As winter approaches,
Snow stretches its long arms down from
The mountain peak.
It feels its way through
Trees and fissures
Like an octopus' tentacles
Reaching down to the depths below.
Snow stretches its long arms down from
The mountain peak.
It feels its way through
Trees and fissures
Like an octopus' tentacles
Reaching down to the depths below.
October
Everything is colouring. The trees; their leaves. The skies; my eyes. When the world changes right in front of me I see fire touched life, brilliant in the fading light. One moment of release allows what we see. The colouring of our lives with each passing day, torn from one moment and creating the next. Everything is colouring the skies of my eyes. I see me and I see you. New shades bursting through the scenery. Colours are building, waving, and melting, finding something more in what we see- beyond the doors of our eyes; of our lives. If only we learn to open them and see the majesty when everything starts colouring. Maybe then, we will finally see.
Everything is colouring. The trees; their leaves. The skies; my eyes. When the world changes right in front of me I see fire touched life, brilliant in the fading light. One moment of release allows what we see. The colouring of our lives with each passing day, torn from one moment and creating the next. Everything is colouring the skies of my eyes. I see me and I see you. New shades bursting through the scenery. Colours are building, waving, and melting, finding something more in what we see- beyond the doors of our eyes; of our lives. If only we learn to open them and see the majesty when everything starts colouring. Maybe then, we will finally see.
My Mother Calls Me Ralph
My mother calls me Ralph Because I never stopped ralphing That caring loving understanding sadist is my best friend, my confidant. Vivacious, resilient and fiercely independent. She's cruel beyond measure A rock who grounds and supports me, who is heavy in my head. Her voice sings and sends me dread. No one inspires more understanding or more anger. She gave me everything. I couldn't BE without her. That woman. That superwoman. Of whom I am a mere copy. That mother, teacher, cab driver, therapist, lawyer, critic, prison guard, enemy, chef, speech pathologist, philanthropist, hero, role model, nurse, friend, mother. A truly memorable part of me. The woman who cares, even when we cannot see. We owe her everything. The one who helped us just BE. May 8, 2016. The End
It was the end and there was nothing to be done about it. In a moment she was twenty one again, and then it was over. In those last moment’s she would remain twenty one forever. Of course...
Once upon, a time a girl fell off her horse. She didn't cry, And she didn't pout. She got right back on, of course. February 18, 2016. Home
To walk along the grasses more And tread upon the mossy floor To wonder at the arbutus tree And see the birds flying free To join the should of those Who came in search of gold That wildness within us lies The culture of our lives where seas join the open shores And mountains sore from roof to floor With weather fair We are aware That here is better than there For when we go about our lives And travel near and far There is a voice within that cries "Go out and see what the world can be. Climb the towers and walk the walls. See the shores amongst it all. Go and do and be it all, But when you're done and had your fun, Remember where you can really be free. I am the voice inside of thee; A reminder of where you want to be. Among the green and busy hoards Of trees and bush and moss galore. Among the birds and bears and bees; The highest mountains; The deepest seas. Let my voice remind you now. No matter the joy and love you've found. Home Is where your soul is bound. It is here where freedom came to stay It is here you love day by day It is in the trees and in the seas Where your heart and soul Forever will be free." |
Alone
Long ago when the moon was new I must have been A pitied fool A pitied fool All who know To be a slave to all For in my soul In days of now A cry sings out Sings out of how Of how I need to see it all To see it all in liberty's call To see Pisa's leaning tower Or the Dutch tulips flower To walk the cobbled streets And gasp "Ah! The Arc de Triumph at last!" To ride a train from coast to coast And be part of the places that I love most To gawk at walls That heard pains calls And learn how the other side Gets by For in my soul In days of now I sigh And think of how I wish to wander crowded roads Of streets near and far I wish to sit and enjoy A foreign bar To watch the passing lives go by Unaware of my watching eye For in my soul In days of now I cry I sob In my desperate hours I die to find a freedom in all the world combined But in my tears And liberated years Another cry calls out For as I go about The quest devout I find myself without I find myself without In hours of wandering In seas of faces And dozens of places Where freedom is surround I am trapped Still trapped I am trapped For I have found In the crowds And in the spaces There is nobody around I am alone in my liberty Am I happy to be? I am alone And in my solitude When the next life does come Enslavement that I've been running from Will find its way back to me In my lonely sensibility |
Musing on a train
A beautiful Hindu woman on the sky train, with grey tracing through her wavy black hair, sits quietly in her colourfully patterned scarves and dresses, allowing them to drape her narrow and aging frame ever so carefully. The red dot between her brows mark her religion. A soft easy resting smile graces her face as she gently waves to a wailing child, uncomfortable in his stroller. The child's mother ignores the admirer, turns her son's stroller away, and brings out a bedazzled cell phone. The ancient woman watches, knowing she is not welcome. She drops her chin slightly, her gaze falling to the grey linoleum floor of the train, then finds herself looking out the window as the moving monster passes everyone by. There is still a trace of that smile. What does she know? What life has she lived? Why had she tried to soothe another woman's screaming child, and not project hurt when it's mother turned away from her. Her smile tells a story... one which I cannot understand, and will never know. And yet, here I sit... wondering, why has this woman captivated me so? And how?
February 12, 2016.
A beautiful Hindu woman on the sky train, with grey tracing through her wavy black hair, sits quietly in her colourfully patterned scarves and dresses, allowing them to drape her narrow and aging frame ever so carefully. The red dot between her brows mark her religion. A soft easy resting smile graces her face as she gently waves to a wailing child, uncomfortable in his stroller. The child's mother ignores the admirer, turns her son's stroller away, and brings out a bedazzled cell phone. The ancient woman watches, knowing she is not welcome. She drops her chin slightly, her gaze falling to the grey linoleum floor of the train, then finds herself looking out the window as the moving monster passes everyone by. There is still a trace of that smile. What does she know? What life has she lived? Why had she tried to soothe another woman's screaming child, and not project hurt when it's mother turned away from her. Her smile tells a story... one which I cannot understand, and will never know. And yet, here I sit... wondering, why has this woman captivated me so? And how?
February 12, 2016.