star magnolia succumbs
ancient limbs grown weary
one winter’s weight takes her all the way down
mourning gazes from dirty windows
absence reels in repetition
barren’s such heavy baggage
imagination is comfort escape
so dig a hole for remembrance
plant a seedling
aid her fragile will reach to grow
one bright spring birdsong morning
a single dogwood blossom opens
four tender petals
a fragile peace
balance on the wind🪶
No silence like beauty in the alpine
Snowshoe edges slap in four four time
Below these banks, streams push boundaries
A pale sky promises more light tomorrow
This day is explored with slowed heartbeat
I surrender to forest tranquility
And you appear, Wisakedjak
Smoky gray ghost gliding on soft wings
To sing to me your whisper song
Lull me with your sweet corvid lullaby
Steal morning’s rations from my mitten grip🪶
All the people
I know are peacemakers
I don’t know
so many people so
What do I know🪶
Ukraine Ukraine Ukraine
Courage still standing stained with sorrow
Peaceful world citizens reflect humanity
weary of destruction violence war
One moment hour day one year too long
Distant bells are ringing with your song
Spirits of the dead perpetual echo choir
They paint the future in our skies
Sow seeds of new hope in bloodless fields
Dreams of fearless children free to walk
quiet streets to peaceful galleries once more
All knowing well their song of desire
resounding in every language every mind
Why war must still be a question when
Peace flags fly our all universal answer🪶
I stand inside this doorway
with patience and my daydream
What thoughts arise between now
and the moment somebody utters when
Look around at all these photographs
none of which I see my reflection in
Seconds pass and in the background
a choir is repeating what John Lennon
said so cogently a long long time ago
And here I stand next to where you might
be standing quiet too asking in one voice
How long (how many lifetimes) until we win
Winter earth
Hints of Spring
Ice sings a ripple song
Big sky
Serenity clouds
Moments of still
Eagle content
This quiet watching
Canada Day
How long
I’ve lived already
barely
realizing the quiet quite obvious:
inspiration
means breathing in
while conscious.
I aspire now
to more than
mere presence.
One day
all that breathes life
and enchants our souls
all that we love
all truth and beauty for which
our lonely hearts yearn
will be saved from ruin
by subtle maps drawn for us
in the quiet rooms of
poets.
Pencil Notes 