How small are we how
quiet at the core in grief
when we have known love
Absence
Tag Archives: remembrance
When Death Comes
Eddie’s blues
I remember us singing sad old blues songs
how I would watch your lips for a cue
You would assure me by the look in your eyes
tell me I was doing well
And you played your guitar just like an angel
followed my voice in harmony
You played your guitar just like an angel
You’ll always be a part of me
Your daddy never did understand you
Said you never learned to be a man
Put your music and you down as worthless
Left you for lost he was a broken man
Night after night you played your heart out
Your fingers gave your soul some release
I know now that you were never meant to get old
I just hope that you found some peace
And you played your guitar just like an angel
followed my voice in harmony
You played your guitar just like an angel
You’ll always play on for me
Three Hearts
What will we recall
years from now
Slip on sandals shuffling slow
Three hearts
wisp of a willow
Our thoughts unspoken
as we go
Mary’s Door
I wander slow
past Mary’s door
I pause to see
her tapestry
hanging still
in her dark window
Mary’s door
locked from the inside
Mary don’t
live there no more.
Mapping
Building cairns out of stones and leaves
and bits of trees forest sea debris
everywhere I go I leave a print a hint
shred or shadow a little piece of me
i may have said once long ago invisible
is the one and only honest way to be
but i must have left a door ajar
perceptions change I’ve travelled far
what i feel is real is it’s alright if when
my time is past a stranger or almost friend
finds among fragments along life’s path
remembrance of the presence i once wore
Canyon Song
Ah beautiful places
where we come
risk our lives as though
we’re gifted more
than just this precious one
icy water’s cold
reflects a wide eye blue
summer serene sky
swallowing our breath
a final anti hero cry
mighty river song barely a ripple
flows on by
In Memory of The Woman I Never Knew Whom I Have Known All My Life
Her house for sale now
real estate sign face down on the lawn
implies more than declares
No one, I think, has checked for days
She has gone from there
I don’t know when
We mind our own business here
in quiet neighbourhoods
No matter we exchanged no words
I honour her now—-trespass sometimes required—-
I honour her now
stand before her house absent of her there behind the drape
I step across her early morning lawn
photograph this birdbath in spring sunlight
imagining she loved it once
enough to place it precisely there
equidistant from window and sidewalk
the private the public
and we smile our smiles
Talk is not needed here
the water has all gone to vapour.
Last Night I Dreamed of Leonard Cohen
Last night I dreamed of Leonard Cohen
in silhouette on a park bench in Montreal
he had a paper bag beside him
in his hands he held nothing at all
I thought to just keep on walking
as I have never met Leonard the man before
but in the dream I look a place beside him
and he asked me, “who’s been keeping score?”
In a hush, I answered, “I am still learning,
but, like you, I am not so sure of this game.”
He smiled then so slowly as he buttoned up his coat
“It’s alright now, you are not to blame.”
We watched as the moon turned to ashes
its fragmented silver covering cool ground
A cowboy drummer sprinkled orange peel
served us steamed honour, words without sound.
From the bag, there rose up a bluebird
spreading her wings as she soared for the stars
An accordion player tipped his hat as he passed
he was late for the night train to Mars.
Knowing without knowing the possibilities in dreams
I sat next to the Poet Melancholy like a friend
collecting silver sage for my own guarded house
food and drink for my Garden of zen
I dreamed last night of Leonard Cohen
and me sitting on a park bench in old Montreal
a choir of two howling in dissonant harmony
“Je ne regrette pas rien,” the final lament.
And I wondered if that was all could be true
or if it was only circumstance made it so
a rhythm maker’s journey through eternity
gathering the heartbeat of the soul
for reclamation to the Tower of Song.
[and now, a quiet goodnight. lift you soft in the pale November light.]
Silent Ghosts of Abundance
I was huff running on a treadmill in the utilitarian grey zone
one of many in a row monitoring heart rates and breathing hard
listening to Hayden or Taj Mahal or maybe The Tragically Hip
who can remember when the setting is permanently on shuffle?
I was repeating a mantra something about the importance of anti-heroism
visualizing myself not a speed sprinter for speed is not in vocabulary here
but an enduring ego long distance never surrender steady on medium paced trotter
Light-footed I do not like the sound of a heavy stomp landing
I was watching through myopic eyes the silent stealth of the fit and semi fit and average
listening for the underbeat of a motivating cue and aware of free flowing thoughts
You you you holographs suspended in the ether I know you or knew you
Dormant for one hundred years but alive and well dancing in your effect
I cannot run forever going nowhere while staring straight ahead into the blur
Nor can I thank you now from this distance and with my voice grown so weak
Unless I believe you present for this fragment next to me after and through time
Yes maybe that’s all there is or what must do, good after gratitude is still gratitude
Where are you where am I scrolling light years between faces and half dreams
I welcome your resurfacing to remind me of all the memories hovering beyond reach
randomly appearing unbidden as I forget about trying to remember your names
You whose temporary life collisions held the keys unlocking doors of obstruction
gifted generously so I might pass this far intact. Cumulative and barely panting.
Pencil Notes 