Monday, June 16, 2025

Grandma's House

 


As a small child, I was put on a train
to Grandma's house every summer,
like an orphan, the porter tipped five dollars
to keep an eye on me.

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack,
away from the sea, into the desert,
to dream away the summer
in the hammock
under the leafy willow tree.

Lake-scented mornings, starry nights,
phantoms dancing in the flames
as Grandma told me Irish ghost stories,
thunderstorms in the afternoon,
Grandma's big laugh,
and a twinkling-eyed Grandpa skulking
across the hall to the bathroom
in his long underwear.....

One day I will board that train again,
hear the haunting whistle blow
its lonely song,
clickety-clack clickety-clack
along the tracks taking me
to Grandma's house once more.

GRANDMA'S KITCHEN

 



From every corner
of Grandma’s small cottage,
I could hear it –
the old metal clock,
ticking and tocking
on the kitchen windowsill.

Grandma’s house was that peaceful.

My four year old heart drank in
the safety and serenity,
the way a parched sunflower
gratefully receives
summer rain.

Grandma’s house
showed me, child of
drinking and violence,
that another life 
- that peace -
was possible.

I followed that template
for the rest of my life,
and modeled it
for my own grandchildren.

When I am remembering,
it is to this small cottage
on Christleton Avenue
my thoughts return,
like summer swallows.

I can still almost hear
the ticking and tocking
of that metal clock
on the kitchen windowsill,
singing its brave little song
of peace.



My sister and I went back to Kelowna in May to find that Grandma's cottage, touchstone of my childhood, is now gone.

Wednesday, June 11, 2025

Wild Woman's Birthday


British Columbia Photos
Mike Dellio


Wild Woman was born again
in mid-life, the night she stood
on the shore of the western sea,
and knew she was standing exactly where 
she was always meant to be.

She knew it was now or never,
her spirit was sore and sinking fast.
It was either give up on a dream
or make it all come true at last.

When she arrived, a fiery orb
was going down behind the hills.
There was a small whale in the bay;
such perfect beauty: chills.

Wild Woman came alive
that day, which marked Before and After.
It was the birthday of her soul, set free
to the sound of wolfish laughter.





for Susan's prompt at What's Going On : Birthdays. This night was my real birthday! Smiles.

Monday, June 9, 2025

Looking Up

 



The black flies have hit the jackpot:
this old woman in her rocking chair
is like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

***

People begat and begat
and now we are here:
there are days when
humankind looks like
a failed experiment,
a rollercoaster of up and down,
forward and back - a fine madness,
enough to make your head spin.

     ***         

I prefer the company of animals.
Wolves, elephants, dogs, whales,
carry collective wisdom
we would be wise to access.

        ***          

Instead, madmen kill them -
for tusks, for thrills, to prove
they can dominate the innocent,
the helpless, to say
"the world is mine."

***

 It isn't even noon,
and I am oh, so tired.

I turn the radio off,
with all its bad news.
I go outside.
Even blackflies
have to eat.

And I need to watch the sky.

***

This bit of weirdness came from Shay's Word List, after reading a couple of Anne Sexton's edgy poems. My brain took a ramble. 

Tuesday, June 3, 2025

THE BIGGEST CONTRADICTION OF ALL

 


The biggest contradiction of all
is how,
in a world where
billions of people
pray and talk and sing
and long for unity,
justice, and peace,

the wars go on and on,
the atrocities get
worse and worse,
rhetoric gets more toxic
and inflammatory,
injustices abound,
and peace 
can only be found
and felt
inside one's human heart.

for Sumana's prompt at What's Going On: Contradiction.


Monday, May 26, 2025

When Tomorrow Comes

 


When tomorrow comes,
will there be singing?
Will the songs be songs of sorrow
brave warriors' voices ringing,
or will it be a wiser world
on the morrow?

Hear the song within your heart,
the place where true peace always starts.
May the song you keep inside
be sung out loud where love abides.

War and peace in endless cycle,
Courageous men, put down your rifles!
Reach across the great divide;
set all prejudice aside.

The man you think of as The Other,
is, in fact, your human brother.
More alike than not are we,
if only we open our hearts and see

every soul that has taken birth
wants peace and justice
here on earth.

When tomorrow comes,
what song will we sing?
What help will we offer?
What love will we bring?

Will the songs we sing
be songs of sorrow,
or will we grow wiser
on the morrow?


for Mary's prompt at What's Going On - Do You Hear the People Sing


Bittersweet


In autumn, she emerges early,
as the last soft stars are fading
and the moon is wandering off
the edge of the sky:
long blue gown, lime green crocs,
smudged glasses, frizzy hair,
with a basket over her arm
to fill with onions, garlic,  
crunchy carrots, a tomato or two.

Birds are singing everywhere
in early morning, a rhapsody 
for early risers. The dew on the grass
dampens the hem of her skirt,
her toes gather coolness
before the heat of the day.

In her dreams, she might have imagined
a morning like this: bittersweet,
with all of the blessings,
bittersweet, with all of the loss.

For Shay's Word List: Bittersweet, a familiar emotion these days.