Staying Alive

I will find a way,

Through a jungle of ice.

In the cold of winter's bite,

Bleary-eyed in blind trust,

I will blaze a buoyant trail.

Poppy

Like looking through broken window pane?
Ice fragments are all that now remain?
Casting light on a perfect memory.
Eyes on weeping heart of love,
On history of a dreaming child,
Before the dance of life became,
Fighting shadows rain of lies and hurt.
Blood wine ghosts of family's wounds,
Whispers softly, "Trust is now responsibility."
Time flows through you to choose.
Bitter sweet, as cold teeth bite deep.
Society rules who's fit for life?
Outside sign reads, "This property is condemned".
A soul's closed door, hinge broken into.
Fight on, perservere
Never to forget, mending mire.
The threatening thraws of scoffing maw.
Stand up with no regret, regrow glad-hand.
Stand, stand, stand up sweet mavin.
Strong is the Raven's Knight.
Wing-shield of rainbow colours above,
Brave is love adore your paladin.

My Sarah

You are spots and dots, my dappled friend,

A perfect black diamond at your peak.

Love is all you give me,

Love is all I seek.

We walk this road together,

You always at my side,

Astride we stroll, our footfalls,

A rhymic rhythem glide.

Life springs green,

Through Summers dust, Autumns leaves,

The white of Winters snow.

To the time of days,

Through months and years we go.

May the loylity in me,

Match the nobility in you.

"A teacher's pet" some may say,

And that very well may be true,

But which is the teacher,

You on your four feet,

Or me on my two?

Remembering You

So many years have gone by,

So much in me has changed,

So much of you in me remains.

All the love of who you were,

Is so much of who I am.

May, 23, 2007

No claw paw can hold me,

Soft lips touch my ear.

This spirit runs free.

An open palm waves,

Sweet in the scent of your hand.

To touch, to taste, to tickle,

The thrill gentle, fan of colour,

Gift sent from my mother.

Be free and fly if you choose,

And stay with me awhile.

Honey words of love my muse,

Drift down from above...

Getting Real

Ever been so cold and hungry, so lonely, that you are willing to rip your guts out and eat'm for breakfast? I feel like a junkyard dog behind a cyclone fence who has been teased, stick poked, and baited beyond the point of sanity. Society tells me, "be good, keep quite, go lay down".
What a mind job. Ferruled is my lilac walking stick. Named her "Herrenvolk thumper", and I plan to use it because I know how.

Bear Toonies and Loonies

To visit Grand Forks is like stepping by in time to the 1950's. A lovely main street with Christmas lights reflecting through prisms of glass and ice. Several folks sit around outside coffee shoppe tables, wearing warm wool scarfs, colourful hand knit hats and gloves, as winter armor against the cold. Paper cups steam, ribbons of espresso drift to delight the senses as afternoon fades into night.

Across the street a hippy dressed women steps into the theatre ticket booth. Three toonies, is the price to escape, as the big screen awaits hungry eyes. Two seven-year-old girls past fifty smile while grinding their roll-your-own cigarettes out in a thin tin ashtray. A light snow starts to fall, a few thumb sized flakes catch eyelashes as they dash under awning cover.

"Two please." says the oldest, "My treat."

Popcorn smells roll out as the door is held open. An out-stretched hand, a tattooed arm, heavy with charms and beaded bracelets, accepts the magic tickets. A glass case of sweet goodies in cadence call out.

"Pick me!" yells a box of mini Butterfingers.

"No me!" shrieks the dark coated Goobers in a nutty high pitched shrill.

Intensive is the clammier, a reeling mix of what to choose.

"A big bucket of popcorn please." says the younger.

"Extra butter" coos the silver looped-lip hippy, her spiked hair tipped in red.

"Oh Yes, of course," voice the two as one.

With a fist full of napkins, cradling a bucket of gold, the two walk through the inner theatre doors to be swooped away in an adventure of another world.

Christmas Eve

Blessed be this county,

No lights, no plumbing, no TV.

Soft ice-balls fall thick as thumbs,

Warm fire thaws the numbed.

Where big birds come for scraps,

Thrown out kitchen window.

Meleagris Gallopavo!

I'm surround by turkeys.

As my eyes stare at the marvel,

They are hunting, scratching, pecking.

Round and round the cabin they go,

Now by wood pile covered in snow.

Long beards drag as feathers ruffle,

Big Tom is first in line to find gold mine.

Excitement builds, fast food thrills,

On December's table cloth of white,

Gobbler's corncob Christmas dinner.

I am no able,

To kill the life I see.

Green eggs and can Spam, road kill jerky,

That's good enough for me.

Look! See! Beauty's free.

Blessed be the bounty.

I know expect you understand,

Unless you know this Highland man.

Meleagris Gallopavo!

These eyes stare at the marvel.

Blessed be the free.

Blessed be the Wild Turkey.

Circus Ring

Under the Big Top of starry starry night,

Lolly pop sucker's pay to see fool's sight.

Peanuts! Buttered Popcorn! Hot!

"Pink Cotton Candy Dandy, your ticket please."

Crowds wait, anticipate, stir on,

Benches full in moving bright light of yellow.

Circus noises, a mix, lions roaring,

Elephant trumpet,

Plumed horses prance, and whinny,

Awaiting ring master's pro-fun treasure.

The dance of fear for money, sweet as honey.

Tent flaps flutter in summers breeze.

"Center Ring, all eyes please."

Tall silk hat with bullhorn,

Mustache man waves his hand,

Hushed murmurs low, excitement builds,

Ready for the thrills in traveling circus show.

Sitting next to papa, sissy's all aglow,

When melting ice cream cone finds home, in lap land.

Oh No! Her clean white pinafore!

Breast pocket hanky comes to rescue daddy's little girl,

Two scoops in lap, slide down, and whorl away.

Now everythings, Okay.

Lights dim then brighten, Lions,

And Tigers, and Bears to frighten,

Jump through hoops of fire.

When under rainbow blanket,

in comes Dumbo elephant.

Tiger leaps to thrill of people,

Teeth and claws well trained.

Heavy swaying mountain steeple,

With trunk held high...the chase.

Tiger rides holding, in rhythm of the race.

With chair in hand is the man.

Whip says, Snap! Crack!

Small town crowd purr,

For more, applauding tamers knowing.

Just then, trunk grabs tiger's tail.

Black and yellow blur, rainbow faster,

Round and round,

Then up up the clawing tiger.

Up the swing, through tent tops dream.

Wide open mouths, the sight sent such a shock,

When Dumbo grabbed a feather from,

Front row greenhorn's cowboy hat,

And took off flying right behind,

That long tailed pussy cat.

Top hat tips back,

looking up in awe and wonder.

Now two stars burning in the night,

Their flight so bright together.

Twin comets on their way,

To play, "The Big Top Circus Milky Way".

Christmas Day

A moist fog rolled under the full moon after midnight, flocking the forest trees in a thick blanket of ice. Deer tracks weave crisscross designs in the crusty snow over the frozen river. My coffee sits on the window sill, swaying steam melts a frosty pattern on the silver-white glass. This is a winter wonder land of beauitful sights, as an orange-shafted flicker with feathers ruffled, calls out in a clear voice as it flits from tree to tree looking for food. Sarah my dalmatian-boxer and Micky my fox terrier, nap on the rug near the wood stove as it snaps, crackles, and pops, and I count my blessings.

This year I have a warm cabin, food, and hot and cold running water. I do my best at not letting the ghost of memory past invade my heart with sorrow. Holding myself tight, I fight off emotions that try to spoil this Christmas day. Writing helps keep me sane through the loneness, and so it's time to pour myself another cup of coffee, and put another log in the stove.

This afternoon I'll have Christmas dinner with good friends.

This is to Wierd to Weed

Wellaway wierd wonders,

These warren will wett,

With weapons wheeling wield.

Witan wit we wite the witless weight,

Thus win wilding whoo wide awake.

Wont we well to woo wolfys whey,

In the wilds of winter.

Haven't been to a movie in what, five, or has it been six years?
Next week I'm hauling my ass over the boarder to see,
"The Golden Compass."
I have no idea how many loonies it will cost me. It bears repeating, I think toonies are going to be a hot item, even in the states.

Have Mercy

Humans, my children will have no place to live in the future and neither will yours if you continue your blind greed for more, more, more. How much are your children and your children's children worth? I will fight for mine, will you?

The Magic Cook Book

The mysterious Mr. Victor Pendragon is a rich man, rich beyond most peoples ability to know, he is also a fat man, yet surprisingly light on his feet. He wares expensive smoking jackets, brightly colour ascots, and purple silk pajama bottoms, no matter what the time of day. Of course his outfits are all tailor made, as are his amber velvet slippers, which curl up slightly at the toes. Those slippers, which he calls this ground grabbers, are elaborately embroidered with winged dragons in a emerald green satin stitch. He moves with a grace many would mistake as dainty, perhaps he is. Being a multifaceted personality, he honors all aspects of himself. Rarely does he leave his home, except to work outside in his beautiful fascination garden. Victor leads a quiet life, and of the few close friends who come to visit; none of whom think it unusal that such a large man seems to float about, his small slippered feet barely touching the many priceless Persian carpets throughout his simple home.

That is but one...Gertrude Elizabeth Pearlskin. Gertrude Elizabeth (never called Trudy, or Liz) is short, thin, and frail looking. A deceptive judge is looks. Indeed! Her long greying hair she wares stylishly piled on top of her perfectly shaped head, which she says mades her look tall...and she is always right of course. Her bright blue eyes and sharp featured face look stern, and yet her smile can melt the ice of cold heartedness. She wares no makeup and confesses, "It wouldn't do much good, because what you see is what you get... á la natural." Shape shifters know how to get what they want. Gertrude is a master shape shifter, and a honored member of the Scottish rite of the thirty-three degree. Not that any knowledge of such things can stop the passion that burned in her heart for Victor Pendragon. It's a sad thing to love someone yet pretend you don't, almost as sad as not feeling loved at all. Victor seems to be content with his life as it is, and if that mades Victor happy, it's okay with her...that is to a certain point. There are times when a full moon-shadow covers the low rolling hills above the heather covered moors of lockmab. In those times, a special magic is a foot, and the lonely crys of a spirit hound can be heard thought the fog in the wee hours of the morning.

Now Pendragon is in the habit of giving small get-to-gethers. Afternoon teas and dinner parties are his forté. Needless to say, the man can cook, and his friends are whizzes in the kitchen as well. The joys of friendship and good food are not wasted on those who entered 512 Banister Lane in the quiet village of Lockmab Scotland. The highland moors is were magic is an everyday thing, and "Shaking-a-stick" is taken very seriously. Both Shay O'Brannon and Bobby Twofeathers are also big men. Jeff Fruitnick on the other hand is tall, thin, and distingousingly bald, and he is very picky about what he eats. These four men with the addition of Gertrude Pearlskin makeup a motley cadre of friends. Indeed! Each have their strong points, each have a secret, and each have no idea of the wondrous adventure they are soon to be drawn into while sitting at the dinner table of Victor Lightfoot Pendragon, who is sometimes lovingly called Twinkletoes behind his back.

On the wall in Victor's dinning room hangs a large medieval tapestry, a courtly scene of elegant dressed Ladies, and several Borzoi dogs on the steps of an mysterious old manor. The tapestry had been a precious gift from Victors mother. The gift which always brings him a myiad of fond memories of his childhood days. Below the tapestry sits a birds-eye-cherry credenza, a Steuben crystal decanter with six cordial glasses arranged in a circle sits atop a heavy silver tray. There too sits a tall luster-blue porcelain vase over flowing with deep purple lilacs, the scent of which drifted in invisible ribbons throughout Victor's home.

"Ding Dong" the doorbell rang.
"Ah, that must be Robert, he's never fashionably late."
Pendragon in his usual attire dances through the kitchens archway, and down the hallway to the front door, leaving several copper pots and pans steaming and bubbling on his prize Vulcan stove. Two cutting boards arried with: sage, tarragon, basil, marjoram, mint and flat-leaf parsley awaited his return. Pendragon hums and waves his french knife to the sound of music as if it were a baton. He opens the door knife in hand.
"Whoa Maestro! Is this going to be a dinner party, or a Dante's nightmare?"
"You're just in time Bobby, this knife could use a keener edge.
"Both Bobby and Pengragon shared a dislike for electric knife sharpeners as a means to rune a perfectly good knife.
"What are we cooking up tonight Maestro? By the way, your fresh-cut lilacs smell wonderful."
"Let me say this my dear man, no opossum roadkill nor toad legs are on the menu tonight, now into the kitcken with you. Do chop the rest of the herbs I have prepared, and when you finish, please sharpen this knife."
Handing the knife to Bobby, both leisurely amble into the kitchen.
"Real fine like mincemeat?" Grinning Bobby washed his hands: rolled up his sleeves, sharpened the french knife, and commences dicing the herbs, stoping only for a sip of sherry from the crystal tass that Pendragon had placed on the marble countertop.
"Yes, real fine, the salad dressing you will create is pure magic. The recipe came to me in a dream. It's already worth a fortune, and you my dear boy will be the first to put it together."
Bobby's smile resembles that of a small child who has done something brilliant in front of his parents who are pleased.
Again the doorbell rang, this time it is Shay O'Bannon and Jeff Fruitnick.
"My Word Jeff, you look like Larry lizard suit. Where ever did you get that outfit?"
"Now don't be cruel Boss, or I won't let you win at chess anymore. I picked this number up at Antonio's on Hill Street. It fits, I like it, and you will get used to the bright colour."
"Victor you look charming as usual."
"Thank you Mr. O'Bannon. Is that a new bow tie your wearing?. I don't believe I ever see a rainbow bow tie before...it suits you."
Shay O'Bannon adjusted his bow tie as both he and Jeff stepped through the ivy festooned front doorway, and follow Pendragon into the kitchen.
"Nice outfit Jeff." Bobby whispers with a sheepish grin, and polishes off his sherry as if it were whiskey in a shot glass.
Ding Dong! "Ah, that will be Miss Gertrude. Please excuse me for a moment...

Mountain Mother

On days I see your beamy smile,

My spirits climb, hours pass so easly.

On days I hear that chainsaw drone,

You don't seem to see me,

Lost in that labyrinth of grey.

Hours pass, each one a day.

Yet long I suffer in hopeful attitude,

To keep you safe, my shielding shelter.

With soft warm words,

"Now, now", I would say'

This corona dream,

A pink blanket against cold steel teeth.

The pitch of my love rings with passion.

Trust this truth, always to remember,

From the snows of December,

Comes April's most noble timber.

Noblesse Oblige

A writers curse to stand in the middle.

This pearl tossed into,
The pool of time and space.
I am ring going on forever.
Each now moment,
Never to be again.
Expanding galaxies,
Alone never,
Together forever.
Always to remember,
We exploded in,
Life, kiss sleep awake.
Dream, you sleeper...
Sleeper, I dream...
In love to awake,
Courage from fear,
Light in darkness,
Becoming thus going,
Expanding galaxies.
Energy we touch,
Remember my love
This Life's Gift.

This November Day

A blur seesaw,
push-pull of teeth dulled by effort tearing through.
Pressure finger holding,
numbed, but focus tight to true.

Oily pungent ribbons streaming,
High pitched wail, a screaming sound-
Bits of flesh teaming,
piles upon the ground.

The effort of the pressure-
The focus of the task,
Burning, biting, delighting-
the terror tearing of the mask.

If by chance you've been there,
and have cut a sapient pole-
How many cut cords,
to warm winter's icy soul?

Mountain Fruit

As summer days slow to fall, so soon to silver moon.
On winding mountain road most tempting, yet just out of reach.
Lessions to teach, how to aquire the objects of my desire.
Timeing is everything in knowing- sweet!
The method chosen to the apple of my eye.
Close is my reach- higher ambition with hand and claw.
Summer apples, first before all others.
Yes! Me a hungery mountain bear.
Dare and delight to climb up,
You that lovely Highland Apple Tree

Cool Clear Water

"Life's journey is not to arrive at the gate safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid sideways totally worn out, shouting, Holy Cow! What a Ride."
Todd Robison, may he RIP.



Each new day I try and remember some little thing that I've learned which will inspire me to live every minute to it's fullest. Yesterday I walked on a mountain top with a good friend and gave a song, a prayer to the spirit who makes life possible.












The water of life is a true blessing.

I Think I Can

I may not know where I'm going, but I'm still on track, and headed for Spring Time in the mountains. Ah! The adventure of life... a true blessing.