My Living Area

My Living Area….

I came in,
I placed my umbrella, precarious, against the wall,
I hung my coat up to dry and
I put my muddy boots on the rack.

I walked into the living room,
I sunk into the couch and comfortable
I turned on the television…
I watched a movie.

January 2016….

We Touch the Sky….

We Touch the sky!

Gone now are all those beautiful innocent moments – of my youth,
When every step was light and carefree, unplanned, unsullied,
Where all the colours of life, light and shadows, played and played…
My muscles moved, my hands reached up and I touched the sky!

Then, just at the right moment I turn my head and see a robin flying, land,
I feel the drop of moisture in a cool quiet pool, in the sound of its splash,
And a second later – rain, music on the steps, rata-tat-tat, and on the roof…
My body memorizing things, unconsciously knowing what my mind would forget!

The smells of life, accompanied by the tunes of our times,
Apple pie baking, cinnamon wafting – a peaceful sensual essential,
The Beatles’, “A Hard Days Night” – a delightful sound phenomenon…
I feel all that energy; it was real, it was metaphysical, it was beautiful!

Solar winds touch my soul now and again, and every now and then
I hear the voice of my father, and I see the face of my brother,
I am still with them; a great part of my world, my life, exists in our past,
And it’s okay that they are gone, because at least… they lived!

March 2014….

2 poems: “Duck Tales” & “I Have to Wonder About Butterflies”

Duck Tales….

You wouldn’t believe what I saw today,
Oh no you won’t, you wouldn’t!
Nor would you believe what they had to say,
Oh no you can’t, you couldn’t!

Words overheard over a glass of ale,
Each time, it’s always the same,
And each and every one who told their tale,
They thought it untrue, and lame.

Can it be true, it’s a false account,
Fictitious, at any rate,
Like the one, of the sermon on the Mount,
A sweet, yet poignant date.

This tale when understood, it has no shame,
Fervently re-creating;
Were two ducks performing in nature’s game,
Two ducks were fornicating.

I guess the only thing that’s left to say,
And perhaps you’ll think it’s cool,
You to will tell that what we saw that day,
Was done in the hotel pool.

Dec 2013….

I Have to Wonder About Butterflies…

An enterprising and colourful butterfly,
Flitted by and without notice, whispered in my ear,
And told me about all the amazing and curious things it saw,
And a thousand thoughts flooded my mind…
An inquisitive situation indeed!

In that one moment – life,
Caught in its winged aeronautical eddies,
Turning and swirling and dancing,
Knowing and learning and looking,
Caring and loving and passion…
Taunted me to fly,
To go with this brave, beautiful insect!

I set my sights to follow and my journey begins again,
Another cycle of life rotates into place…
Pushed this way and that way and up and down,
I go willingly, with my eyes open, with my heart exposed.

And from somewhere beyond here, I hear:
“Catch that butterfly and you catch the wind,
And then you may hear their words, many lifetimes of words,
But you will catch up to time immemorial,
And you will become… time future!”

And… listen, to the song of its wings;
You will hear the joys of its travels,
And… feel the song that it sings;
You will touch the angst of its knowledge!

Follow that butterfly and it will surely drive you crazy,
Follow it all the way to the moon or follow it all the way to the sun,
Follow and maybe you will crash and burn,
But if you don’t…

Follow that butterfly;
It wants me to follow;
It needs me to follow;
We all need to follow!

In the act of giving myself to this journey,
It is only then, upon a selfless outflow of energy,
That I am capriciously carried,
In a seemingly cavitating-myriad of directions,
By my newest winged friend,
Onto that inner-most semi-conscience precipice,
Where here and where far below,
Where beyond and in between,
Where the light stands, and
There, in the shadows of the trees…
Are seismic lines, cut and drilling platforms, cleared!

Then at the same time and in the same place,
In the reflections of the water,
On the puddles and lakes and in the streams and rivers,
Are the colour-coded stains of time!

“My ancestors are calling me…”

I have to wonder about butterflies!

March 23rd, 2014….

It was an extraordinary beautiful day….

It Was An Extraordinary Beautiful Day…

It was an extraordinarily beautiful day!
The birds, the bees, the bugs, the bears, and the beavers, breathing,
And I, imagining they all went about their business like they do each and every day,
Walking with my brother Roland, and with my thoughts, we began our journey,
Traveling along a rutted road our father had built.

This is the memory of that moment when life begins!
Our mother made sandwiches for our father for his lunch,
And I remember so well how we begged to be allowed to take it to him,
So eager we were for that journey alone, all those years ago,
Wanting to break free, beginning the long walk to now.

It was like no other time in our world to be 5 and 6 years old!
The sounds, the smells, the sights, are all feelings that still touch me today,
And all those youthful arguments that we had, like who should carry the lunch,
Echoes again, but it really didn’t matter cause we took turns anyway,
Quickly moving along, one skip ahead of time.

They did what they did for what they called growth!
The road on which we traveled had been hastily and easily cut,
And it was carved through a never-ending northern boreal forest, along a great rolling river,
In my thoughts it lies still, softly and silently tucked away for me to reach when needed,
Like now, not knowing the significance of the end and its’ unpredict-ability.

Then there came faintly, at first, the hard noise ahead!
I knew my father would be focused on the work intended for him that day,
And I knew this because of all the times he worked at home, building and constructing,
He would be intently watching from under the brim of his dusty hat,
Bulldozing, clearing the fields and forests, making a living.

The sounds of destruction scared us yet strange how were drawn to it!
We moved more slowly as we cautiously carried out what we said we would do,
And in those tense seconds we walked side-by-side moving to the danger, together,
Eventually reaching the edge of the clearing, seeing the dark trails of engine exhaust,
Rushing skyward, then out of sight, and into the great unknown.

It was a bright noon sun and a cool breeze was in the air!
I can still see that look when he turned and smiled and how is face lit up,
And all our hearts together were lifted into the clouds and beyond, into the ethereal,
We ran towards what was just a moment before, unreal and frightening,
Without hesitation, like squirrels we climbed the tracks to be by his side.

There is no way to explain how we felt right then!
My brother and I sitting on his lap, feeling how love wrapped us in his arms,
And both taking turns at steering that big, dirty, yellow beast, guided by his hand on ours.
Yet here in the future, and for other times past, I am at peace with the thought….
It was an extraordinary beautiful day!

2 Poems: “The Bravest of us All” & “And in a Second… Life”

“The Bravest of us All”

And never again shall his laughter be heard,
Or his humour which caused such levity,
Or the warmth and concern from every word,
Of his gregarious and uninhibited integrity.

Oh, I shall always remember his perpetual smile,
And the engaging charm in his mischievous eyes,
And his wit, clever words to disarm and to beguile,
No malicious intent, just a simple loving disguise.

The trees all proud, stand tall and guard the place,
Where my brother in his eternal sleep, transcends,
Where Mother Earth now holds him in her loving embrace,
And carries him to that other world; life never ends.

And so my friend it shall be but a moment,
We will meet again and though you are the first to fall,
Do you remember when we played, you are like a scout sent
To find and blaze a trail, the bravest of us all…

“And in a Second… life”

Time, time, time, is a second counting,
The seconds, the hours and the years – lifetimes!

The world has existed, since all beginnings,
Since time immemorial – since a second began.

And within that second… memory.

Our creation of the universe, is only a thought,
All beginnings, all middles and all ends – light speeds!

We each go to, our own other life,
Our own time within – ours, yours and mine.

And into life is born… hope.

In one thought, out, then into another,
Everywhere we go, here it is and they they are – time circles!

Youth and ages passing, count one and another,
Count us in between – count 1, 2, 3.

And for the most altruistic reason… love.

We lived and grow, cried and celebrate, forced through it all,
Worked hard, worn well and still some wasted – thoughts!

As each and every movement forward, in cadence we step,
In life we love, in thought we revel and through it all – in a second, death.

And consider this always… one universe, one world, one life – one second.

New York City Dream….

New York City Dream

I heard the ringing of the telephone,
It woke me from a morning dream, and
The voice said, “turn on the television!”
Still groggy from this wake up call
I stumbled in to my living room
And fumbling with the remote control
I tuned it-on-to-a-night-mar-ish scene,
And saw the world come tumbling down,
New York, new york – old death.

They also heard the ringing telephones,
And saw it all on the television,
And could not believe their eyes,
So they called their friends to talk about it,
And they all talked about it,
From one home on the reservation,
To the one next door then next door again,
Until all who wanted to talk about it, did.
They all said or asked and wondered,
“What are we going to do, what are they going to do?
Get on with our lives, I guess that’s the best thing,
But we live next door to the biggest oil companies in Canada;
Could our homes be next?”
The world comes tumbling down,
The alarms sounded and moments, minutes
Began tocking, ticking, tolling.

We all heard the sirens ringing, singing
Many songs of death, alive
Through miles of cables
From ground controls to satellites, images
Beamed in to all our homes.
The horror and the sorrow.
Unspeakable noise, sounds and sights
Of fire, of clouds of dust and tiny bits of glass,
Of devastation, of death, DEATH
And shards of lives forever crushed,
Scattered to the ends of the earth, beginning
At the billowing piles of smoke, signals
We all saw, still see
That the world is tumbling, tumbling, down,
Crashing, smashing, bashing,
Washing away any thoughts
Of peace at home or peace of mind.

What reality is this?
Who could have done such a thing?
Why is it happening to us? Why?
Where is all of our security?
Who is looking out for us?
Questions, thoughts, words
In anguish, voices filled with pain,
Looks of disbelief, anger and hatred,
All mixed, intertwined,
People, countries coming together,
Gathering, talking, planning,
Retaliation, retribution, retrogression.
And the world comes tumbling down, down, down.
History continues to re-write it-self.

Columbus, Cortez, Cartier,
They all had their voice, still
Their stories ring out, unheard
Our ancestor’s stories are going, gone, times
Though when we speak
Clearly, directly, and every word
Is annunciated precisely,
Not too loud and not too soft,
But the oral tradition is lost;
Deaf ears hear but have no soul.
The stories spin with life, cycles, circles around,
The wheels turn
And leave ruts, run, a trail
Through trees in an ancient land, modern
Voices which still talk about the first white men
Who set foot on this great continent,
Who built their dreams on the red graves
Of all the devastated, destroyed, desecrated
So called pagan souls, Christian thoughts
Of our ancestors, their graves are now your graves,
The world did tumble down up-on-us,
But we rebuilt our lives and so to will you, and
The world will be a better place.

Frederick R. McDonald….

Painting Photography Poetry