Then I went to the beach and let the waves sing their song of forever to me. An elderly and rather chubby bassett hound turned himself upside down, paws in the air, snout lying flat on the sand, totally blissed out. It made my day!
STARDREAMING With Sherry Blue Sky
Poetry, memoir,blogs and photographs from my world on the west coast of Canada.

Monday, May 12, 2025
GRIEF CAN BE A SUNFLOWER
Then I went to the beach and let the waves sing their song of forever to me. An elderly and rather chubby bassett hound turned himself upside down, paws in the air, snout lying flat on the sand, totally blissed out. It made my day!
Of Heretics and Flying Squirrels
We travelled back to the land
we grew up in, to place my aunt's ossuary
into the ground. A mother deer and her fawn
lay nearby observing, a blessing,
a message of peace, her spirit at rest.
We walked the sidewalks where
once we played jumprope, and hopscotch
and Mother, May I? in our pigtails and pedal pushers.
We sought out the addresses of the shabby houses
we lived in, back then, now no longer there;
even our grandma's cottage, the touchstone
of my childhood: gone.
All have been replaced by dwellings
for the living large folks. Country roads
and all the orchards changed into townhomes,
mile after mile. The fabled Casorso pig farm,
where my friends came home from school
to soup made by twinkling-eyed Grandpa Louie,
no where to be seen, golf course after golf course
for the retired folks in the gated complexes
nearby.
A tear for remembering that sleepy town.
The service was held in the church where long ago
we wore our Easter costumes: pinafores, big hats,
white gloves, shoes we kept meticulously white,
no smudges, our grandma's sharp eyes
missing nothing.
Country roads we biked down now clogged
with fast cars, trying to maintain
an impossible pace: so much Doing,
so little Being, an exhausted populace
trying to keep up, frowning, frenzied.
I observed, bemused, sipping an absinthe
on the deck overlooking the lake in late afternoon,
watching clouds wander across the sky,
tinged pink as the sun slipped behind
the big blue hills
of my infancy.
On the same day - such being the way
the world works now - a heretic posted
a photo of himself as Pope, exchanging
his porkpie hat for a Papal crown. As if.
Someone poke a hole in his umbraculum
and let the sun run riot on his orange tan,
turn it MAGA, the colour of all the blood
being spilled in his name, the colour
that makes bulls (and those who long for justice)
see red.
The world is as mad as a flying squirrel,
leaping a chasm that is far too wide to breach,
apparently with no fear of falling.
The umbraculum, when I looked it up, is a sort of umbrella to keep the sun off the Pope.
Tuesday, May 6, 2025
WOMAN, WEEPING
Weeping Cedar Woman
carved by Godfrey Stephens in 1984
in response to the proposed clearcutting of
Wahnachus-Hilthuuis (Meares Island)
We must protect what is left
OF TOTEMS AND SPIRIT PLACES
Haida Gwaii has always called to me, for its pristine wilderness, remoteness and wild beauty. Its people are hardy and self-sufficient, having survived its untamed landscape and stormy winters for thousands of years. The Haida are a matrilineal society.
Sunday, May 4, 2025
Wolf
Wolf
in the blue twilight,
Wolf
in the tenderness of dawn,
are you wondering,
sweet fur brother,
where all your wilderness
has gone?
Your forests are burning,
bombs rain down
from the sky.
We humans are too moonstruck
to ask the question:
why?
We raise goblets of red wine
to drown our sweeping sorrow;
tilt at windmills,
and carouse like
we won't die
on the morrow.
Wolf,
have you ever
seen such foolishness
as this?
Wolf,
stay safely far from us.
Seek the wilderness
you miss.
for Shay's Word List. This is where the wolf led me today. A cheerful ditty. LOL.
Tuesday, April 29, 2025
DISTRAUGHT SISTER MOON