Late August 2020

 Day, Dark As Night

Today there is no dawn 

for skies are black as night,

with sheets of tattered rain

blurring views of gardens

oversaturated with ennui.

Reflected in the mirror-sky 

greyness fills in with nimbostrati.

a cup of tea to wet the whistle

drowns the spirit, pushes any thoughts

of sunlight out to sea.

Better to close the blinds than

dwell upon another hour of this downpour.

The ever-increasing blackness of sky-clouds

recede to purest raindrops, now full of hope.

Perhaps the sun will reveal itself tomorrow.

© August 2020

Decisions, Decisions

It came before we’d headed out the door

with blankets, buckets, and a beach umbrella, 

covered with pansies and butterflies (it was

your mother’s, not mine). So we sit on the porch

waiting it out, listening to the power of water,

tap tap tapping on the metal roof, gushing through 

the eaves and out the downspout, flooding 

the paths and lawn. Within minutes, the road gutter 

is filled to the top of the curb. Suddenly it’s sunny again, 

and we’re off, forgetting the sandwiches, cheese, and 

pitted cherries on the kitchen counter.

© August 2020

Sober Thought

    In response to Mary’s Expectations

There is no path within the forward passage of our time where wallowing presents a pretty picture. In the back garden, I sit alone with thoughts of hummingbird and finch. Regret utters sadness, and I will cry after reading poetry tossed out to share. I am not mad with the world as it teeters on the wall, its cracks like webs extending. The notebook and pencil by my side, I wait for chickadees to bathe and call all others in to lunchtime rituals. They clear my thoughts and bring my worries to the paper, where they do less harm. In spaces such as these where sunlight casts a shadow on the sundial, I remember words composed by those who minister to souls in crisis, and tears drip down upon my folded hands. Across the lane, the voices of the neighbour’s children interrupt the downward spiral of my discontentment with people’s lack of intellect. And then the sun breaks through the clouds to cast its light upon me and I find my fears are now replaced with glistening cobwebs and seed pods floating in the breeze. 

treading the path to 
daylight, past standing stones that
cast shadows over 
eclipsing moons, stars ask for
the answer: are we alone?  

© August 2020

Last Day of July - Words I've Written Therein

Uncles and Aunts

The story is old and the house is long gone

but the image remains, its message quite strong

As family grows, disputes are expected

those who are flexible they are respected

The black sheep of family is not who you think

though many could qualify, brought to the brink

The last one survives, a favourite to all

He lived his life peacefully, forgave, did not fall

for the stories, he learned compromise, grew 

and accepted those who had miscued

Each of the nine had their place in life’s story

I hope I can forgive as well and follow his glory.

© July 2020

A Whole New World

Four weeks motoring around England and Wales

No real plan of what to see or where to stay

Lunch always served before 2pm, dinner after 7

Saw many words with new meaning and spelling

Many voices spoke an English past grasping

So many more faces, so few open green spaces

Dark dingy buildings, dripping dull veg 

No cathedral in Colchester (despite Father’s memory)

Everyone was on the wrong side of the road

It was all an adventure for 16-year old miss

If only I’d had a sibling to share it all with

© July 2020

America Today

Will 

lies

turn to

fact when some 

people believe? Are

we all destined to fail this time?

This time we all fail, destined to

believe people are

some fact when

two turn.

Lies

will.

© July 2020

Missing in 2020 

Cleaning up Jericho Beach on a Saturday morning with friends

A fresh warm muffin with a latté at the Wood ‘N’ Frog

Hot buttered popcorn during a screening of the latest Bond flick

Joining 3000 geocachers at the Trade-X in Abbotsford

2pm Wednesday Book Club at Fleetwood Library

Riding the Red Rocket or Line 2 to Islington, west of downtown 

The next stop is Davisville, Davisville Station

A leisurely drive along the north shore of Lake Ontario to Napanee

Standing at the base of the CN Tower as an elevator goes up 342m

Tea for two after a stroll down the newly restored White Rock Pier

Yoga with Kimberley at 7:40pm on Thursday. Namaste

© July 2020

Prompt - Light

I See the Light

Thanks to Billy Collins

At first, this page is bare,
no happy thoughts to draw or sketch and
all I feel is loneliness and sorrow,
there seems no point to keep the engine running.
So, I set my eyes upon the light within the pages
of his words and I am free,
free to wander along hills of Nova Scotia
or rocky shores beside Cape Cod, where I can see
the brightness of the swirling waters,
the readiness of tides that never cease,
the clear and present steadiness of time returning,
always keeping me in mind when it decides to
capture my attention with a word or two.
How words can paint a picture with their touch,
express emotions with a sound or
flying above the ground with texture in between,
then I am off on an excursion through the valleys green
and flowers lavender, until I reach the whitest cliffs
where I will stop and breathe,
just breathe the life within me full of light
and melancholy, but it is rightly mine.



© June 2020

Nearing the end of June

Beholding at the Sunrise from the Top of Haleakalā

Set your alarm for 3am to catch the bus; hang on as
the road up is narrow and bumpy.

Wear a warm coat and mitts; it’s cold at 3000 meters.
(Don’t be that fool in shorts.)

Listen as the elder shouts at the sky in Hawaiian,
welcoming the new day and wishing us all good fortune.

Remember to bring a charger for your phone
as you’ll be capturing hundreds of photos.

Shadows creep slowly over the ocean and climb
Haleakalā as the crowd, speechless, sighs.

From the golden orb breaking the horizon until
the long shadow of the volcano grows over the valley,

we welcome this day as if witnessed for the first time and
it just gets better and warmer and more perfect.


© June 2020

Four Ways of Looking at the Totem Pole at the Royal BC Museum

The Thunderbird, it is said, takes human form by opening
his head up like a mask and taking his feathers off as if a blanket.

Self-contained and strong-willed in nature, the grizzly bear
holds copper to show off his wealth. He gets by with few friends.

The beaver teaches us to be persistent and to use what’s around us,
to value each team member and work towards harmony.

Dzunukwa, with red pursed lips, wants to steal the children to eat
so keep them safe and far away. When she appears, the show is over.


© June 2020

Another selection of thoughts

Long Beach, Vancouver Island

On the ancestoral lands of the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nations

After the long drive across the island
through Cathedral Grove, turn north
at the Pacific Rim National Park Reserve sign,
and drive about 15 kilometers on a passable road,
past groups of tsunami placards along Highway 4
to arrive at the open sandy Long Beach.
As the sun slides over the Clayoquot Plateau,
an almost empty broad shore invites outsiders
to behold perfection along with surfers heading out
to be swept back in by the heavy autumn waves
of the mighty Pacific. In another month,
every swell will be filled by daredevils
from all over, though maybe this year
there won’t be as many or they’ll try to
keep apart, or just sit on the beached driftwood
that have rested on the beach for decades, to become
hypothesized with those returning waves,
inching closer and closer to Purple Shore crabs
running the beach trail for food or
protection by Incinerator Rock’s crevices.
As sunset colours the clouds red indigo blue
to the west, the howl of the sea wolves
tells you it is time to go inside.
his-shuk-nish-tas-waak*


© June 2020

*everything is one

Glenn Gould Sitting on a Bench

Eighty
eight keys,
no hint at a bench in Hogtown
only a recluse with a wool
beret

© June 2020

Your Death Hit Me Hard

though somewhat delayed. Four years later, my insomnia started.
My doctor prescribed sleeping pills, but I stopped after six months,
because I got addicted and afraid. Finally, I went to psychiatrist,
who got me to breathe and relax and I learned that I cannot change
everything. Now I do yoga every day and walk and geocache (it’s a long story).
I wish you were here so I could tell you that I forgive you for not telling me and
I’ll love you always. Your no-longer-obedient but ever-braver daughter.

© June 2020

Words that need to be said

Forty-Five 

It’s change that scares you
so you lass out
and call the National Guard

It’s a world your parents
wouldn’t know
that makes you shake

and yell, and stomp
your feet like a 2-year old
who’s been told you can’t.

It’s a fear of failing,
looking stupid, having
people laugh at you

that drives you to erupt
and bully those who
only want to breathe.


© June 2020

A remembrance of Vancouver Island

Long Beach, Vancouver Island

On the ancestoral lands of the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nations

After the long drive across the island
through Cathedral Grove, turn north
at the Pacific Rim National Park Reserve sign,
and drive about 15 kilometers on a passable road,
past groups of tsunami placards along Highway 4
to arrive at the open sandy Long Beach.
As the sun slides over the Clayoquot Plateau,
an almost empty broad shore invites outsiders
to behold perfection along with surfers heading out
to be swept back in by the heavy autumn waves
of the mighty Pacific. In another month,
every swell will be filled by daredevils
from all over, though maybe this year
there won’t be as many or they’ll try to
keep apart, or just sit on the beached driftwood
that have rested on the beach for decades, to become
hypothesized with those returning waves,
inching closer and closer to Purple Shore crabs
running the beach trail for food or
protection by Incinerator Rock’s crevices.
As sunset colours the clouds red indigo blue
to the west, the howl of the sea wolves
tells you it is time to go inside.
his-shuk-nish-tas-waak


© June 2020