The Googly-Eyed Tree

for Odin, Oscar, Jax and Persy

 

The googly-eyed tree

is something to see

though not very tall

I seem to recall.

 

With a trunk whisper grey

and branches that fray

when the winter wind blows

and its sap barely flows.

 

In summer its leaves

quiver gently on the breeze 

and its canopy, so bold

is a sight to behold.

 

When the warm sun shines down

and illuminates its crown

its roots reach down deep

to water it will reap.

 

When fall comes around

it's samaras flutter down

after just a short flight

to the ground for the night.

 

But you'll never forget

its best feature yet

and the perfect disguise

are its googly-eyes! 

The lake in January

 

At bedtime the lake was still frozen

a grey tundra wasteland

too thin to skate on.

Earlier, a gaggle of geese

goose-stepped their way by

mockingly, or so it seemed.

It had been frozen for a week

but days of rain had turned it

mushy and uninviting.

It is January, dreary

and the longest month.

Even the birds,

the most cheeriest of creatures

are elsewhere!

(January 2021)

 

Pandemic Spring

And spring arrived!

Not roaring like a lion

nor gentle like a lamb.

Yet it arrived

and with it persisted the darkness

borne on the year before.

 

But still, could be heard 

birdsong, and the busyness of bees.

The leaves on the trees

refused to stay

tight in their buds;

and everywhere, shoots

pushed their way

through he warming earth.

(April 2020) 

 

 

The Hug

As luck would have it 

the sun was quite kind today

between the snow squalls

and the rain showers.

Then later,

in the garden,

the kindness covered everything

in a warm embrace;

though winter

still lurked

gingerly in the shade.

(February 2020) 

 

 

The Burden

The load is heavy

as he trudges down the street

that goes nowhere.

The hawk on the post;

the soft breeze through his shirt;

the all-knowing crow on the pole;

he is cognizant of all.

But not of the snake,

clandestine,

beneath the flora in the ditch.

He must sidestep 

a swarm of ants

where the road meets the shoulder

but still,

he trudges with the thorn

sharp in his side.

soon, he can go no further;

the road ends at the fence;

languishing under the weight

of jumbled vines.

Weary from the weight

he must recall his steps;

backtracking

undeviating

unfeeling

unnoticed

to the beginning;

to the source;

to the burden

waiting within.

(March 2019) 

 

Morning Doodly-Do on Vaseux Lake

 

Gossip and chatter

doesn't really matter

unless the source

is the birds, of course.

 

And the sight of a heron

could easily be heaven

if you're looking up high

and see it go by.

 

If the geese are so silly

honking willy-nilly

and the beaver swims by

just let out a sigh.

 

for at last you are home

with no reason to moan

with mornings like this

you've a lifetime of bliss. 

 

 

Under The Weather

 

We knew it would come, but still

it was shocking

waking to temperatures far below seasonal.

Plunged into the depths of winter

after a brief, sweet taste of spring. 

 

Last week, I was paddling

this week, I am huddled

in front of the fire.

The wind chill limiting all outdoor pursuits.

Words like polar vortex and arctic air 

are tossed around every hour of every day.

 

Last night's skiff of snow

will be here for the duration now

as will the roaring wind.

Time to stay inside, under the weather and ask

Why is Mother Nature so cruel? 

(February 2021)

 

I Can Hardly Wait 

 

Patience is a virtue and doesn't belong to me.

I've played this game before and I bore too easily.

The waiting I refer to, it happens every year

Beginning rather slowly before sliding into gear. 

It's just the same old story and one without much zing

But here I am again, anticipating spring!

(February 2021)

 

 

 

 

Poem of a Portrait (Starry Night - Van Gogh)

 

The town slept lost in their peaceful slumber

unaware of the revelry in motion outside.

The midnight sky host to the engorged moon

and the haloed stars and the dancing wind

cavorts over the rolling hills and the forest below.

Amused, the cypress, standing 

sentrylike in the night sky, watches over all.

 

 

 

 FLOATING

 

Deep within slumber I do float

my body, my vessel, is my boat.

This hearth though will fail to keep

my soul's passage across the deep

echelons of time and space

where ghosts I meet have no face.

I fear not passage through these veils

to other worlds my dreams do sail.

(April 2021)

 On Tiny Raindrops

(Pandemic)

 

Tiny raindrops will sweeten the ground

As the arriving swallows swoop around.

 

And the frogs chorus sing so mellow

And buttercups fill the hills with yellow.

 

The red-winged blackbirds with a flash of fire

Fly to the cattails at the edge of the mire.

 

And none will know of this virus, not one 

Will give thought at last when its done .

 

And would they care, either bird or tree

If people succumbed to it completely.

 

And mother nature, she doesn't care

If we are neither here or there.

April 2021

 

(Imitation Poetry Exercise

There Will Come Soft Rain by Sara Teasdale)

 

Time Goes By

On the run 

like a long white train 

in the night.

Winding its way,

away somewhere.

Swashing through

the muck and the mire.

Eventually,

catching sight of the finish line

as it reaches the sea. 

(February 2021) 

 

NO ESCAPE

I feel you here 

musing with the goddess of the hunt

by the sacred spring

at the sanctuary of Artemis.

 

 

 

You whisper softly my name

sending it swiftly on the breeze

to where I stand now

at the Temple of Apollo.

 

 

I catch a fleeting glimpse of you

among the ruins at Ramnous

cavorting with the oleander pink, in full bloom

nodding to the sea below.

 

 

 

Your jealous heart will not stop my wander

to every corner of this earth.

But your beauty and spirit

will always call me home.

(November 2019)

 

MINDFULLNESS

My head hurts

full of a million

unruly words

all clamoring for attention

None will listen

or follow direction

Putting words in their place

is a task without end.

Be quiet children!

Let me sleep. 

 

 

 THEN CAME NOVEMBER

The wild month tinged with melancholy

and the promise of shortened days,

dull and dark.

Just barely a day old

it brought the long awaited rattle of rain on my roof

and then later that week, a hard frost

which finally decimated by summer begonias.

A mad rush of snowbirds head south

in their heavy-weight RV's.

And none to soon 

as one day later winter made an early debut

with a premature snowfall, delicate as lace

but rapidly melting.

My stripped and beautiful birches

grieving the loss of their dearly departed leaves

creak and moan in the wind.

A sobering reminder 

that we will soon be plunged 

into the cold shadows of winter

where the bone structure of the landscape

can be felt from every angle,

where bitter blasts bite at exposed hands and faces

and hard frosts extinguish what's left of the year.

We will return, once again,

to a plain sense of things.

(November 2013)

 

 Dead of Winter

 

Where do the birds go at night

in the thick of winter when the wind could smite

a soul to death with its wicked bite.

 

When the frost lies thick upon the field

those tiny creatures where is their bield

against the moon and the stars' cruel shield. 

(March 2021) 

 

WINTER'S GREY

Winter's grey

cannot dampen a warm heart

cannot steal a sunny perspective

Nor taint a grateful mind.

For in that soul

lies eternal summer.

(December 2019)

 

 There Is A Story To Tell

Inside every tree

inside each flower

even the tiniest smidgens of being

have a story to tell.

Stop! Hear!

Take the time to listen

lest the flower's withering petal

should blow from reach

on the departing wind

keeping its secrets within.

(March 2019)

Shooting Star - Dodecatheon pulchellum

Bud of twelve gods,

leafless scapes rising up

from a rosette of lance-like leaves

bearing umbers of dark-throated 

magenta flowers with swept back petals

adorned with white collars

and a downward pointing beak

under a yellow crown.

Oh lovely one, 

you are a sight to behold! 

(March 2021)

 

 

 

 

In the autumn 

of my life

winter 

is far too long

The sun 

filled with ice

gives no warmth 

and the sky is never blue.

February 2021