
while
at the shore,
two
old sailors
with
sea-born lore,
and
as I watched,
my
camera posed,
I
thought I heard
the
voice of those
who
plied the waves
long
years ago,
who
sang the sea
like
salt-kissed ghosts.
19. Burnt
Offering
Thoughts become physical,
emotions
made manifest
upon
pages no longer blank,
open
for all to see;
what
witness now created
in
this mocking mirror,
my
soul stripped bare,
my
passion set free?
So
let this be an offering,
a
small sacrifice to Muses,
whose
kind pardon I seek
for
fallen creativity,
and
consign this book to fire,
reducing
pain to ashes,
unwilling
to acknowledge
this
open book is me.
20. By
the Wood Stove
I
have escaped from the world:
sitting
with you, watching the fire,
the
flames that flicker and fall,
warming
me with the desire
to
cast all my cares aside,
and
simply wonder at the peace
that
surrounds me every day,
as
you bring my soul release
from
the pain that living brings.
You
are the fire within my heart,
without
you I am but an ember,
burnt
and dying, ready to depart
this
realm of earthly sorrows.
I
gently take your hand in mine,
thinking
back on days long past
when
summer bloomed so fine
that
we could run upon the fields,
and
find no fear, but laugh at death --
now deep in winter’s grasp, I know
my
love will blaze beyond my final breath.
21. Child of the North
Child of the North,
who feels the wind bite
and pounce like a wolf
in winter’s dark night,
crystals from heaven
descend on the land,
concealing the ground
where you quietly stand
and wonder how life
spreads stones in your path,
and how easy it is
to hide love under wrath.
Child of the North,
what lessons we learn
as each passing season
parades in its turn,
as stars in the heavens
revolve high above,
the beacons of God
that show us His love,
you hold out your hand
and ask a new start,
but you never lost
your place in my heart.
22. Christmas by the Fireplace
From the moment of birth
21. Child of the North
Child of the North,
who feels the wind bite
and pounce like a wolf
in winter’s dark night,
crystals from heaven
descend on the land,
concealing the ground
where you quietly stand
and wonder how life
spreads stones in your path,
and how easy it is
to hide love under wrath.
Child of the North,
what lessons we learn
as each passing season
parades in its turn,
as stars in the heavens
revolve high above,
the beacons of God
that show us His love,
you hold out your hand
and ask a new start,
but you never lost
your place in my heart.
22. Christmas by the Fireplace
Christmas
Eve:
herald
of the coming light,
as
days grow long
and
our hearts rejoice
in
the rebirth of creation.
Sitting
by the fire,
I
watch the wavering flames,
seeing
shapes take form,
then
swiftly change;
there
is fire within us.
A
celebration of Life
in
all her manifestations:
the
miracle of existence
too
great to comprehend
for
mere mortal souls.
But
I feel the power of this night:
a
night unique, a night apart,
soothing
the troubled heart,
healing
wounds that linger
with
tongues of cleansing fire.
23. Clouds
I am intimate with clouds,
the soul-mate of my sea
embracing me at dawn
with misty eagerness,
swirling around my face
like a frenzied Bacchant,
but ever rising with the sun,
a fickle lover leaving me
to gambol in the sky,
heedless of my loneliness.
So I must wait another day
until the mist returns
to caress me yet again,
a negligent lover, ever
toying with my thirsting soul,
I am enslaved to clouds.
23. Clouds
I am intimate with clouds,
the soul-mate of my sea
embracing me at dawn
with misty eagerness,
swirling around my face
like a frenzied Bacchant,
but ever rising with the sun,
a fickle lover leaving me
to gambol in the sky,
heedless of my loneliness.
So I must wait another day
until the mist returns
to caress me yet again,
a negligent lover, ever
toying with my thirsting soul,
I am enslaved to clouds.
24. Cold
in the Bones
She
walked alone in the storm,
allowing
the snow to descend
and
enter her shivering soul,
Winter
comes without end.
The
brutal wind struck her,
a
chilling, threatening blow,
pushing
her forever back,
Winter
never lets go.
Season
of cold darkness,
sun
obscured by cloud,
fire
vanquished by ice,
Winter
roars aloud.
She
felt the cold in her bones,
knew
the truth that lay unfurled:
that
even in the sun of Summer
Winter
rules her world.
25. Columbia
(1981-2003)
Tears
flow from the sky this day,
breaking
hearts can only watch
in
disbelieving sorrow
the
death of a fragile ship
that
sailed on distant seas,
that
saw the Earth so far away,
and
knew the infinite beauty
of
the sun-studded cosmos.
Seven
human souls are lost --
in
pain we grieve for them,
each
in different ways;
we
praise their courage,
admire
their love of flight –
the
love that brought them death.
Never
to be forgotten:
with
other names shall theirs
become
enshrined forever;
they
take their rightful place
among
all who dare to explore,
who
reach out to touch Creation.
26. Common Bond
In grief we shared
a common bond
for broken hearts
in sorrow,
scarred by wounds
dealt yesterday,
fearful what might come
tomorrow,
till solace lessened pain,
a sudden revelation
of new found strength
together,
two exiles rose
to face the sun,
with love to grow
forever,
with souls no longer
torn and battered,
with dreams regained
and glowing,
as if a trampled flower
cast a glance on high,
reviving in the breeze
soft blowing.
27. Dancing with Death
26. Common Bond
In grief we shared
a common bond
for broken hearts
in sorrow,
scarred by wounds
dealt yesterday,
fearful what might come
tomorrow,
till solace lessened pain,
a sudden revelation
of new found strength
together,
two exiles rose
to face the sun,
with love to grow
forever,
with souls no longer
torn and battered,
with dreams regained
and glowing,
as if a trampled flower
cast a glance on high,
reviving in the breeze
soft blowing.
27. Dancing with Death
From the moment of birth
you
waltz with Death,
your
life moving in step
to
the rhythm of music
only
you hear.
Death
swirls you around,
smiles
at you alluringly
as
the metronome ticks away
each
fragile second,
holds
you near.
And
you cling to Death,
the
promise of release
from
the agony of living,
the
one to set you free
from
mortal pain.
Locked
in his fatal embrace,
you
see Death in new light,
understand
each syncopation
as
the beat of Life itself,
and
dance again.
28. Darkness Denied
The sun has set, I am alone,
moving blindly in the dark,
fearful of the monster from whom
I cannot hide.
I feel his dormant domination,
hear his mocking, angry laugh
when light has fled, and his mouth
gapes open wide;
a shroud as black as coal dust
settles on my swaying form,
I stumble into swells of doubt
as if a tide;
if I could only find the path
cut by those who dragons fear,
perhaps the sun would fill my soul,
darkness denied.
29. December Gales
28. Darkness Denied
The sun has set, I am alone,
moving blindly in the dark,
fearful of the monster from whom
I cannot hide.
I feel his dormant domination,
hear his mocking, angry laugh
when light has fled, and his mouth
gapes open wide;
a shroud as black as coal dust
settles on my swaying form,
I stumble into swells of doubt
as if a tide;
if I could only find the path
cut by those who dragons fear,
perhaps the sun would fill my soul,
darkness denied.
29. December Gales
The
gales of December
blow
without mercy,
a
warning to mariners
mad
enough to venture
upon
winter’s waves;
in
the depths of the ocean
lie
the broken remains
of
ships that once dared
to
ride December seas.
Yet
I launch my craft
and
face the wild fury
that
penetrates within,
for
I am Winter’s child,
born
to sail cold waters
in
search of a haven,
destined
to endure
the
wrath of December.
I
shall steer my ship
against
the icy winds,
as
I have done before,
aware
of the danger,
with
no fear of death.
30. Deep in Silence
I had so much to tell him,
tales of lands unlike his own,
where even flowers bloomed
in ways not seen;
of mountains in the clouds,
30. Deep in Silence
I had so much to tell him,
tales of lands unlike his own,
where even flowers bloomed
in ways not seen;
of mountains in the clouds,
their coats of snow in place
despite the summer sun,
still white and clean;
ships that rose and fell on waves
ships that rose and fell on waves
born of the southern seas,
molten rock that covered land
bereft of life;
creatures of exotic form,
creatures of exotic form,
feathers of a rainbow cast,
and ancient trees weighed down
by blossoms rife.
But Time refused to tarry,
But Time refused to tarry,
a whirlwind coming closer,
brute force destined to destroy
in swift violence;
and now my voice retreats
and now my voice retreats
from stories yet to share,
my thoughts stand ever muted,
deep in silence.
31. Delete
Memories
full of sorrow
forever
etched upon my brain,
overshadowing
the present
with
clouds of guilty pain;
“if
only”: words that throb
inside
my head each day,
had
I taken another path
or
travelled a different way,
had
I foreseen your presence
and
the love you offer me,
had
I gained the courage
to
gaze ahead and see
that
I was walking blindly
upon
two stumbling feet;
if
only now I had the chance
to
go back and delete
mistakes
I made in haste,
never
really knowing why,
then
you might forgive me,
might
dry the tears I cry.
32. Demon
A demon in the dark,
lurking in silent shadows,
eager to pounce again
and drink fresh blood,
never to slake
a thirst immortal.
She hears his moan,
insidious and insistent,
knowing she is the prey
he hunts this night,
a victim to be offered
Dionysus reborn.
Alone in her terror
she feels each second
relentlessly slip away,
hears his footsteps
at her chamber door,
tastes his hunger.
This night is the last,
both longed for and feared,
the final surrender
to madness and rage,
for when the sun rises
she will be consumed.
33. Demons of the Mind
He could not see them,
but suffered their sting,
endured their denial
of what life could bring;
deprived of all pleasure
by forces unknown,
he felt his heart tremble,
feared turning to stone,
and unable to fathom
what crime he had done,
he hid all his pain
from one who had come
to offer him comfort
when life became dark,
to rekindle his soul
with one hopeful spark;
yet she ever stood near
and would not fall behind,
for she also had fought
with demons of the mind.
34. Departure
32. Demon
A demon in the dark,
lurking in silent shadows,
eager to pounce again
and drink fresh blood,
never to slake
a thirst immortal.
She hears his moan,
insidious and insistent,
knowing she is the prey
he hunts this night,
a victim to be offered
Dionysus reborn.
Alone in her terror
she feels each second
relentlessly slip away,
hears his footsteps
at her chamber door,
tastes his hunger.
This night is the last,
both longed for and feared,
the final surrender
to madness and rage,
for when the sun rises
she will be consumed.
33. Demons of the Mind
He could not see them,
but suffered their sting,
endured their denial
of what life could bring;
deprived of all pleasure
by forces unknown,
he felt his heart tremble,
feared turning to stone,
and unable to fathom
what crime he had done,
he hid all his pain
from one who had come
to offer him comfort
when life became dark,
to rekindle his soul
with one hopeful spark;
yet she ever stood near
and would not fall behind,
for she also had fought
with demons of the mind.
34. Departure
Places
of the heart call out,
where
I feel comforted,
where
the song of the forest
lulls
me to gentle sleep;
no
anger walks there,
the
pines know nothing
of
this hateful world
as
they sway in the breeze,
existing
long before me,
existing
after I am gone.
The
waves are also singing,
lapping
against the shore
without
malice, a sound
to
soothe a broken soul;
along
the rocky shore I walk,
opening
myself to the wind,
wanting
to be carried up
into
the scudding clouds above;
my
refuge spreads its open arms,
it
is time for my departure.
35. Disposable Art
Empty the Louvre,
strip library shelves,
forget all the people
who think for themselves,
banish the portraits,
destroy all the poems –
whoever needs “art”
inside their homes?
Art is only a needless frill,
the playground of the few,
creations of the human mind
have no place with you;
ideas are too mighty,
images too provoking,
to expose our souls to art –
someone must be joking!
So close all the doors
with barbarians inside,
from poets and painters
make sure you hide;
beware of their power
to make others feel,
for art is a weapon
honed of fine steel.
36. Distant Roads
If I should say farewell
it would not be out of hate,
my love for you remains
and never will abate,
but distant roads are calling
as every day flies past,
a universe left to explore
as long as time may last;
my restless soul seeks refuge
in a place where silence reigns,
and once it finds salvation
there it shall remain,
at last set free from malice,
released from earthly woe –
so bid me travel safely
on the road that I must go.
37. Doors
She stood in the hallway,
doors filling her view,
each one a magnet
to pull her soul through,
lost and bewildered,
and just seeking peace,
she wonder which door
might bring her release,
free her from torment
and make pain take flight,
allow her to banish
the demons of night.
Each door hid a mystery
her eyes could not see,
no way to uncover
the fate that might be;
to avoid the wrong choice,
to choose the right path,
to walk through to love
and push aside wrath,
she prayed for the wisdom
that a gentle God gave,
and passed through the door
that led to her grave.
38. Draggers
35. Disposable Art
Empty the Louvre,
strip library shelves,
forget all the people
who think for themselves,
banish the portraits,
destroy all the poems –
whoever needs “art”
inside their homes?
Art is only a needless frill,
the playground of the few,
creations of the human mind
have no place with you;
ideas are too mighty,
images too provoking,
to expose our souls to art –
someone must be joking!
So close all the doors
with barbarians inside,
from poets and painters
make sure you hide;
beware of their power
to make others feel,
for art is a weapon
honed of fine steel.
36. Distant Roads
If I should say farewell
it would not be out of hate,
my love for you remains
and never will abate,
but distant roads are calling
as every day flies past,
a universe left to explore
as long as time may last;
my restless soul seeks refuge
in a place where silence reigns,
and once it finds salvation
there it shall remain,
at last set free from malice,
released from earthly woe –
so bid me travel safely
on the road that I must go.
37. Doors
She stood in the hallway,
doors filling her view,
each one a magnet
to pull her soul through,
lost and bewildered,
and just seeking peace,
she wonder which door
might bring her release,
free her from torment
and make pain take flight,
allow her to banish
the demons of night.
Each door hid a mystery
her eyes could not see,
no way to uncover
the fate that might be;
to avoid the wrong choice,
to choose the right path,
to walk through to love
and push aside wrath,
she prayed for the wisdom
that a gentle God gave,
and passed through the door
that led to her grave.
38. Draggers
Nets
of death,
cast
wide and deep,
indiscriminate
killers
prowl
the waters
near
my shores;
nothing
escapes:
with
a fine rake
they
comb up
the
ocean’s life,
leaving
barren silt below.
Once
fishermen sailed
these
fecund seas,
respecting
the creatures
born
far below,
taking
only as needed,
leaving
the seed
for
new life to come,
and
for their children
a
maritime bounty
beyond
time.
Then
you arrived,
the
power of greed
fuelling
your engines,
factory
ships of fools,
turning
the deep
into
watery desert;
scourge
of the seas –
do
you expect mercy
when
you founder
on
the banks below?
39. Dreaming of Dragons
Night mists cloud my mind,
reality and fancy are blurred
as I slip deeper into sleep,
embracing the darkness;
I float in water tinged with salt,
an amniotic broth of life
promising protection from harm,
but then it begins again:
fire -- the flash of lightning,
the noise of a thousand hearts
beating in mad abandon,
images melting and merging.
The dragon wakes within,
emerges from his lair in flames
to consume his nocturnal prey,
to feed on what was me;
I twist and turn to beat him back,
mortal flesh and cosmic fire
upon the battlefield of my bed
as I scream through the silence,
fighting to reclaim my soul
from this snake that strikes
when I reach that sanctum
where only night mists go.
39. Dreaming of Dragons
Night mists cloud my mind,
reality and fancy are blurred
as I slip deeper into sleep,
embracing the darkness;
I float in water tinged with salt,
an amniotic broth of life
promising protection from harm,
but then it begins again:
fire -- the flash of lightning,
the noise of a thousand hearts
beating in mad abandon,
images melting and merging.
The dragon wakes within,
emerges from his lair in flames
to consume his nocturnal prey,
to feed on what was me;
I twist and turn to beat him back,
mortal flesh and cosmic fire
upon the battlefield of my bed
as I scream through the silence,
fighting to reclaim my soul
from this snake that strikes
when I reach that sanctum
where only night mists go.
40. Earth
and Water
42. Emily Dickinson and I
We are spectators,
never to be seen,
hidden by curtains,
watching life unfold,
our only companion
the pen that records
the human journey.
We compose our poems,
then set them aside,
for fear of offending,
of exposing our souls
to mockers and fools.
We have withdrawn:
let others, in time to come,
read our loves and tears,
and perhaps understand
why we chose to live
in blessed solitude.
43. Endings
Endings: coming far too soon,
stealing our time together,
leaving so many words unspoken.
If only: we had understood
the finite nature of time,
the inexorable shortening of days,
and the coming darkness.
But now: memory endures,
bright images in the mind
that will never fade,
the echoes of your voice,
the touch of your hand.
No farewell: treasure what we shared,
remember the love, always the love,
and cast aside the pain –
there will soon be beginnings.
44. Epitaph, 1
Please shed no tears
when I am gone,
I walked with Death
on the day I was born;
each step I have taken,
he has been by my side,
holding my hand
and being my guide.
Death taught me to live,
showed me the way,
gave me the strength
to face each new day;
he offered me comfort
in days dark and cold,
for he will come quickly,
before I grow old.
I will seek out his hand
when I come to the end,
knowing that Death
has been my dear friend.
45. Epitaph, 2
As I was then,
I am not now,
for stealthy Time
slipped by,
barely seen,
masked and cloaked,
watching with
relentless eye.
Time stopped naught
for one derived
from clay too rough
and dry,
that crumbles soo
into the earth,
where human flesh
must lie.
Yet time did bring
a precious gift
when Love my soul
did crave:
another heart
so like my own,
but stronger still,
and brave.
As I was then,
I am not now,
my mortal coil
not saved,
but this I tell
to all who live:
Love long atones
the grave.
46. Exit Stage Left
Ladies and Gentlemen,
the play has concluded:
heroes and villains,
parading before you
in harmless entertainment;
if the actors played well,
let us offer our applause,
not forgetting the clown
in red nose and floppy shoes
during the intermission.
The play has been the thing,
not to catch the conscience
but merely to briefly amuse
those who need no catharsis
of the Aristotelian type;
on your way out, dear viewers,
glance back one last time
at the stage erected here,
as now it shall be empty
for the rest of time.
47. Falling into Nothing
A dream, a nightmare,
a vision with no end,
she is ever falling –
air moves around her,
horizon beckoning,
limbs spread askew –
falling into nothing;
he dreams it too,
relentless gravity,
piercing the clouds
while arms and legs flail –
but takes sublime comfort:
at least they are together,
falling into nothing.
48. February Blue
Winter never seems to end,
its icy blasts persist in killing
the dream of floating above,
feeling the warmth of the Sun
embracing my shivering body.
Moments of light mock me
as I slip back into darkness,
craving the frozen tomb
of this unending season.
Sleep beckons with the promise
of forgetting the cold pain
that hibernates in my soul;
a Siren sends to me a song
of escape, to sail elsewhere,
to anchor in Summer’s land
and cast off this Winter pall.
But Sirens are artful deceivers:
ahead lie only jagged rocks
coloured red with the blood
of other Winter Children.
49. Fire in the Night
Pulsating beacon of light, calling me back to you,
warning me of the deadly rocks near by,
where ancient sailors met their gloomy fate,
where ruins of rotting ships still lie.
Will I reach my home this storm-struck night
and escape the danger lying in wait for me
as I steer this fragile vessel to safe haven,
or will I fall, as others have, victim to the sea?
My dreams depend on this beacon by the foggy shore,
my life is balanced in its ancient weathered hand,
one final voyage, one last run against the wind,
praying to survive if my broken craft strikes land.
I was not meant to stray so far from port,
a journey better made by one more skilled than I,
a captain bold, in a ship well built by stronger hands:
I watch in fear that lonely fire turning in the sky.
50. First Snow
The congealed breath of Winter
covers the ground outside
with a thin carpet of white,
while pale Autumn struggles
to cling to its fading light;
the first snow will dissolve,
flow to the sea’s embrace,
sink into the salty deep,
but Winter will not relent
until the Earth finds sleep.
Months of silent hibernation
settle down upon the land,
waters frozen on the lakes
and dormant trees in forests
must rest till Springtime breaks;
Time creeps at a glacial pace,
obedient to Winter’s chilling call,
and we who walk upon the Earth
once again must wait to greet
the golden light that brings rebirth.
51. For My Husband
What did you see in me,
those many years ago,
as I was searching out
all I could not know,
when I was feeling lost,
frightened and ashamed,
hiding in dark corners
where no one knew my name?
You came to me a stranger,
with torments of your own,
yet took my hand in love,
the purest I have known;
you have shown me wonders
far beyond the world I knew,
asking little in return
as I walk this path with you.
Each day I live in gratitude
to whatever Presence lies above
for giving me the greatest gift,
the power of your love.
52. For the Bard
Across the sea, so far away,
in a land where music flows
like a stream into the ocean,
a land where storied breezes blow
and the sun spreads its golden rays,
there lives a sage, a man of song,
whose music will bring solace
to a soul that struggles long
to find its place upon the Earth.
A man of joy, a man of peace,
who, like the magic bards of old,
will make our sorrows cease:
as we listen to the Siren call
that sounds within our ears,
no grief will strike our battered hearts,
no pain will bring forth tears.
For this one man will ever be
the stranger who reached out to me.
53. Forever Love
I have come here once again,
drawn by a need to be with you,
to talk to you as we once did,
long ago, when you still smiled
and promised me kinder days.
Your grave becomes a shrine,
I place the flowers at the stone
and pray that you are watching,
that you know I love you still;
our souls remain entwined,
no death can sever the bond
forged the moment I was born.
I touch the stone bearing your name,
desperate to hold you once again,
to offer that final embrace
that fate denied me years ago;
I must believe you still exist
in a place where love is forever.
54. Friendly Fire
Perhaps you meant to do no harm,
perhaps it was intended –
but words are bullets in your hand,
torn hearts cannot be mended;
perhaps your anger came undone,
perhaps you let your guard down –
it matters not, your words did flow
and in them did my love drown.
Had we engaged in open war,
had struggled bravely face to face –
far better that than friendly fire
that brings a shadow of disgrace;
had called you back the ugly words,
had you the courage to regret –
perhaps my wounded soul could heal,
perhaps it even could forget.
55. Going Under
Ten:
a sudden sensation of warmth,
strange, but not unpleasant,
my mind starts to drift,
loses track of where I am,
struggles to remember.
Nine:
so quiet, noises vanish
into some black hole,
out in the galaxy I spin
like a runaway star,
a pulsar in the dark.
Eight:
everything fades,
a whirling blackness
devours all that is real,
I am falling past
the event horizon.
Seven:
I cease to exist.
56. Goddess on a Pedestal
They put you on a pedestal of gold
and laid bright flowers at your feet,
with fragrant incense did they worship,
believing you could set them free.
Atop that lofty stand, how you gazed
with furrowed brow and saddened eyes,
knowing your heart was only mortal,
that you never dwelled in godly skies.
Paying honour, bowing at your name,
they humbly placed a burden on you
to break the fragile soul of anyone
who found solace in a lonely pew.
Their pedestal became a prison cell,
forcing you to do as others wanted --
had they but known what dreams you had,
and how those dreams turned dark and haunted.
57. Grandmother
Grandmother smiles
in an old rocking chair,
her eyes are now clouded,
her limbs are so spare
you fear she will break
if you hold her too tight,
you fear she will leave
on this moonless night.
She grew with the pines
and learned the old ways,
remembers the sunlight
of much kinder days
when her people were proud
and roamed the vast lands
the Creator had placed
in their ancestors’ hands.
How much she has seen
as Time passed her by,
the forests are plundered,
the rivers run dry,
the ravens fly elsewhere
in mourning attire,
no hymnal remains
for this black-suited choir.
But Grandmother smiles
with a heart that still knows
the tales of the Elders
told so long ago,
the song of the woodland
still resounds in her ears,
brightens her darkness,
dispels all her fears.
For Time holds no terror
for a spirit so wise,
can never extinguish
the light in her eyes –
how it speaks of the love
that sets her soul free,
and I thank the Creator
as her smile falls on me.
58. Halifax: Feb. 19-20, 2004
A mountain of snow
rose up in our yard,
blown there by winds,
made solid and hard;
it all came upon us
on one single day,
descending so fast,
it flew every way.
You could not imagine
how great our surprise
to see such vast drifts
in front of our eyes,
right up to the windows,
right up to the eaves –
whatever will happen
when all of it leaves?
Just think of the rivers
that will shortly pour forth
when Spring does return
to the now frozen North:
the snow turns to water
and rushes away,
leaving acres of mud
to slog through each day.
This mountain of snow
must make us reflect
that Nature’s sheer might
deserves our respect,
for it matters not what
we humans may think,
against Mother Nature
we live on the brink;
she swats us like flies
annoying her might,
no escaping her power,
no place to take flight;
so go play in the snow,
enjoy while you can,
but always remember
who’s in charge of this land.
59. Hercules in Winter
He had slain another monster
and saved the world from death,
but as he rested from his task
he struggled for his breath;
so many beasts had fought him
and never one did walk away,
yet now he felt defeated,
no will to face the coming day.
Heroes must be chosen
by gods with mocking mirth,
doomed to spend their lives
as transients on this earth;
in every town he came upon
the people called his name,
spoke about his valour,
paid homage to his fame.
But Hercules grew tired
as foul Winter settled in,
and thought about a haven
free from martial din;
he wondered if the people
would understand his plight:
he was growing old and weary,
no joy left for the fight.
And so he left his mighty club
beside his lion skin cape,
climbed upon a fiery pyre
and made his last escape.
60. Hiding in the Sun
A fragrant meadow,
in the heat of summer,
no darkened sky,
no peal of thunder,
bathed in sunlight,
a world resplendent,
all torments banished,
all sorrows ended.
Yet she stood alone,
rooted to the ground,
fearing any footsteps,
dreading any sound;
solitude her comrade,
shadow her best friend,
she stood in contemplation
of a long awaited end,
and no eyes would discover
what she hid from everyone:
how she sought the darkness
while hiding in the sun.
61. Holiday
The Sun sends its regrets,
on other realms it shines
and just cannot be bothered
to shed some light on mine,
and so the Rain continues
as Clouds obscure the sky,
while Fog descends each morning
to shroud my weary eyes;
the city casts a gloomy spell
and my spirit longs to flee
to some secluded, quiet place
among the birds and trees,
where days are not as frantic
and demands are rather few,
a cottage and a sailing ship,
alone, in peace, with you.
62. Hospital
White: so white it assaults the senses,
the absence of colour reflecting
an antiseptic world of pain;
she stands by the bed, pale,
white as the surrounding walls,
watching the woman she loves
fade slowly from her sight.
She has never seen Death before,
felt the waning of the life force,
resignation and departure,
the final absence of Time;
she gazes at flowers on a tray,
a funeral offering before Death
cuts this flower down, White Reaper,
creating a fresh bouquet of souls.
White: so white she feels her heart fade,
becomes the figure on the bed,
a final embrace before separation,
two pale, white hands touching,
biding the silent farewell
destined to mark her forever
as the scene fades to white.
63. Illusions
If I say goodbye
shed no tears,
pretend I am illusion:
no blood runs in me,
no heart beats,
no eyes weep.
Illusions feel no pain,
we drift upon clouds
far from sorrow,
blissfully serene,
impervious to harm,
unscared by love.
Perhaps you are illusion,
yet I loved you once,
in more innocent times,
when I was real.
64. Imagine
Firm
earth are you,
standing
centred,
stable,
fertile ground
on
which will grow
seeds
of purest love,
the
nourishment of life.
But
I am the ocean,
moving
with the moon
and
washed by waves
of
raging ferocity,
never
finding rest,
graveyard
of ships.
Opposites,
yet alike,
each
needing the other,
each
incomplete alone;
we
meet, not in destruction,
but
in eternal creation
born
of earth and water.
41. Elevator Man
He rode his emotions into the sky,
no stopping at lower locations,
his destiny lay high up in the clouds
in sacred celestial creations;
he found joy in the music of planets,
saw beauty in each grain of sand,
thought God had created a masterpiece
with barely a touch of His hand.
But then his emotions entered free-fall,
descending at speed to the ground,
from light he tumbled to darkness
where nothing of worth could be found,
where souls became black with corruption
and no one could hope for salvation,
he raged like a storm fed by Winter –
a coldness fast born of frustration,
and I knew he would never find rest,
or peace that would make hatred stop,
so I stood on the sidelines in sorrow,
watching him rise and watching him drop.
41. Elevator Man
He rode his emotions into the sky,
no stopping at lower locations,
his destiny lay high up in the clouds
in sacred celestial creations;
he found joy in the music of planets,
saw beauty in each grain of sand,
thought God had created a masterpiece
with barely a touch of His hand.
But then his emotions entered free-fall,
descending at speed to the ground,
from light he tumbled to darkness
where nothing of worth could be found,
where souls became black with corruption
and no one could hope for salvation,
he raged like a storm fed by Winter –
a coldness fast born of frustration,
and I knew he would never find rest,
or peace that would make hatred stop,
so I stood on the sidelines in sorrow,
watching him rise and watching him drop.
42. Emily Dickinson and I
We are spectators,
never to be seen,
hidden by curtains,
watching life unfold,
our only companion
the pen that records
the human journey.
We compose our poems,
then set them aside,
for fear of offending,
of exposing our souls
to mockers and fools.
We have withdrawn:
let others, in time to come,
read our loves and tears,
and perhaps understand
why we chose to live
in blessed solitude.
43. Endings
Endings: coming far too soon,
stealing our time together,
leaving so many words unspoken.
If only: we had understood
the finite nature of time,
the inexorable shortening of days,
and the coming darkness.
But now: memory endures,
bright images in the mind
that will never fade,
the echoes of your voice,
the touch of your hand.
No farewell: treasure what we shared,
remember the love, always the love,
and cast aside the pain –
there will soon be beginnings.
44. Epitaph, 1
Please shed no tears
when I am gone,
I walked with Death
on the day I was born;
each step I have taken,
he has been by my side,
holding my hand
and being my guide.
Death taught me to live,
showed me the way,
gave me the strength
to face each new day;
he offered me comfort
in days dark and cold,
for he will come quickly,
before I grow old.
I will seek out his hand
when I come to the end,
knowing that Death
has been my dear friend.
45. Epitaph, 2
As I was then,
I am not now,
for stealthy Time
slipped by,
barely seen,
masked and cloaked,
watching with
relentless eye.
Time stopped naught
for one derived
from clay too rough
and dry,
that crumbles soo
into the earth,
where human flesh
must lie.
Yet time did bring
a precious gift
when Love my soul
did crave:
another heart
so like my own,
but stronger still,
and brave.
As I was then,
I am not now,
my mortal coil
not saved,
but this I tell
to all who live:
Love long atones
the grave.
46. Exit Stage Left
Ladies and Gentlemen,
the play has concluded:
heroes and villains,
parading before you
in harmless entertainment;
if the actors played well,
let us offer our applause,
not forgetting the clown
in red nose and floppy shoes
during the intermission.
The play has been the thing,
not to catch the conscience
but merely to briefly amuse
those who need no catharsis
of the Aristotelian type;
on your way out, dear viewers,
glance back one last time
at the stage erected here,
as now it shall be empty
for the rest of time.
47. Falling into Nothing
A dream, a nightmare,
a vision with no end,
she is ever falling –
air moves around her,
horizon beckoning,
limbs spread askew –
falling into nothing;
he dreams it too,
relentless gravity,
piercing the clouds
while arms and legs flail –
but takes sublime comfort:
at least they are together,
falling into nothing.
48. February Blue
Winter never seems to end,
its icy blasts persist in killing
the dream of floating above,
feeling the warmth of the Sun
embracing my shivering body.
Moments of light mock me
as I slip back into darkness,
craving the frozen tomb
of this unending season.
Sleep beckons with the promise
of forgetting the cold pain
that hibernates in my soul;
a Siren sends to me a song
of escape, to sail elsewhere,
to anchor in Summer’s land
and cast off this Winter pall.
But Sirens are artful deceivers:
ahead lie only jagged rocks
coloured red with the blood
of other Winter Children.
49. Fire in the Night
Pulsating beacon of light, calling me back to you,
warning me of the deadly rocks near by,
where ancient sailors met their gloomy fate,
where ruins of rotting ships still lie.
Will I reach my home this storm-struck night
and escape the danger lying in wait for me
as I steer this fragile vessel to safe haven,
or will I fall, as others have, victim to the sea?
My dreams depend on this beacon by the foggy shore,
my life is balanced in its ancient weathered hand,
one final voyage, one last run against the wind,
praying to survive if my broken craft strikes land.
I was not meant to stray so far from port,
a journey better made by one more skilled than I,
a captain bold, in a ship well built by stronger hands:
I watch in fear that lonely fire turning in the sky.
50. First Snow
The congealed breath of Winter
covers the ground outside
with a thin carpet of white,
while pale Autumn struggles
to cling to its fading light;
the first snow will dissolve,
flow to the sea’s embrace,
sink into the salty deep,
but Winter will not relent
until the Earth finds sleep.
Months of silent hibernation
settle down upon the land,
waters frozen on the lakes
and dormant trees in forests
must rest till Springtime breaks;
Time creeps at a glacial pace,
obedient to Winter’s chilling call,
and we who walk upon the Earth
once again must wait to greet
the golden light that brings rebirth.
51. For My Husband
What did you see in me,
those many years ago,
as I was searching out
all I could not know,
when I was feeling lost,
frightened and ashamed,
hiding in dark corners
where no one knew my name?
You came to me a stranger,
with torments of your own,
yet took my hand in love,
the purest I have known;
you have shown me wonders
far beyond the world I knew,
asking little in return
as I walk this path with you.
Each day I live in gratitude
to whatever Presence lies above
for giving me the greatest gift,
the power of your love.
52. For the Bard
Across the sea, so far away,
in a land where music flows
like a stream into the ocean,
a land where storied breezes blow
and the sun spreads its golden rays,
there lives a sage, a man of song,
whose music will bring solace
to a soul that struggles long
to find its place upon the Earth.
A man of joy, a man of peace,
who, like the magic bards of old,
will make our sorrows cease:
as we listen to the Siren call
that sounds within our ears,
no grief will strike our battered hearts,
no pain will bring forth tears.
For this one man will ever be
the stranger who reached out to me.
53. Forever Love
I have come here once again,
drawn by a need to be with you,
to talk to you as we once did,
long ago, when you still smiled
and promised me kinder days.
Your grave becomes a shrine,
I place the flowers at the stone
and pray that you are watching,
that you know I love you still;
our souls remain entwined,
no death can sever the bond
forged the moment I was born.
I touch the stone bearing your name,
desperate to hold you once again,
to offer that final embrace
that fate denied me years ago;
I must believe you still exist
in a place where love is forever.
54. Friendly Fire
Perhaps you meant to do no harm,
perhaps it was intended –
but words are bullets in your hand,
torn hearts cannot be mended;
perhaps your anger came undone,
perhaps you let your guard down –
it matters not, your words did flow
and in them did my love drown.
Had we engaged in open war,
had struggled bravely face to face –
far better that than friendly fire
that brings a shadow of disgrace;
had called you back the ugly words,
had you the courage to regret –
perhaps my wounded soul could heal,
perhaps it even could forget.
55. Going Under
Ten:
a sudden sensation of warmth,
strange, but not unpleasant,
my mind starts to drift,
loses track of where I am,
struggles to remember.
Nine:
so quiet, noises vanish
into some black hole,
out in the galaxy I spin
like a runaway star,
a pulsar in the dark.
Eight:
everything fades,
a whirling blackness
devours all that is real,
I am falling past
the event horizon.
Seven:
I cease to exist.
56. Goddess on a Pedestal
They put you on a pedestal of gold
and laid bright flowers at your feet,
with fragrant incense did they worship,
believing you could set them free.
Atop that lofty stand, how you gazed
with furrowed brow and saddened eyes,
knowing your heart was only mortal,
that you never dwelled in godly skies.
Paying honour, bowing at your name,
they humbly placed a burden on you
to break the fragile soul of anyone
who found solace in a lonely pew.
Their pedestal became a prison cell,
forcing you to do as others wanted --
had they but known what dreams you had,
and how those dreams turned dark and haunted.
57. Grandmother
Grandmother smiles
in an old rocking chair,
her eyes are now clouded,
her limbs are so spare
you fear she will break
if you hold her too tight,
you fear she will leave
on this moonless night.
She grew with the pines
and learned the old ways,
remembers the sunlight
of much kinder days
when her people were proud
and roamed the vast lands
the Creator had placed
in their ancestors’ hands.
How much she has seen
as Time passed her by,
the forests are plundered,
the rivers run dry,
the ravens fly elsewhere
in mourning attire,
no hymnal remains
for this black-suited choir.
But Grandmother smiles
with a heart that still knows
the tales of the Elders
told so long ago,
the song of the woodland
still resounds in her ears,
brightens her darkness,
dispels all her fears.
For Time holds no terror
for a spirit so wise,
can never extinguish
the light in her eyes –
how it speaks of the love
that sets her soul free,
and I thank the Creator
as her smile falls on me.
58. Halifax: Feb. 19-20, 2004
A mountain of snow
rose up in our yard,
blown there by winds,
made solid and hard;
it all came upon us
on one single day,
descending so fast,
it flew every way.
You could not imagine
how great our surprise
to see such vast drifts
in front of our eyes,
right up to the windows,
right up to the eaves –
whatever will happen
when all of it leaves?
Just think of the rivers
that will shortly pour forth
when Spring does return
to the now frozen North:
the snow turns to water
and rushes away,
leaving acres of mud
to slog through each day.
This mountain of snow
must make us reflect
that Nature’s sheer might
deserves our respect,
for it matters not what
we humans may think,
against Mother Nature
we live on the brink;
she swats us like flies
annoying her might,
no escaping her power,
no place to take flight;
so go play in the snow,
enjoy while you can,
but always remember
who’s in charge of this land.
59. Hercules in Winter
He had slain another monster
and saved the world from death,
but as he rested from his task
he struggled for his breath;
so many beasts had fought him
and never one did walk away,
yet now he felt defeated,
no will to face the coming day.
Heroes must be chosen
by gods with mocking mirth,
doomed to spend their lives
as transients on this earth;
in every town he came upon
the people called his name,
spoke about his valour,
paid homage to his fame.
But Hercules grew tired
as foul Winter settled in,
and thought about a haven
free from martial din;
he wondered if the people
would understand his plight:
he was growing old and weary,
no joy left for the fight.
And so he left his mighty club
beside his lion skin cape,
climbed upon a fiery pyre
and made his last escape.
60. Hiding in the Sun
A fragrant meadow,
in the heat of summer,
no darkened sky,
no peal of thunder,
bathed in sunlight,
a world resplendent,
all torments banished,
all sorrows ended.
Yet she stood alone,
rooted to the ground,
fearing any footsteps,
dreading any sound;
solitude her comrade,
shadow her best friend,
she stood in contemplation
of a long awaited end,
and no eyes would discover
what she hid from everyone:
how she sought the darkness
while hiding in the sun.
61. Holiday
The Sun sends its regrets,
on other realms it shines
and just cannot be bothered
to shed some light on mine,
and so the Rain continues
as Clouds obscure the sky,
while Fog descends each morning
to shroud my weary eyes;
the city casts a gloomy spell
and my spirit longs to flee
to some secluded, quiet place
among the birds and trees,
where days are not as frantic
and demands are rather few,
a cottage and a sailing ship,
alone, in peace, with you.
62. Hospital
White: so white it assaults the senses,
the absence of colour reflecting
an antiseptic world of pain;
she stands by the bed, pale,
white as the surrounding walls,
watching the woman she loves
fade slowly from her sight.
She has never seen Death before,
felt the waning of the life force,
resignation and departure,
the final absence of Time;
she gazes at flowers on a tray,
a funeral offering before Death
cuts this flower down, White Reaper,
creating a fresh bouquet of souls.
White: so white she feels her heart fade,
becomes the figure on the bed,
a final embrace before separation,
two pale, white hands touching,
biding the silent farewell
destined to mark her forever
as the scene fades to white.
63. Illusions
If I say goodbye
shed no tears,
pretend I am illusion:
no blood runs in me,
no heart beats,
no eyes weep.
Illusions feel no pain,
we drift upon clouds
far from sorrow,
blissfully serene,
impervious to harm,
unscared by love.
Perhaps you are illusion,
yet I loved you once,
in more innocent times,
when I was real.
64. Imagine
Imagine
roses
without
thorns,
delicate
beauty
without
pain,
eternal
love
without
sorrow.
A
lover’s imagination
shuts
out the flawed,
sees
only perfection
in
an imperfect world,
is
blinded by a light
that
never existed.
In
your imagination
I
transcend myself,
what
I become
is
not who I am,
yet
I embrace the myth
that
brings you joy.
Imagine
our love
as
a sacred mystery,
as
a question
with
no answer,
and
let us love
as
if we knew.
65. In Memoriam: Anna Lindh (1957 – 2003)
Anna went shopping today,
an ordinary event
on an ordinary afternoon,
no kids to shepherd,
a little free time,
taking a break from work.
In a crowded store
she browsed the aisles,
looking for something
on the distinctive side,
something her style,
different and fresh.
But someone else was there,
no shopping in mind,
stalking instead
with a knife in his hand,
ready to pounce.
She never saw it coming –
the brute hatred
that cowards nurse,
she never said goodbye
to those she loved.
Tears fell as she did,
tears of grief,
tears of rage,
rivers of tears
drowning a nation;
flags at half-mast,
the world seemed darker –
a candle snuffed out,
a life aborted.
So much had changed
in so few hours
since Anna went shopping.
66. Inanimate Objects
Inanimate objects feel no pain,
no bitter anger takes hold
nor passion’s fierce flame;
untouched by emotions,
they simply exist,
like waves on the ocean,
never feeling the life within,
oblivious to those drowning
in waters cold and dim.
To be so unknowing –
what bliss it must be,
just mindlessly flowing;
as my ship is tossed about,
how I envy the inanimate,
apart from fear and doubt,
for it is my curse to sail
a craft too full of feelings,
a craft too small and frail.
67. In the Night
Laughter in the night,
the tedium of the day
at last brushed aside,
you are here;
words fly between us,
comfort when sadness
seems too overwhelming,
and I am lost,
trying to find reason
in a world of madness,
and you gently remind me
love is here,
a balm to set against
the jagged wounds of life,
to restore our faith when all
seems lost;
the past is fixed eternal,
the future, unknown terrain,
but now my soul takes strength:
we are here.
68. January Children
Born with the year,
days growing longer,
January children
feel Winter within,
know the darkness
that still lingers
as the sun returns.
Like two-headed Janus,
ever caught between
what was and will be,
January children
become dreamers,
sing songs of sorrow
tempered by hope.
Fear not the love
of January children,
beneath the snow
new life is emerging,
a promise of resurrection
after chilling months
of silent hibernation.
69. January Cold
Sharp winds, like pinpoints
pricking at my flesh,
wild gusts from the North
descending in rage,
January cold never relents.
That harsh first month,
klaxon for the year to come,
as if we dare not expect
escape from savage blasts
destined yet to explode.
New, and still familiar,
image of the Roman god
looking behind and ahead,
oblivious of the bitter present
in which we are confined.
In vain I struggle to ward off
the chill penetrating my heart –
how it festers deep within,
ice crystals flowing in my blood,
blood born with me in January.
70. Judgement
Fire-bringer Prometheus,
chained to his wild crag,
enduring endless torment
for the gift of Light;
the ashes in the woodstove
were once living poems,
the fire of Prometheus
also brings oblivion.
Words, beloved offspring,
we spend our lives judging,
weighing in the balance
of our own maternal minds;
those which are deemed unfit
and fail to meet our standard,
we consign to destruction,
to eternal damnation.
I give these pieces of my soul
to the god of light and fire,
I surrender them to Prometheus
and sit bereft, in the dark.
71. Last Refuge
The end of day
comes too soon,
dreams abandoned
as night falls,
forcing the darkness
that lives within
to send forth
Lorelei calls.
I am summoned
towards the rocks,
moving downstream
inexorably,
embraced by water,
sped by wind
into the shipwreck
awaiting me.
Torpid blood in veins
flows more slowly,
away from eyes
turned to stones,
merging with the maiden
upon her rugged crag,
last refuge for those
tired in the bones.
72. Legacy
The path I walk grows darker
as I face the great unknown,
and, despite your loving presence,
I shall meet death alone;
this journey is our common end
and so I feel no fear,
but sadness in the knowledge
that I must leave you here.
Yet love is worth the journey,
and when the passage comes
I shall look back with no regret
for things that I have done;
I only wish to leave for you
bright memories of me,
and so I sing my love in poems,
my lasting legacy.
73. Linear Time
You sit and watch the clock,
counting minutes, even seconds,
waiting for tomorrow to dawn;
you contemplate linear time:
never allowing passage back,
propelling you into the future
with no choice but to accept.
There was a time in ancient myth
when Time itself stood still
so lovers might embrace forever
and never fear the end of night.
No longer: Time resumed its course,
relentlessly demanding we follow
in its path, march like soldiers
into the unknown terrain ahead;
watching that incessant clock,
hearing each second tick away,
you wonder how much time you have
to make your mark upon the world
before you too become a myth.
74. Lost at Sea
Drifting alone, lost
in surging winter waves
and winds that howl
like a wolf in the night,
seeking sanctuary
from a storm unbound,
safety from the gales
that embrace me in Death.
No lighthouse flame
to guide my ship,
no clarion Siren call
to mark the rocks -
wrecked, destroyed,
my oars are lost;
adrift I meet my fate,
swallowed by the sea.
75. Love Past
Each time we meet
memories cascade:
days of loving laughter,
nights alone with me.
Your touch sent sparks
deep into my soul,
revealing hidden passion
only you could see.
That secret fire burned,
and from its ashes
arose a Phoenix,
finally set free.
Entwined our hearts remain,
the passage of time
unable to erase a love
never meant to be.
76. Love Real
What is the touchstone
of love real or unreal,
is it the soul of the lover
or the passion we feel?
Passion brings pleasure,
a moment of bliss,
the touch of a hand,
the taste of a kiss;
but the soul is a mirror
of the person you are,
and no mask can obscure
the pure flame of a star.
You bring me no lies,
your soul stripped bare,
whatever you offer
I know we will share,
there can be no other
to shelter my heart
and guard me from sorrow,
till death will us part.
77. Loving Contradictions
Love has many noble ancient myths
(as fatal Helen came to Paris
over the wine-dark, perfumed sea),
tales to hide the agony of the heart,
stories for deluded children.
Love, in truth, is nurtured by loneliness,
a torment unsanctioned by divinity.
What kindly god would have created Love,
so counterfeit and so destructive,
yet the reason to watch in rapture
as countless snowflakes fall,
seeing only warmth where there is cold.
Love is the playmate of a troubled soul,
who loves because it hates,
who laughs because it cries –
Love is, always, contradiction.
78. Loving Words
The beauty of a moonlit night,
the serenity of the quiet sea,
the grace of a gliding hawk,
the love shared by two hearts –
what words exist to express
the things we cherish most?
In your presence I am silent:
no need for words between us,
our souls united long ago;
yet, for others, who look on,
there is mystery in our love,
a passion they cannot grasp
unless I come upon words
with power to unveil their eyes,
to explain the inexplicable.
A poet wrestles with words,
each one a worthy opponent,
each one resisting the pen,
until, suddenly, without warning,
the right words come to me,
and I feel their power over me,
as I sit here, loving words.
79. Massacre in Montreal: In Memoriam:
Genevieve Bergeron, Helene Colgan, Nathalie Croteau, Barbara Daigneault, Anne-Marie Edward, Maud Haviernick, Barbara Marie Klucznick, Maryse Laganiere, Maryse Leclair, Anne-Marie Lemay, Sonia Pelletier, Michelle Richard, Annie St-Arneault, Annie Turcotte: December 6, 1989
Our daughters had a class
that dull December day,
yet another lecture
in an endless series,
and no time to waste;
in hallowed halls
of higher learning,
they drank some coffee,
grabbed their books
and found their seats.
A very ordinary day
in their unordinary lives –
such dreams they had,
our smiling daughters,
taking their knowledge
to places so poor
that water ran with death.
Then a strange noise:
a man entered alone,
with a gun in hand,
with hatred in his eyes
for women like them;
it was over so quickly,
just like their lives,
bright dreams aborted
and families destroyed
as our daughters lay silent
on the classroom floor.
80. Moment of Release
Fly away on broken wing
in fear of longer staying,
though I try to heal your wounds
for freedom you are praying;
scale the heavens once again,
build a nest within a tree –
perhaps the pain means little
to the heart that longs to flee;
but as you leave remember
one who meant to bring you peace,
whose sorrow lives forever
at this moment of release.
81. Never Again (In Memoriam: Matthew Shepard)
Arrogant pride betrays you,
only you hold the key
to the enigma of Creation,
understand the Cosmos,
see the face of God
in the cloud-scudded sky,
follow the righteous path
denied other mortals,
and you condemn me
as a lesser being,
unworthy of your God,
denied the True Light
of your own Perfection,
condemned to live outside
the golden walls you build
within your imagination.
You cast stones in ignorance,
blind to your own darkness,
but I refuse to bend;
as long as breath remains
I will not stay silent:
silence plays your game,
creates a Holocaust –
never again.
82. Northern Child
I watch as the snow falls,
covering the world with white
so pure it seems primordial,
a heaven-sent blanket,
hiding the sins of earth.
I listen to the wind bellow
through trees deeply rooted
to resist its savage force,
I hear the music of Winter
howling in Wagnerian mode.
I feel cold air penetrate me,
my lungs forced to labour
like horses at their sleighs,
I struggle simply to breathe,
yet somehow feel more alive.
I am a child of the North,
in love with a landscape
sculpted by Winter’s hand,
proud of its icy heritage,
determined to survive.
83. October Blues
Beyond the window
angry winds swirl,
rain drowns the leaves
that lie abandoned,
trees now stripped
for winter’s onslaught;
inside the window
I contemplate Time:
summer racing by
at Olympian speed,
the sun peeking out
just to tease us.
What hopes we place
on summer’s back,
creating a burden
no season could bear,
then feeling empty
in disappointment,
lamenting what was not
as autumn takes hold,
leading us reluctantly
to the chill embrace
of ice and snow,
long months of darkness;
beyond the window
a tree bends in answer
to the raging storm,
as I bend in answer
to the call of winter –
only then we both survive.
84. Old Photographs
Lost in my thoughts
I glance through an album
of old photographs:
pictures of you and me
when days were bright
and nights were kind;
how innocent you look,
discovering a new world
so alien to your own,
still willing to accept
it might have room for you.
And I, barely recognizable,
still scared to believe
your love for me exists;
so much we had to learn,
explorers on a quest
to find where we belong,
or if we belong at all
in a world where old photographs
turn brittle and fade.
85. Phantom Love
St. Valentine haunts us still,
promising the perfect love,
a passion without scars,
a dream we embrace.
In search of the one
who will make us whole
we walk a path strewn
with the slaughtered hopes
of those who went before us.
Perfection in love –
impossible, unattainable,
a vain pursuit of folly;
turn your eyes away from dreams,
behold the reality of the one
who offers a love imperfect,
a love that must be nurtured
like a fragrant flower alone
in a well tramped meadow.
Accept this fragile face of love –
there is only pain in phantoms.
86. Portfolio
Turning the pages,
each one a glimpse
of a single soul,
a moment in time,
a part of the whole.
Reading the sorrows,
remembering pain
that wounded a heart,
reduced it to ashes
that saw love depart.
Feeling the passion
of love newly found,
a sense of rebirth
as a soul finally healed
soared from the earth.
Each poem is a remnant
of all that I feel,
and of all that I see –
whatever the costume,
each poem is me.
87. Portrait of an Angel
A girl in a bright floral dress
smiles as the camera points her way,
at her side a woman much older,
wrinkled face, thin hair of gray;
together they hold a diploma,
a piece of paper framed in black,
the symbol of a milestone reached,
a journey begun, no turning back.
Click
Photographed, they smile in tandem,
remember a pact made years ago,
when the child needed an angel
to save her soul from life’s hard blow;
a vow undertaken, a promise made –
two crusaders fought side by side,
now, touching that high school diploma,
the angel left, her heart full of pride.
88. Puppet Master
I sit here in silence,
so tired of the weeping,
and tired of the anger
that keeps me from sleeping;
the puppet master rules,
plays with my emotions,
determines what I am to do
to add to his devotions.
His selfish needs demand
that I obey his words,
that I forget my wounds,
a heart in broken shards;
so long I played his game,
sought to win his soul,
but now I see the truth:
subservience was the goal.
I am no prize awaiting claim,
no puppet on a string –
I have at last regained myself,
clasped the golden ring;
my freedom comes at heavy cost,
the tears I shed are true,
for once upon a golden time
I had a friend in you.
89. Pythia
So many voices calling out,
each in private torment,
despairing of release
from their living chains;
voices flood her head,
an endless dissonance,
screaming like Furies
in thirst for her blood.
Her heart wept for them,
sought to heal the wounds
and make the crying stop
before it broke forever;
but her heart was weak
and growing ever tired,
scarred and fractured
by her own discordance.
The cacophony grew,
cascading like a waterfall,
catching her in its grip
and sweeping her away –
so only barren rocks
heard her own death cry.
90. Rain Child
Heavy drops pelt down again,
throwing themselves maniacally
against thick panes of glass;
they dance like a dervish,
howling in the cold wind
that attacks us yet again.
I should be impervious,
rain child that I am,
long accustomed to tears
descending from Heaven,
turning the rich soil to mud
and pushing it into the sea;
yet this storm penetrates,
its damp chill within my bones
causing me to shiver,
casting a dark veil over eyes
long despairing of the sun,
surrendering at last to water.
I shall simply go outside,
stand motionless in the rain
and let it expend its fury
without opposition;
perhaps, if I am blessed,
I too will wash into the sea.
91. Release
A captive on an island,
no ship to take me home,
I sit and watch the breakers
casting evanescent foam,
or gaze up at the herons
gliding through the air,
set to fly so far away,
and pray I might be there;
to leave this lonely exile
imposed by mocking Fate,
to risk one final voyage –
I would not hesitate,
but run with open arms
into the sea’s embrace,
once more to set my spirit free
and find my destined place,
where I shall not feel torment
nor shed such futile tears,
where I shall rest eternally,
at last released from fears.
92. Requiem: Beslan, Russia, September 2004
In the Name of God:
white caskets in a row,
flowers and teddy bears,
faces in silver frames
never to grow older;
just days ago
they played in the sun
and ran with the wind,
saw white unicorns
in the clouds above;
just days ago
they knew no evil
and fought no war,
no distant battles
assaulted their ears;
then you came:
killing the innocent,
brutal assassins –
how could you do this
in the Name of God?
93. Resurrected by Love
A soul scarred by sorrow,
a heart bleeding dry,
no life force existing
to silence my cry,
alone in the darkness
I despaired of the pain,
afraid of the cost
of loving again;
but you in the shadows
could see I still breathed
and came to my side
unwilling to leave,
with love as the salve
you healed all my wounds
and brought me release
from the lashes of doom;
resurrected by love
was a spirit once dead,
now able to rise up
and grasp life instead,
to cast aside torment
at the sight of your face,
and know that salvation
had come by your grace.
94. Salt Spray
In the embrace of ocean,
cradled by maternal waves,
I float away from earth,
the shoreline receding
as if the creation of a dream
from which I now wake;
salt spray caresses my face,
arousing me once again:
the sea is my mother,
and I surrender my soul.
From water I came,
tossed upon the land
like doomed alien jetsam,
sentenced to walk shores
ever foreign to my heart;
but the cry of the sea
compels my escape,
and bonds fall away
as my foot touches water,
salt spray sets me free.
95. Seascape
I sit entranced by the waves
of the ocean that saw my birth,
watching the boats pass by
with their nets and traps;
the sea has brought me peace,
as it has always done,
healing the wounds of life
with its soft embrace.
Sea-people are a breed apart,
the land has no pull for them,
it is water that calls out
and purifies their souls;
I hear the music of the deep
as I sit upon this jagged cliff,
I am hypnotized and captured
by sounds unknown to most.
My spirit is forever here,
singing aloud, safe at last,
and when my end has come,
my ashes will join in the melody.
96. Seasons
Summer flies too quickly,
a torch that flares to life
with newborn promise,
only to fade from view
as leaves turn gold.
In the rush of Autumn
I look back at the sun,
watching days shorten,
light become darkness,
warmth turn cold.
It is Time that I fear:
the passing seasons reflect
the rushed path of my life,
the haste I feel to love
before my dreams turn old.
97. Silent Scream
The dragon seeks release,
longs to roar and ignite,
searing its surroundings
with fiery breath;
but I will not give in:
by will alone I contain,
silence this beast
I know too well.
Still, I feel its presence
and fear its flames,
keeping watch upon it
lest it break free;
yet, when sleep comes
and I fall defenceless,
it signals its existence
in a silent scream.
98. Snowdrops
A dormant patch of soil
awakes to see the Sun,
a herald long awaited
that Spring has now begun;
dour Winter fades away,
and as the days grow longer
the new warmth of the Sun
makes my soul grow stronger,
revived from sullen stupor
by the courage of a flower
to burst through barren ground
and drink sweet vernal showers,
at last to wash away the frost
in which my heart was chilled,
a resurrection of the spirit,
testament to human will.
99. So This is Goodbye
I surrendered briefly
to a false allure,
captivated by bright lights
and friendly facades,
so foolish to believe
anything was real.
A heart blindly given
in a search for love
where pain only lay,
the wounds I endured
leaving my soul
unable to feel.
No longer I play
the part of the clown
with bells on her head,
laughing out loud,
trying too hard
never to cry.
Here there be dragons
afire in my mind,
consuming the remnants
of masks set aside,
and now I accept
this is goodbye.
100. Song for Jessica
Where have you flown
on gossamer wings,
do you feel the sadness
your leaving brings?
Perhaps you were chosen
to ascend to the stars,
bring others the blessing
that might have been ours.
Perhaps you are watching
and seeing us grieve,
we wanted you with us
but you had to leave.
Our love soars along
wherever you go,
live always in our hearts,
child we did not know.
101. Stillborn
That first breath,
lungs drinking in
the elixir of life,
never came;
formed in the womb,
bathed in the fluid
that nourishes life,
in vain.
Emergence sudden,
not yet the time,
too frail to survive
that night;
you were held briefly
by rough alien hands
as your nascent soul
glimpsed light.
Now you rest alone,
a name inscribed
upon a tiny plaque,
at peace;
God grant us comfort
as we grieve a loss
from which there is
no release.
102. SuperWoman
Red cape over blue jeans,
in well worn old sneakers,
she never believed
that women were weaker,
so she took on more tasks
and worked longer days,
outshining the men
but receiving less pay;
the kids were hers also,
to nurture and tend,
while her husband went off
to earth’s far flung ends.
She tended the house
and paid all the bills,
fixed broken bicycles
with hard-gotten skills,
planted the garden
when Spring came around,
digging and hoeing
the rock solid ground.
She slept very little
with so much to do,
no time to sit back
or come down with flu,
for chores never ended
and time never stopped,
she knew what it meant
to work till you dropped.
So she dreamt of a time
when quiet would come,
with no kids to look after,
no work to be done,
when all by herself
she could read a good book
or write in her journal,
where no one would look,
that having it all
was much over-rated,
leaving her weary
and greatly frustrated.
Her dreams were on hold,
on no journeys departed,
the book she would write
was not even started,
but still she endured
what each day would take
to carry the load
of that “S” on her cape.
103. Swiss Air: Flight 111: In Memoriam
The bay still hears your fall,
each wave still echoes
that final scream of death
as you plummeted down;
the rocks along the shore
bore you silent witness,
immobile, unable to catch
this fragile falling star.
I stand beside a monument
with the flame of a candle,
the fire of life that became
the blaze of death for you;
we shall ever remember
the night you came to us,
plunged into our hearts
and came to rest forever.
104. Tall Ships
Captive at the jailer dock,
their running sails laid down,
so fierce deep water beckons
to ships tied to the ground,
whose ancient wooden walls
seek the freedom of the sea,
to fly before the loving wind
that beckons them to flee,
escape the earth unmoving
in search of ocean waves,
and, should the sea be angry,
to lie at last in ocean graves,
where long lost wrecks await
the coming of the new,
a brotherhood of sailing ships
in depths of darkest blue,
impervious to time and chance,
their fated endings come,
how much I long to sail with you
when my freedom has been won.
105. Tea with Emily D.
I sat with Emily today,
sharing the shadows of our lives
while sipping tea in china cups;
she spoke of antique books
and violets she did not pluck
from the verdant landscape
she denied herself.
I spoke to her of ships at sea,
the pounding of waves
lulling me to sleep at night,
when the shadows grow too strong;
how winter chills my soul
and summer sends it soaring.
A pleasant afternoon we had,
Emily and I alone,
sitting behind drawn curtains,
savouring the lilt of words
that take flight of their own volition,
rejecting our reluctance
to give them wings.
Anna went shopping today,
an ordinary event
on an ordinary afternoon,
no kids to shepherd,
a little free time,
taking a break from work.
In a crowded store
she browsed the aisles,
looking for something
on the distinctive side,
something her style,
different and fresh.
But someone else was there,
no shopping in mind,
stalking instead
with a knife in his hand,
ready to pounce.
She never saw it coming –
the brute hatred
that cowards nurse,
she never said goodbye
to those she loved.
Tears fell as she did,
tears of grief,
tears of rage,
rivers of tears
drowning a nation;
flags at half-mast,
the world seemed darker –
a candle snuffed out,
a life aborted.
So much had changed
in so few hours
since Anna went shopping.
66. Inanimate Objects
Inanimate objects feel no pain,
no bitter anger takes hold
nor passion’s fierce flame;
untouched by emotions,
they simply exist,
like waves on the ocean,
never feeling the life within,
oblivious to those drowning
in waters cold and dim.
To be so unknowing –
what bliss it must be,
just mindlessly flowing;
as my ship is tossed about,
how I envy the inanimate,
apart from fear and doubt,
for it is my curse to sail
a craft too full of feelings,
a craft too small and frail.
67. In the Night
Laughter in the night,
the tedium of the day
at last brushed aside,
you are here;
words fly between us,
comfort when sadness
seems too overwhelming,
and I am lost,
trying to find reason
in a world of madness,
and you gently remind me
love is here,
a balm to set against
the jagged wounds of life,
to restore our faith when all
seems lost;
the past is fixed eternal,
the future, unknown terrain,
but now my soul takes strength:
we are here.
68. January Children
Born with the year,
days growing longer,
January children
feel Winter within,
know the darkness
that still lingers
as the sun returns.
Like two-headed Janus,
ever caught between
what was and will be,
January children
become dreamers,
sing songs of sorrow
tempered by hope.
Fear not the love
of January children,
beneath the snow
new life is emerging,
a promise of resurrection
after chilling months
of silent hibernation.
69. January Cold
Sharp winds, like pinpoints
pricking at my flesh,
wild gusts from the North
descending in rage,
January cold never relents.
That harsh first month,
klaxon for the year to come,
as if we dare not expect
escape from savage blasts
destined yet to explode.
New, and still familiar,
image of the Roman god
looking behind and ahead,
oblivious of the bitter present
in which we are confined.
In vain I struggle to ward off
the chill penetrating my heart –
how it festers deep within,
ice crystals flowing in my blood,
blood born with me in January.
70. Judgement
Fire-bringer Prometheus,
chained to his wild crag,
enduring endless torment
for the gift of Light;
the ashes in the woodstove
were once living poems,
the fire of Prometheus
also brings oblivion.
Words, beloved offspring,
we spend our lives judging,
weighing in the balance
of our own maternal minds;
those which are deemed unfit
and fail to meet our standard,
we consign to destruction,
to eternal damnation.
I give these pieces of my soul
to the god of light and fire,
I surrender them to Prometheus
and sit bereft, in the dark.
71. Last Refuge
The end of day
comes too soon,
dreams abandoned
as night falls,
forcing the darkness
that lives within
to send forth
Lorelei calls.
I am summoned
towards the rocks,
moving downstream
inexorably,
embraced by water,
sped by wind
into the shipwreck
awaiting me.
Torpid blood in veins
flows more slowly,
away from eyes
turned to stones,
merging with the maiden
upon her rugged crag,
last refuge for those
tired in the bones.
72. Legacy
The path I walk grows darker
as I face the great unknown,
and, despite your loving presence,
I shall meet death alone;
this journey is our common end
and so I feel no fear,
but sadness in the knowledge
that I must leave you here.
Yet love is worth the journey,
and when the passage comes
I shall look back with no regret
for things that I have done;
I only wish to leave for you
bright memories of me,
and so I sing my love in poems,
my lasting legacy.
73. Linear Time
You sit and watch the clock,
counting minutes, even seconds,
waiting for tomorrow to dawn;
you contemplate linear time:
never allowing passage back,
propelling you into the future
with no choice but to accept.
There was a time in ancient myth
when Time itself stood still
so lovers might embrace forever
and never fear the end of night.
No longer: Time resumed its course,
relentlessly demanding we follow
in its path, march like soldiers
into the unknown terrain ahead;
watching that incessant clock,
hearing each second tick away,
you wonder how much time you have
to make your mark upon the world
before you too become a myth.
74. Lost at Sea
Drifting alone, lost
in surging winter waves
and winds that howl
like a wolf in the night,
seeking sanctuary
from a storm unbound,
safety from the gales
that embrace me in Death.
No lighthouse flame
to guide my ship,
no clarion Siren call
to mark the rocks -
wrecked, destroyed,
my oars are lost;
adrift I meet my fate,
swallowed by the sea.
75. Love Past
Each time we meet
memories cascade:
days of loving laughter,
nights alone with me.
Your touch sent sparks
deep into my soul,
revealing hidden passion
only you could see.
That secret fire burned,
and from its ashes
arose a Phoenix,
finally set free.
Entwined our hearts remain,
the passage of time
unable to erase a love
never meant to be.
76. Love Real
What is the touchstone
of love real or unreal,
is it the soul of the lover
or the passion we feel?
Passion brings pleasure,
a moment of bliss,
the touch of a hand,
the taste of a kiss;
but the soul is a mirror
of the person you are,
and no mask can obscure
the pure flame of a star.
You bring me no lies,
your soul stripped bare,
whatever you offer
I know we will share,
there can be no other
to shelter my heart
and guard me from sorrow,
till death will us part.
77. Loving Contradictions
Love has many noble ancient myths
(as fatal Helen came to Paris
over the wine-dark, perfumed sea),
tales to hide the agony of the heart,
stories for deluded children.
Love, in truth, is nurtured by loneliness,
a torment unsanctioned by divinity.
What kindly god would have created Love,
so counterfeit and so destructive,
yet the reason to watch in rapture
as countless snowflakes fall,
seeing only warmth where there is cold.
Love is the playmate of a troubled soul,
who loves because it hates,
who laughs because it cries –
Love is, always, contradiction.
78. Loving Words
The beauty of a moonlit night,
the serenity of the quiet sea,
the grace of a gliding hawk,
the love shared by two hearts –
what words exist to express
the things we cherish most?
In your presence I am silent:
no need for words between us,
our souls united long ago;
yet, for others, who look on,
there is mystery in our love,
a passion they cannot grasp
unless I come upon words
with power to unveil their eyes,
to explain the inexplicable.
A poet wrestles with words,
each one a worthy opponent,
each one resisting the pen,
until, suddenly, without warning,
the right words come to me,
and I feel their power over me,
as I sit here, loving words.
79. Massacre in Montreal: In Memoriam:
Genevieve Bergeron, Helene Colgan, Nathalie Croteau, Barbara Daigneault, Anne-Marie Edward, Maud Haviernick, Barbara Marie Klucznick, Maryse Laganiere, Maryse Leclair, Anne-Marie Lemay, Sonia Pelletier, Michelle Richard, Annie St-Arneault, Annie Turcotte: December 6, 1989
Our daughters had a class
that dull December day,
yet another lecture
in an endless series,
and no time to waste;
in hallowed halls
of higher learning,
they drank some coffee,
grabbed their books
and found their seats.
A very ordinary day
in their unordinary lives –
such dreams they had,
our smiling daughters,
taking their knowledge
to places so poor
that water ran with death.
Then a strange noise:
a man entered alone,
with a gun in hand,
with hatred in his eyes
for women like them;
it was over so quickly,
just like their lives,
bright dreams aborted
and families destroyed
as our daughters lay silent
on the classroom floor.
80. Moment of Release
Fly away on broken wing
in fear of longer staying,
though I try to heal your wounds
for freedom you are praying;
scale the heavens once again,
build a nest within a tree –
perhaps the pain means little
to the heart that longs to flee;
but as you leave remember
one who meant to bring you peace,
whose sorrow lives forever
at this moment of release.
81. Never Again (In Memoriam: Matthew Shepard)
Arrogant pride betrays you,
only you hold the key
to the enigma of Creation,
understand the Cosmos,
see the face of God
in the cloud-scudded sky,
follow the righteous path
denied other mortals,
and you condemn me
as a lesser being,
unworthy of your God,
denied the True Light
of your own Perfection,
condemned to live outside
the golden walls you build
within your imagination.
You cast stones in ignorance,
blind to your own darkness,
but I refuse to bend;
as long as breath remains
I will not stay silent:
silence plays your game,
creates a Holocaust –
never again.
82. Northern Child
I watch as the snow falls,
covering the world with white
so pure it seems primordial,
a heaven-sent blanket,
hiding the sins of earth.
I listen to the wind bellow
through trees deeply rooted
to resist its savage force,
I hear the music of Winter
howling in Wagnerian mode.
I feel cold air penetrate me,
my lungs forced to labour
like horses at their sleighs,
I struggle simply to breathe,
yet somehow feel more alive.
I am a child of the North,
in love with a landscape
sculpted by Winter’s hand,
proud of its icy heritage,
determined to survive.
83. October Blues
Beyond the window
angry winds swirl,
rain drowns the leaves
that lie abandoned,
trees now stripped
for winter’s onslaught;
inside the window
I contemplate Time:
summer racing by
at Olympian speed,
the sun peeking out
just to tease us.
What hopes we place
on summer’s back,
creating a burden
no season could bear,
then feeling empty
in disappointment,
lamenting what was not
as autumn takes hold,
leading us reluctantly
to the chill embrace
of ice and snow,
long months of darkness;
beyond the window
a tree bends in answer
to the raging storm,
as I bend in answer
to the call of winter –
only then we both survive.
84. Old Photographs
Lost in my thoughts
I glance through an album
of old photographs:
pictures of you and me
when days were bright
and nights were kind;
how innocent you look,
discovering a new world
so alien to your own,
still willing to accept
it might have room for you.
And I, barely recognizable,
still scared to believe
your love for me exists;
so much we had to learn,
explorers on a quest
to find where we belong,
or if we belong at all
in a world where old photographs
turn brittle and fade.
85. Phantom Love
St. Valentine haunts us still,
promising the perfect love,
a passion without scars,
a dream we embrace.
In search of the one
who will make us whole
we walk a path strewn
with the slaughtered hopes
of those who went before us.
Perfection in love –
impossible, unattainable,
a vain pursuit of folly;
turn your eyes away from dreams,
behold the reality of the one
who offers a love imperfect,
a love that must be nurtured
like a fragrant flower alone
in a well tramped meadow.
Accept this fragile face of love –
there is only pain in phantoms.
86. Portfolio
Turning the pages,
each one a glimpse
of a single soul,
a moment in time,
a part of the whole.
Reading the sorrows,
remembering pain
that wounded a heart,
reduced it to ashes
that saw love depart.
Feeling the passion
of love newly found,
a sense of rebirth
as a soul finally healed
soared from the earth.
Each poem is a remnant
of all that I feel,
and of all that I see –
whatever the costume,
each poem is me.
87. Portrait of an Angel
A girl in a bright floral dress
smiles as the camera points her way,
at her side a woman much older,
wrinkled face, thin hair of gray;
together they hold a diploma,
a piece of paper framed in black,
the symbol of a milestone reached,
a journey begun, no turning back.
Click
Photographed, they smile in tandem,
remember a pact made years ago,
when the child needed an angel
to save her soul from life’s hard blow;
a vow undertaken, a promise made –
two crusaders fought side by side,
now, touching that high school diploma,
the angel left, her heart full of pride.
88. Puppet Master
I sit here in silence,
so tired of the weeping,
and tired of the anger
that keeps me from sleeping;
the puppet master rules,
plays with my emotions,
determines what I am to do
to add to his devotions.
His selfish needs demand
that I obey his words,
that I forget my wounds,
a heart in broken shards;
so long I played his game,
sought to win his soul,
but now I see the truth:
subservience was the goal.
I am no prize awaiting claim,
no puppet on a string –
I have at last regained myself,
clasped the golden ring;
my freedom comes at heavy cost,
the tears I shed are true,
for once upon a golden time
I had a friend in you.
89. Pythia
So many voices calling out,
each in private torment,
despairing of release
from their living chains;
voices flood her head,
an endless dissonance,
screaming like Furies
in thirst for her blood.
Her heart wept for them,
sought to heal the wounds
and make the crying stop
before it broke forever;
but her heart was weak
and growing ever tired,
scarred and fractured
by her own discordance.
The cacophony grew,
cascading like a waterfall,
catching her in its grip
and sweeping her away –
so only barren rocks
heard her own death cry.
90. Rain Child
Heavy drops pelt down again,
throwing themselves maniacally
against thick panes of glass;
they dance like a dervish,
howling in the cold wind
that attacks us yet again.
I should be impervious,
rain child that I am,
long accustomed to tears
descending from Heaven,
turning the rich soil to mud
and pushing it into the sea;
yet this storm penetrates,
its damp chill within my bones
causing me to shiver,
casting a dark veil over eyes
long despairing of the sun,
surrendering at last to water.
I shall simply go outside,
stand motionless in the rain
and let it expend its fury
without opposition;
perhaps, if I am blessed,
I too will wash into the sea.
91. Release
A captive on an island,
no ship to take me home,
I sit and watch the breakers
casting evanescent foam,
or gaze up at the herons
gliding through the air,
set to fly so far away,
and pray I might be there;
to leave this lonely exile
imposed by mocking Fate,
to risk one final voyage –
I would not hesitate,
but run with open arms
into the sea’s embrace,
once more to set my spirit free
and find my destined place,
where I shall not feel torment
nor shed such futile tears,
where I shall rest eternally,
at last released from fears.
92. Requiem: Beslan, Russia, September 2004
In the Name of God:
white caskets in a row,
flowers and teddy bears,
faces in silver frames
never to grow older;
just days ago
they played in the sun
and ran with the wind,
saw white unicorns
in the clouds above;
just days ago
they knew no evil
and fought no war,
no distant battles
assaulted their ears;
then you came:
killing the innocent,
brutal assassins –
how could you do this
in the Name of God?
93. Resurrected by Love
A soul scarred by sorrow,
a heart bleeding dry,
no life force existing
to silence my cry,
alone in the darkness
I despaired of the pain,
afraid of the cost
of loving again;
but you in the shadows
could see I still breathed
and came to my side
unwilling to leave,
with love as the salve
you healed all my wounds
and brought me release
from the lashes of doom;
resurrected by love
was a spirit once dead,
now able to rise up
and grasp life instead,
to cast aside torment
at the sight of your face,
and know that salvation
had come by your grace.
94. Salt Spray
In the embrace of ocean,
cradled by maternal waves,
I float away from earth,
the shoreline receding
as if the creation of a dream
from which I now wake;
salt spray caresses my face,
arousing me once again:
the sea is my mother,
and I surrender my soul.
From water I came,
tossed upon the land
like doomed alien jetsam,
sentenced to walk shores
ever foreign to my heart;
but the cry of the sea
compels my escape,
and bonds fall away
as my foot touches water,
salt spray sets me free.
95. Seascape
I sit entranced by the waves
of the ocean that saw my birth,
watching the boats pass by
with their nets and traps;
the sea has brought me peace,
as it has always done,
healing the wounds of life
with its soft embrace.
Sea-people are a breed apart,
the land has no pull for them,
it is water that calls out
and purifies their souls;
I hear the music of the deep
as I sit upon this jagged cliff,
I am hypnotized and captured
by sounds unknown to most.
My spirit is forever here,
singing aloud, safe at last,
and when my end has come,
my ashes will join in the melody.
96. Seasons
Summer flies too quickly,
a torch that flares to life
with newborn promise,
only to fade from view
as leaves turn gold.
In the rush of Autumn
I look back at the sun,
watching days shorten,
light become darkness,
warmth turn cold.
It is Time that I fear:
the passing seasons reflect
the rushed path of my life,
the haste I feel to love
before my dreams turn old.
97. Silent Scream
The dragon seeks release,
longs to roar and ignite,
searing its surroundings
with fiery breath;
but I will not give in:
by will alone I contain,
silence this beast
I know too well.
Still, I feel its presence
and fear its flames,
keeping watch upon it
lest it break free;
yet, when sleep comes
and I fall defenceless,
it signals its existence
in a silent scream.
98. Snowdrops
A dormant patch of soil
awakes to see the Sun,
a herald long awaited
that Spring has now begun;
dour Winter fades away,
and as the days grow longer
the new warmth of the Sun
makes my soul grow stronger,
revived from sullen stupor
by the courage of a flower
to burst through barren ground
and drink sweet vernal showers,
at last to wash away the frost
in which my heart was chilled,
a resurrection of the spirit,
testament to human will.
99. So This is Goodbye
I surrendered briefly
to a false allure,
captivated by bright lights
and friendly facades,
so foolish to believe
anything was real.
A heart blindly given
in a search for love
where pain only lay,
the wounds I endured
leaving my soul
unable to feel.
No longer I play
the part of the clown
with bells on her head,
laughing out loud,
trying too hard
never to cry.
Here there be dragons
afire in my mind,
consuming the remnants
of masks set aside,
and now I accept
this is goodbye.
100. Song for Jessica
Where have you flown
on gossamer wings,
do you feel the sadness
your leaving brings?
Perhaps you were chosen
to ascend to the stars,
bring others the blessing
that might have been ours.
Perhaps you are watching
and seeing us grieve,
we wanted you with us
but you had to leave.
Our love soars along
wherever you go,
live always in our hearts,
child we did not know.
101. Stillborn
That first breath,
lungs drinking in
the elixir of life,
never came;
formed in the womb,
bathed in the fluid
that nourishes life,
in vain.
Emergence sudden,
not yet the time,
too frail to survive
that night;
you were held briefly
by rough alien hands
as your nascent soul
glimpsed light.
Now you rest alone,
a name inscribed
upon a tiny plaque,
at peace;
God grant us comfort
as we grieve a loss
from which there is
no release.
102. SuperWoman
Red cape over blue jeans,
in well worn old sneakers,
she never believed
that women were weaker,
so she took on more tasks
and worked longer days,
outshining the men
but receiving less pay;
the kids were hers also,
to nurture and tend,
while her husband went off
to earth’s far flung ends.
She tended the house
and paid all the bills,
fixed broken bicycles
with hard-gotten skills,
planted the garden
when Spring came around,
digging and hoeing
the rock solid ground.
She slept very little
with so much to do,
no time to sit back
or come down with flu,
for chores never ended
and time never stopped,
she knew what it meant
to work till you dropped.
So she dreamt of a time
when quiet would come,
with no kids to look after,
no work to be done,
when all by herself
she could read a good book
or write in her journal,
where no one would look,
that having it all
was much over-rated,
leaving her weary
and greatly frustrated.
Her dreams were on hold,
on no journeys departed,
the book she would write
was not even started,
but still she endured
what each day would take
to carry the load
of that “S” on her cape.
103. Swiss Air: Flight 111: In Memoriam
The bay still hears your fall,
each wave still echoes
that final scream of death
as you plummeted down;
the rocks along the shore
bore you silent witness,
immobile, unable to catch
this fragile falling star.
I stand beside a monument
with the flame of a candle,
the fire of life that became
the blaze of death for you;
we shall ever remember
the night you came to us,
plunged into our hearts
and came to rest forever.
104. Tall Ships
Captive at the jailer dock,
their running sails laid down,
so fierce deep water beckons
to ships tied to the ground,
whose ancient wooden walls
seek the freedom of the sea,
to fly before the loving wind
that beckons them to flee,
escape the earth unmoving
in search of ocean waves,
and, should the sea be angry,
to lie at last in ocean graves,
where long lost wrecks await
the coming of the new,
a brotherhood of sailing ships
in depths of darkest blue,
impervious to time and chance,
their fated endings come,
how much I long to sail with you
when my freedom has been won.
105. Tea with Emily D.
I sat with Emily today,
sharing the shadows of our lives
while sipping tea in china cups;
she spoke of antique books
and violets she did not pluck
from the verdant landscape
she denied herself.
I spoke to her of ships at sea,
the pounding of waves
lulling me to sleep at night,
when the shadows grow too strong;
how winter chills my soul
and summer sends it soaring.
A pleasant afternoon we had,
Emily and I alone,
sitting behind drawn curtains,
savouring the lilt of words
that take flight of their own volition,
rejecting our reluctance
to give them wings.
Beautiful poetry...I was missing these poems!
ReplyDeleteRegards,