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🪶
I was a fool once
maybe there is more than that
Live in the present🪶
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🪶
Were you there, unblinking
to catch the sight
of the pink shoe taking flight
from a hurried woman’s mid step
last Wednesday?
No camera lens preserved it
though there may be others
who return to the smile maker memory
In the moment, scenes
arrange themselves
no director calling
no X cues on any floor
improbable improv unintended
You or I,
privileged serendipitous witness
accept the award with grace
its existence ours to keep, or
so we believe—-
While in the photo we captured
tacked with satisfaction
inside a frame only
a skeleton remains🪶
Peace to all who enter
Banner that above each hall
I roll my sister toward
a sunshine room
There are so few places here to roam
She talks more or less nonsense than
before she crossed the line
Was it by choice or was she pushed
like Thompson’s Pavanne
No one knows or speaks aloud
I must have been looking elsewhere
on that day
Caught the remainder change rolling my way
I miss my sister—
Where has she gone?
A rolling complication
Two wide eyed blues afraid of what is
What’s to come what may may not be
Cracked fragments rising falling memory
Drummers dance to rhythms of their
nameless mountain valley reverie
Unsigned solace
I hear voices of heart song offerings
open hands drawing grace in unity
We look with eyes of thoughts and dream
She asks me if I see the baby crying in the sky🪶
All the people
I know are peacemakers
I don’t know
so many people so
What do I know🪶
I might leave it as it is
for now
As this winter sunlight frames its
perfect invasion
Moss flourishes in crevices
burrowing thoughts
mischief lodgers
I might be careful when walking
step between the soft
mounds
with my black rain boots
soles fleshy with mud and decaying
Maple leaves
In progress works must steep
to ooze toward their finishing
When feverish lean back
and dream
Watch as daylight fades and
light no longer illuminates the smear
of unclean windows
Watch as the tall silent spruce
loom against the grey milk of twilight
silhouettes whispering
things just beyond your muffled
audio reach🪶
Standing near centre
Am I to float or to fly
Hiraeth versus breath🪶
Calm, The Reader reads in the dimming light
from volumes whose titles I can never quite see
Yet I sit below and occupy my scarred bench
watch and live through word and image
reflected from his eyes
A disciple, I exist vicariously
He reads the ponderings of sages
and he reads volumes of rant apolitical views
He reads poetry, philosophy, stories of now and then
cultures of the ancients, war and peace, religion too
He reads of adventure, nature, stars, the galaxies
He reads history, cookery, jubilation and yearning
confessions of fools and tutorials by thieves
When the night’s lamps illumine
I see his gaze pause to almost lift
but the pages’ grip is strong and he remains—-
Reason and light yawn to fade
We are two blessed or two doomed
The Reader and I
levitating or stumbling
between suspense and discovery
hunger and satisfaction
Until volumes of plenty
cease dropping from a mischief sky
or blindness grows in our minds and our eyes
we’ll be bound between cover and pages
the foolish and the wise🪶
Feelings: none is wrong
Some of these grow wings to fly
I stood a moment at the edge where
Your wounds may have bled awhile
And clouds glanced this way then passed on
Your monkey mind silenced by December’s cold
So hope slipped through
I felt it too
Peace from the inside🪶
Pencil Notes 