Poetry, memoir,blogs and photographs from my world on the west coast of Canada.

Monday, March 31, 2025
OLD CRONE, SINGING
Two Souls, Travelling
Even children told your story.
for me to find you.
Thursday, March 27, 2025
BLOCKADE NOTES
Monday, March 24, 2025
No Turning Back
I am crossing
a land of elm and ash
littered with bones,
a scarf across my chest
like a golden sash.
A black bird circles
against blue sky,
pointing her wing
into the forest dark and deep.
(Until that moment,
I had been asleep.
When Raven points
her feathery wing,
listen closely to
the message she will bring.)
On a quaking limb,
rests a prodigious egg
in a woven nest.
I hear it crack,
and then my quest
is blessed.
A hundred small birds fly up
into the sky, and I
am granted the gift of Wonder
and put it in my pack.
I am on my journey now
and there is no
turning back.
In the Dreamtime
The Song of the Ancients
Listen, friends.
Do you hear the song
of the ancient ones
floating on the breeze?
Can you hear the cries
of the wild ones?
Do you feel
all the broken human
and beyond-human hearts
sorrowing
across Mother Earth?
Let's join our energy
with that of the elders,
to sing in the mystical whales,
guardians of our collective wisdom
since the world was young.
Let's send our hearts
to the edge of the cliff,
where the wise ones have gathered
through millennia.
In spirit, let us
sing the whales into the bay,
as the First People have done
through all of time.
They are waiting
for our song.
A poem inspired by Julian Lennon's song, Saltwater, and also by his film about the aborigines and the whales, titled Whaledreamers.
Tuesday, March 18, 2025
The Kindness of Mother Earth
What really gets to me
is that Mother Earth never gives up.
No matter how much we hurt her,
rip her trees out of the ground
(not even hearing their silent screams),
fill her oceans and seabirds and whales
with plastic, buy and discard
so much excess, warm her oceans,
heat her deserts till they turn to flame,
still, each year, spring arrives:
a miracle of green baby leaves,
baby wolves, orca calves,
and puppies.
Like a human mother, her heart hurts,
yet still she gives.
So generous, so kind.
So forgiving.
I am watching the light last longer.
Soon the trees out front will be
a froth of white blossoms.
The bare branches of forsythia
are poking yellow-tipped buds
along their limbs.
Seventy-eight springs,
and each one more of a miracle
than the last.
Every year, it takes
my breath away.
for Susan's prompt at What's Going On: Equinox - what really gets to you?
Monday, March 17, 2025
Smokey
poking out of the green bush
that you are in pain. But
once we set you free,
we promise
who gladdened
Wednesday, March 12, 2025
A WORLD IN NEED OF SHAMANS
when my children were growing,
each spinning off into danger,
far from my protection,
I learned how to be a tree:
strong at my centre,
to support them,
flexible, with wavy arms,
so we could lean and bend
and sway with the times
together.
The seasons have brought forth
whatever harvest
there is ever going
to be.
in an old growth forest,
commune with the ancient ones,
breathe in connection,
breathe out peacefulness.
as an old elephant,
just from remembering.
is kissing the golden shore,
inch by inch, as we ponder
the lingering going away
of the day.
We keep our voices hushed,
reverential,
our footsteps light.
Monday, March 10, 2025
The Song of Sky
Sing me a song of sky,
small bird.
Such a shy creature
you are,
yet unafraid to sing
this big old world awake.
Sing the arrival of spring:
baby animals
in the meadow,
ribbons of new leaves
covering the naked trees
of winter.
Sing to the hidden fox,
the cricket, the new wolf cubs,
looking out at the world, so big
and inscrutable.
Sing to we stumbling humans
your song of renewal,
of growth,
of beginning again,
a song of
the young and tender
~shy creatures, all~
who lift our hearts
and keep our spirits
alive.
for Shay's Word List: Shy Creatures
Beauty Bound
Walk in Beauty
Saturday, March 8, 2025
Hope at the Crossroads
Now, when it is the hardest
to do, let us not lose heart.
Let's hold onto hope,
even in the darkness and despair.
Even when the words we hear
on the morning news,
the nightly news,
make us think the world
has lost its mind,
I hold on to the fact
that buds are poking up
on my cherry tree
that will soon be blossoms.
Baby wolves are being born
in coastal dens
and will soon stalk the shore
near my friend's floathouse,
enchanting her
with their baby howls.
Though this may feel like
the end of all we ever knew,
I dare to hope that it is not.
We are living in a world
that has, for a time, turned dark.
We are badly in need
of leaders who are sane, who are
not driven by greed and corruption.
How is it that, when the choice was so clear,
we wound up here?
I hold on tight to the natural world,
for even when we earthlings
have lost our way,
still Mother Earth unfolds its seasons,
right on time,
and all non-human life
knows what to do.
My love of the natural world is the truest thing I know, and is what I hold onto, when our human systems fail us so completely.
Monday, March 3, 2025
Not a Cape in Sight
Heroes:
Not the ones
wielding guns, sowing chaos,
or usurping and abusing power
but
the woman brave enough to say
"see you in court"
to a bully president
and
the news anchor
who does not mince her words,
even knowing
she will soon be fired
for speaking truth
or
those who nobly resign rather than
follow illegal orders against
the Constitution
Not
the men taking chainsaws
to government agencies,
social services,
and democracy itself,
proclaiming they are
saving (not wrecking)
their country
But
the aging warrior
- Bernie Sanders! -
unafraid to tell the truth
about what is really
going on,
who goes out among the people
to give them leadership
when all is collapsing,
when he could be sitting at home
in his armchair
after fighting for years
to awaken his country
and
the heroic, dedicated man
risking his life
to fight for his people
against the aggressive war criminal
invading his country,
who never gives up,
even when his strongest ally
betrays and abandons him.
When all is falling apart,
watch for the heroes,
who have integrity
and are unafraid
to speak truth
to misguided, destructive
and demented
power.
(I have admired several leaders
who seemed to wear capes
in the land of the free
and the home of the brave.
They stood firm
for democracy and human rights.
Not a cape in sight
these days
among the president
and his flatterers.
But plenty of heroes
in the trenches,
trying to preserve
and protect
some basic human rights.)
for Mary's prompt at What's Going On: Heroes. Heaven knows we are in need of them, but I don't know if they can do anything about the wrecking ball dismantling government as fast as possible. How President Zelensky - a true hero - was treated this past week was sickening and appalling.
Poet in Search of a Dream
All these years,
we had the audacity to believe
in the land of the free
and the home of the brave:
a country that fed starving children
across the sea,
a country that finally learned
to embrace diversity at home
in all its jazzy splendor.
A continent where
we all lived under
the same sky,
believed in honour, integrity
and dignity in our leaders,
who took an oath to serve.
Now "leaders" serve themselves.
Now they send into exile
those who kept our crops alive,
worked in service, dared to dream
life would be better here.
Now they turn away
from our allies, bully the heroic,
rip services away
from the most vulnerable,
take money from the people
and give it to billionaires.
The Statue of Liberty is lovesick;
she holds her head in her hands
like the Ukrainian diplomat
watching yappy ignoramuses
flagellate her hero - our hero.
Once we dared to sing
Imagine,
once we had the audacity
to believe in the land of the free
and the home of the brave
and that it would prevail.
Now we live under the same sky,
afraid, appalled, heartsick, angry.
Our hope lies in the energy
that rises from the bottom up.
At the top, they don't even try to hide
that they don't care.
For Shay's Word List, inspired by Richard Blanco, who wrote the inaugural poem One Today at Barack Obama's inauguration, when we were filled with the audacity of hope.
Monday, February 24, 2025
In Dark Times
then I taught it to sing.
That Farther Shore
For ages,
you have been visiting me
in dreams.
Your lovely snout,
your big wolfy ears,
your goofy grin.
Such a handsome boy
you were.
I pine. I pine.
How you rollicked along
the shore, water
and wind in your fur.
We were wild together,
oh, we were wild.
I am at a sleepy time
of life these days,
almost ready to tip forward
into dreamtime myself,
to come and find you
somewhere
on that farther shore.
Monday, February 17, 2025
A PARKA FOR YOUR SOUL
At dVerse Poets Pub, the prompt is to write a 144 word prose story based on a quote by Alice Walker which really appealed to me: "Make of it a parka for your soul", from her poem "Before You Knew You Owned It" , which is wonderful. What came to me was not prose, but I liked writing it. Such a cool idea and I have not been doing well in the inspiration department these days.
My parka for the soul is made of fleecy blankets
that I huddle in on winter afternoons.
Softness, to counter the harshness
of this world, with all the rhetoric and untruths
that clutter the news-streams of our lives.
I hide in my room like a winter bear
not ready to go out into hostile territory.
I peer out like a fearful wolf, hungry,
yet knowing how great the threat is
beyond my den.
I encase my heart in bubble wrap
to keep the barbs and outrage
from entering. I wish for little
beyond peacefulness
any more.
Every time I see
a crocus springing up I hear a pop!
and smile. One more bubble, burst.
Soon there will be more,
then forsythia, then daffodils.
Pop, pop, pop.
Spring will re-wrap my heart
in all the colours of the rainbow.
I can hang the parka up until next year,
and meet the spring bright-hearted,
ready for Mother Earth’s finest display.
And all those vicious voices
can simply fade away.
With thanks to Lisa, at dVerse for the inspiration. (And to Mary Oliver, one of my faves.)
THE COMING OF THE LIGHT
For some time, now
Traveler has been
watching the days lengthen,
welcoming the extra light
morning and evening,
putting behind her
the difficult winter
which has birthed the beginning
of her next journey.
Now comes
the putting away of the old
and the welcoming
of the new.
Now comes
increased ease,
and Possibility.
What gestated all winter
bathed in her tears
now brings to fruition
all that was making its
difficult passage.
Traveler sets aside
what no longer
serves her.
She prepares herself
with hope and relief
for renewal,
a lightening of spirit.
She flows
within the emergence
of a new cycle
with trust, with grace,
and enormous gratitude,
knowing that
all is as it should be,
(in herself, if not the world) -
a time of letting go,
a time of stripping down,
a time of being true
to one's own spirit
and the simplicity
of its needs.
With the light will come daffodils,
cherry blossoms, forsythia.
Tiny crocuses are already
pushing upwards through the earth,
reaching for warmth and sun,
drawn forth by the
coming of the light.
As much a miracle
in this, her 78th spring,
as any other.
IMAGINE
Imagine the earth
as the First Nations do
in ancient legend:
perched on the back
of a turtle.
I was amazed to read
that scientists say
the tectonic plates
below the earth resemble that
of a gigantic tortoise.
How did they know
ten thousand years ago,
when they told the tale
around the communal fire?
The sky is like
a giant bubble overhead,
we, below, on a marble
blue and green,
making an absurdity
of our passage.
Rockets to Mars,
wicked overseers,
angels scattering blossoms
on the tombstone
of our fondest hopes.
Imagine:
this beautiful orb
of green and blue,
sailing through space.
Imagine
that we knew how
to live in peace.
Thursday, February 13, 2025
It Is Thursday, and This Is What I Know
It is Thursday, and I want to write a poem, but the words won't come. Because what I know and what we are witnessing is so distressing, how can I infuse my writing with light, with hope, with something a reader can relate to and carry away with them?
It is Thursday, and injustice and corruption are happening everywhere. We expected it, but did not expect it to be this bad. Will there be a government left in four years? In two?
What whispers to me in a corner of my mind is that these regimes have occurred before, and came to an end after terrible suffering of the population. I am reminded that the arc of justice is long, and that farther ahead than is comfortable for us, the tide will turn again. There will be much to mend and heal and all of us won't get there.
May the ones who do learn something from what has happened. May the misinformed who voted, and the lethargic who didn't, begin to understand how precious are our rights and freedoms, how well government works when all agencies are operating within the law and are respected. How terrible it is - so quickly - when they are not.
It is Thursday. The sun is shining. The last of the snow is melting on the lawn. At the shore, the waves advance and retreat as they always have and always will. An early robin looks for worms in chilly soil. A Stellar jay scolds from the cherry tree.
Always, always, I find comfort in the rhythms of the natural world - the everness of it, the beauty. Therein lies peace, hope, and direction. When humans learn that we are part of this natural system, and are not meant to dominate it, perhaps we will begin to live in harmony with the wild ones.
It's Thursday, and I listen to the wild ones' song.
Sunday, February 9, 2025
ALIVE, ON PLANET EARTH
Small Bird
Small bird,
I hear you chirping
from the branches
of the spruce.
Your friend, the robin,
head cocked,
hunts worms
on the lawn.
You live in trust,
with a grace
I fail to muster.
You wait with faith
for the winter wind
to warm.
Like us,
you are programmed
to move forward,
through whatever comes.
I envy that
you're unaware
these times are grave.
Your voice is true,
a messenger
of earth and sky.
Owning only feathers,
you are happier than we.
Small bird,
sweet one,
teach me your song.
for Shay's Word List. I borrowed the closing lines from an earlier poem, because they fit.
Tuesday, February 4, 2025
Resistance
With egos super-sized, the future
But
some instruction:
the toxic voices
Yet
than there are of them,
who'll stand up for their rights
in every way we can.
Believe the tide
once more will shift.
I want to say resistance
will be merciful
and swift.
to the horrors that we've heard.
but it is hard
to find the words.
For Mary's prompt at What's Going On - The Eve of Destruction, and it certainly feels like that these days. I am disheartened.
Yet I remember how many good people there are, everywhere, and how in a crisis, people reach out to help each other. I seek the company of dogs. I watch the sky. No matter how far those people's reach, they cannot take away our good hearts, our compassion, or our desire for a world of social and environmental justice.
Sunday, February 2, 2025
Not a Cello Serenade
I once wrote of life
being like a cello serenade
on a summer afternoon.
My dreams then were
full of fluttering wings,
giddy and golden days,
miracles, and owls
who carried messages to me
from the spirit world.
Owl, swooping sideways
into the forest green
I wrote,
when the wild
was my truth
and the ominous voices
of today
were still ahead,
waiting to derail
my perfect peace.
Grief.
Grief,
for all we have lost,
that we hope
one day
to regain.
Meanwhile,
courage, my friends,
till the pendulum swings,
and decency
returns again.
for Shay's Word List: It is hard to find any good words right now. This is what came. I remember Shay once saying I was Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. And I was, back then, with all the hope in the world.
My friends on both sides of the border are in for some very hard days, perhaps years. I have compassion for us all. And I am too old to think I'll be around when the pendulum turns and turns again. But I have to believe it will, because most of us have good and decent hearts.
Saturday, February 1, 2025
Wild Woman Watches the News
Wild Woman watches the news.
She hears from an American doctor
who tried to save children's lives in Gaza.
She learns how the few hospitals left
- none of which had
HAMAS involvement -
are closing due to the cancellation
of US funding.
She speaks, with tears,
of a four year old child
she tried to save -
one of 38,000 children
orphaned by this war.
The segment ends.
The suffering continues.
Wild Woman shakes her head.
Her chest swells with sorrow.
Her eyes fill with tears.
Wild Woman has
lived too long
and is seeing things
she never thought
she'd see.
A child wrote:
I wish Palestine
can be free.
Monday, January 27, 2025
In My Deepest January
how to hold on to balance,
For my prompt at What's Going On - In Your/My Deepest January
Kindred
With my kindred,
I entered the church,
my forehead blessed
with a circle of ash.
ashes to ashes,
dust to dust
I've been told a woman
is made from the elm tree,
a man from the ash.
A horse
is only as free
as his guardian
allows him to be.
We live in a world of fences
and walls. Perhaps
this is the source
of all rage.
I took a trip
on my keyboard
to a place where
hundreds of shorebirds
lift together, as one,
into the sky,
then vanish.
My kindred now are scattered,
like hungry ghosts,
who have the knack
of visiting me
in dreams.
I wake up, dizzy,
and full of tears.
Tuesday, January 21, 2025
The Time of the Hunger Moon
Cougar tracks in my back yard
one morning, hungry critters
on the prowl.
on the fringes of our lives,
and struggling creatures.
hold on.
Hold on.