the green green wreath

the green green wreath

around a painted cross

so bright against the

fallen snow

it's not for show

i remember

the red red flower

upon the old man's collar

so sad among his

fallen friends

it's not pretend

i remember

the gold gold horn

alone in shining air

so pure the note

against the sky

too soon it dies

i remember

Nautical Disaster

I'm sure most of you have a favourite.. here's one of mine.  Thank you so much Gord Downie and The Tragically Hip.  

The seams are all uneven

In the quiet kitchen

In the quiet kitchen she stands,
Dim light on the window,
Upon the drip dry pans
What is she trying to find?
Her place in life?
A man?
A kindred spirit
Who understands?
And the children run by
The woman with the stare,
Toys in hand,
Unaware or without
Care how their mother fares.
She was once a little girl
In a far away place,
Found by God in
His infinite grace.
But with this finger I
Think I could trace
The disappointment in
Her heart.
With my finger gentle
Upon her breast
I would start,
Slowly descending along
The ribs, and lower
Where the legs part.
Perhaps you think it
Crude or cruel?
Yet it's all a symbol,
And I, a fool.

Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen 1934-2016













fireflies dance in
Leonard Cohen's eyes
does the world care
when a poet dies?
"not for me, my love,
my love don't cry.
wave to the stars
for your goodbye"

Venus

Pencil on paper

Venus in silhouette

big fish

the little fish knows it

Driving

Driving to a country bakery (as I often do), sun shining warm, bright, and beautiful upon newly green fields and roadside grasses, the air smelling of earthworms and freshly cut wood, I was suddenly struck by a familiar longing for her presence beside me in the car. This time it was of such force and quality I was brought to the verge of tears.

In the spring new life blooms and winged lovers tumble to earth, wrapped in feathered embraces.  Emerald green shoots force themselves up through mucky roadside marshes, somehow spotlessly reaching for golden light.  Clouds tower to unfathomable heights, impossible complexities of shadow and luminance, shaming kingdoms and gods in their majesty.

window

When I was a little boy I remember passing by other cars on the highway as my father drove us to Sunday school, the beach, or to visit grandparents.  I would look at the passengers as we pulled beside them.  It was a way to pass the time before the existence of handheld video games or mobile phones.  Once, as my eyes scanned the occupants of a car, I saw a little girl looking back at me, perhaps doing the same thing.  As we gazed at each other I suddenly felt an inexpressible bond form between us.  I sat up to see her better, and she did the same.  The cars moved away and then she was gone.

I never knew if she felt the bond I felt.  I liked to imagine she did.  There was no promise there.  There was no formal commitment or goal.  There was only a moment of contact.  That single moment in time felt like it meant everything.  There was an immanence there, an appearance of something on the plane of our gaze.

I've had the feeling since, not in passing cars, but a gaze shared beneath the blue sky and waving green grass.  I know what that feeling is now and can name it as love.  Did you know you don't get to choose the occupants of the cars you pass?

Begin here

Cole

there are no promises in this life
not even life itself
Cole was 11 months old when
he died of leukemia
how many prayerful nights his
parents sat watching his
tiny form
happy child brought down into
the grave
newly born dead before the
end of your first year

Once upon a mistake

There once was a father who hurt his little girl.  They lived in a house of screams.  I took that little girl and drove out where the sun sets, where the mountains point to higher things.  But the valleys were lower there, and the slopes too steep to climb.  We smashed ourselves to pieces along the precipices, the highway of "higher things."

That was my first mistake

I took that little girl back to her father and sat while he paced the kitchen floor.  He sneered and laughed at our failure, sunken eyes piercing a quiet daughter.  Chin thrust out he grabbed her arm and shook her like a rag.  Rising to my feet with fury in my throat and hands, I seized this man and threw him from his own house.

That was my second mistake  

There once was a mother who sat quietly while a father hurt her little girl.  She lived in a house of screams.  I left that mother sitting at a kitchen table while her husband lay sprawled outside the door.  I drove away without looking back or thinking about tomorrow, having done with "higher things."

That was my third mistake