A Homeward Song

 

You sang me a song of winter gardens

in the long ago. You sang me a song 

of small creatures in their dens

hiding beneath the snow.

You sang me a necklace of thornberries

as December winds blew cold.

The lighted windows of our home

pierced the darkness, shining gold.

I am older now, with empty pockets,

my heart touched by winter frost.

I sing you back a homeward song,

so you won't be forever lost.

for Shay's Word List. I am travelling today (again!) so will return visits as I am able.

I Thought We Had Forever

 

Once he was a little boy, cloud-dreaming,

under a summer sky. A wolf-dog

walked beside him, along the trail, and I

thought that we had forever

as the seasons came and went,

thought grandmas always died first,

that that rule was heaven-sent.

He departed softly as a dove

without a single cry,

leaving us to mourn the loss -

his heartbreaking goodbye.

We laid you to rest under a November sky

filled with the clouds you watched,

summer-dreaming on the lawn.
Your brother sang your favourite song.

We can't believe

that you are gone.

My grandson Josh departed this life on November 4th. We are all devastated. He was gentle, loving, kind, sensitive. He loved animals, especially his kitties.

JOSH BARNES - August 28, 1992 to November 4, 2024

Josh and I spent time together when he was a child, as kids and grandmas do. He and I and my big black wolf-dog, Pup, often walked along the log train trails that weave through Port Alberni. Josh appreciated the beauty of nature even as a child.

He loved animals. When he was little, he had a collection of stuffed monkeys and always had one in his hand. He loved the family dogs and cats, especially his own kitties as an adult: Casper, Noodle and Pancake.

He was always very kind, especially to animals and the small children I used to babysit. He loved to read, and especially loved the Shonen Jump comic book series about Japan. Every Friday, if he had had a “successful” week at school, I would pick him up and we would go buy the latest issue. Of course, he always had a successful week, because I am a soft touch, like most grandmas. From these books, he expressed an interest in learning Japanese and taught himself a few key phrases.

Josh was eight around that time. One afternoon, we went down to the Quay to get some ice cream. The woman vendor was a person of Japanese ancestry and Josh walked up to her and greeted her with “Nee ha.” The woman was so surprised and pleased that a young child not only had taken the time and interest to learn that phrase, but was also able to offer it to her unprompted. She was impressed. That was Josh.

As he grew up, that same regard for people was there – his kindness, the ability to accept people as they were, where they were at. He was a known and friendly figure at the Quay, and he loved his job at the Starboard Grill. He loved his motorcycle and taking long drives out into the countryside.

He had a quirky sense of humour, a kind and gentle heart, and the sweetest smile. Every tribe has its magic person, and Josh was ours. He adored his family, especially his mom and siblings, and we adored him.

I have a memory of him one time when we were saying goodbye. Our eyes meet – his so clear, honest and open. Smiling, he half-turns away, to go inside, then looks back. He raises his hand in a motionless farewell that stops time for a moment that will live in my heart forever – our beautiful boy, poised as lightly as a dancer on the earth, lovingly saying goodbye.

Nothing but tears and a whole lot of love and grief in our family since he left us.

OF YOU, IN MEMORY

Of you, in memory, I dream

summer days that did not end -

the coo of doves at daybreak,

blue sky over your shoulder,

your dark eyes looking down; a smile,

my heart open wide with wonder.

My summer of love

had arrived.

Of you, in memory, I sing

the song of a distant heart

that dared not open,

from whom I unwillingly

but inevitably had to part.

ploughing the garden under,

along with all my hopes

Of you, in memory, I recall

the coo of doves at daybreak,

how you opened

the door of the cage

and out she (we) flew.

No answer is an answer

to the questions of the heart

Of you, in memory, I sing

every time I hear

the dove’s soft coo.

we ploughed the garden under,

along with all my hopes

Of you, in memory, I wonder,

sifting through all

I have come to know today:

what would have happened

had I been brave enough

and whole enough

to stay?

But no answer was your answer

to the questions of my heart

and so unwillingly but inevitably,

the time came for us to part.

My attempt at a fugue. A fugue, like the fugue in music, repeats a refrain or a theme throughout the poem.

Only one year, and one summer of love this lifetime. Too short. But fourteen years of love with Pup more than made up for it.

for Mary's prompt at What's Going On? - Memory

THIRTEEN YEARS GONE

I feel it coming, this poem I will birth
on the thirteenth year of your passing

from this earth.

So close to tears, I realized, of course, it is you.

Just how much and how long I would miss you,

back then I never knew.

Like a burrowing owl, you have lodged in my heart,

like a prickle-burr that hurts,

from which I do not want to part.

You live there, night and day,

in a corner labeled Grief.

From the missing and your-being-gone

there is no relief.

Ghost voices whispering on the wind,

and wolf howls in my dreams,

you look right into my sad heart;

your wolf-eyes gleam.

The barn owl says to light the lamp

on the windowsill for you.

But how can you find me in this place

that was never home to you?

I'm homeless in the universe, alone, without you

and I fear you're out there somewhere,

feeling homeless too.

Lead me back, wolf-spirit,

to the land we loved together.

I will walk there again

as we did in any weather.

When I can hear the rhythm of

the turning of the tides,

my spirit may still find a home

once more, where peace abides.

Maybe your ghost shadow

will accompany the hours

as I walk forever beaches that,

for a time, were ours.

*** *** ***

I went to bed and slept, and then they came:

four beautiful, snowy white wolves

who already knew my name.

The first one came close,

oh! the beauty of her face!

pushed a friendly nose towards me,

as I stood still, accepting,

but respectful of her space.

We were at the beach, the wolves and I.

A visitation from the spirit-world

of the not-alive,

and from deep in my spirit,

which needs both wolves and ocean waves

to thrive,

because it has never been enough

simply to survive.

The barn owl called sleepily

in the early light to wake me.

Four white wolves live within me now,

never to forsake me.

And you?

big, black, laughing, hilarious

creature of the dawn?

You live in my heart

forever, now.

You are never

fully gone.

for my open link at What's Going On?

Amazing to think it has been thirteen years. He lived by my side for fourteen wild and wonderful years. I miss him always. I wrote this poem on one of the early anniversaries of his death. Then, I was living in Port Alberni, where he and I mourned our lost beaches together. I am back here, now, which has been a great blessing. I hope his spirit lopes along the shore with me on my beach walks.

I have many favourites among my poems, but this one goes the deepest.

A Dubious Commentary on Impossible Politics

In the darkest hour before dawn,

 a roving reporter from the underworld

recites a satisfactory report

to the swarthy warlord:

Earthlings are behaving as anticipated.

(They chuckle in amusement.)

Like lemmings, they quietly approach the cliff,

seeming not to understand

a watery grave lies beneath.

Where are the light-bearers
with far-sighted vision,
in these troubled times?

The capricious unreliable narrator,
peering down from Planet Earth in alarm,
interjects:

Let's send in some help!

A small brown warm-hearted bird appears,
off to the side,

holding a sign under her wing:

Wait! Stop!

There is Another Way.

for Shay at the Word List - where the words took me on this nerve-wracking day before the election. 

DONA NOBIS PACEM: Holding the Light

 

source

WHEN FEELING HOMELESS,
READ THIS POEM

Fellow Traveler,

do you feel like you've been

searching for home

for a lifetime?

Are you out there in the dark

storm-tossed and weary,

buffeted by winds,

with still such a long way to go?

Come home.

I'll put a candle on the sill

to light your way.

There's a fire in the hearth

and a soup-pot slow-simmering.

Comfort and kind words await.

You need only arrive.

Watch for the light
to guide your steps.
Hold it in your heart,
against the darkness 
and unkind words swirling
around our heads.

Come home, weary traveler,

to the only home

there ever is ~

home to yourself

once again,
filled with your light
and your peace.
Together, let's light up
this tired old world
and make it shine.

for Mimi at Blogblast for Peace 2024: Holding the Light. 

We need all the light we can get, my friends, against dark forces that would divide us. But millions of bright lights can create a lot of shine.  Canada is standing with its neighbour, praying that the light will outshine the darkness.

Thanks, Mimi, for years of these blogblasts for peace. Maybe this is the year?

She Has Horses

She had horses who lived in her dreams.

When she was little, she would gallop

around and around the back field,

long hair streaming out behind her,

galloping to the rhythm

of the hoofbeats in her heart.

She was trying to be a horse, and

we smiled as we watched her

- da-dum, da-dum, da-dum -

head nodding, mane flying.

When she got big, she had horses:

a brown mare who lived in the country

while she worked in town, then, later,

an Arabian, a Grande Dame of horses,

finally a horse in her back yard,

who lived long, and ruled the small farm,

bossing all the horses who came later.

This mare gave birth to a tiny foal,

his arrival an unexpected miracle.

This magical foal was her child,

she who had never had children.

Because his mother would not nurse him,

she hand-fed him. He was her heart horse,

all of her joy and, when he died too young,

all of her heartbreak.

She did not stop crying for a month.

She still can't speak his name.

Some things you never get over.

Some things you can't speak about,

because the pain goes too deep.

She has always had horses.

What this means is knowing,

when you love animals,

that after some years of joy,

there will be heartbreak.

Her farm has a burial ground

where lie the bones of
all the cats and dogs and horses
she has loved.

Their spirits are content,

because they are still at home.

The horses she has today,

circle the burial ground on their track.

In wet weather one area moves

and puffs up, then deflates,

as if the ghost horses are galloping

underground in their dreams.

Sometimes the live ones above-ground

kick up their heels and toss their manes,

bringing us joy as we watch

through the farmhouse window.

The horses have calm hearts

and shy, wise eyes. They look into our souls;

they know who is kind, who is not.

They bring their big soft noses

over the fence-rail and whuff

in our faces. Their gentle, seeking lips

nuzzle our hands, looking for treats.

If they find none, they nibble our clothing,

or the top of the fence, and sigh.

They daydream about carrots and apples,

and sweet, young grass.

They love their small barn, their round track,

and their people, staring towards the window,

where their humans live,

waiting for their next meal of hay.

She has always had horses,

who visited her in dreams

until they came to her in life:

each one with its own story,

each one a heart in search of love,

soft voices, gentle hands, sweet hay

and safe stall.

She has horses, and loves them,

and so she gives them

all of that, and all of her heart,

and more.

Inspired by Joy Harjo's She Had Some Horses, and for Shay's Word List, based on Harjo's book with the same title. And by my sister, and her horses, all of whom I got to love, too.