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...

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...

Duck Tales and Butterfly Stories….

Hello folks, how? Well it certainly has been a long time since my last post! I have renewed energy and hopefully I will continue to keep this blog going and updated. In the past little while I have been writing a lot of poetry and have been quite creative in this department. I have also been traveling a lot and for the most part, these have been golfing trips – Phoenix and Palm Springs. I did take time to go to New York recently and this opened my eyes to possibilities and my path to creative redemption. This great city is an inspiration to me and I know that it inspires a great many other people too. How can anyone not love going to the MET or to MoMA and then coming away from there thinking of all the greatest painters of all time. I recommend taking a walk through Central Park after viewing art… So having said all that I am just going to post two of my latest poems and let y’all be the judge – enjoy! 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...

It was an extraordinary beautiful day….

One thing that I have noticed having reached the proverbial “middle age”, and I am sure I am not alone here, is that I find myself thinking a lot about my youth. Over the years I have both painted and poeticized my thoughts and feelings about growing up in the north and about living along the Athabasca River. For the most part I can remember them as the good old days and as I think hard now, not many bad times get past a sort of happy filter in my memory banks. I guess I have repressed the awful times enough that they are somewhere in a deep closet at the bottom, covered by layers upon layers of other things that I think are better for me now. I can remember a lot of things from the past and I am asked by my brothers to tell them stories of what it was like when we were young and they are amazed that I can remember so many things and in such clarity. I have always been like that and many times as a kid I would lay in my bed I would recall all the things that I did that day. And as stories go I would also tell other people of my stories and I remember one person saying that I lived the life that they only read about in books. Sometimes I can imagine that Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn and I were good buddies – how I miss them now. I too have read these books and I think everyone should read at least one Mark...

About Old Friends, Place and Time…

“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… It seems now like it was only a few days ago that I wrote this poem for my brother when he passed away at the age of 31 in 1990. Funny, they say, how time flies. It was my brother’s birthday the other day and he would have been 53. There are times when I still miss him! And, I guess for many of you there are others whom have already gone before and you too remember something(s) that made them special which time can’t erase. For me it is a bit about the place and the memories associated with them. I am back in my community of Fort McKay for a few days and I look around...

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,...