Abundant Communities

This spring, Alberta Avenue started the Abundant Communities Initiative. Here is a poem which I wrote about that.

 Abundant Communities 

We’re taking this opportunity

To create an abundant community

Whether teacher, lawyer, lion tamer or such,

Abundant Communities will get you in touch.

Your choir, so dour,

With a single voice,

P1020133 (1) (1)

90th Street, Edmonton

Abundant Communities will give you a choice.

Want company for walking your brand new pup?

Abundant Communities—

We will hook you up.

Sewing or gardening, or yogaing or more

Abundant Communities will give you the score.

We’re a gift to each other

It’s really quite true

When we get together

On the Avenue.

                                                                                                     

Check out Abundant Communities in the April and May 2014 editions of The Rat Creek Press

 http://www.ratcreek.org/uploads/3/0/5/2/3052544/rcp_vol16_iss04_april_2014.pdf

http://www.ratcreek.org/uploads/3/0/5/2/3052544/rcp_vol16_iss5_may_2014.pdf

Left Behind

On the day of the K-Days parade, I was walking by our local fire hall on Norwood Boulevard, and out front sat an old Edmonton Fire Department fire truck. It was getting a tune-up before being driven in the parade. As I stood watching, the fire alarm went off, and all the firemen and the trucks took off—except of course, the old fire engine. After seeing that happen I wrote this poem.

Left Behind

The siren blared and you were off

Carrying your firemen into the unknown.

A false alarm

Maybe Mother left the oven on too long

The toaster shorted out and caught fire

Father fell asleep smoking and live ashes danced on the mattress

Back yard leaves burning, smouldered, then blew into the neighbour’s yard

Kitten up a tree.

Each time you left the station you never knew

Would it be something sad or serious

Or silly and benign?

Now you are a museum piece

Good for parades

or for going around Commonwealth Stadium when The Eskimos get a touchdown

Children get to sit in your driver’s seat and dream of being firefighters

You are shiny and clean now

Sparkling red

No longer streaked with the sweat and smoke of the life you were created for

Today’s sirens fade and only you are left behind.

photo 3

The Gift

Homeless men gather in a small knot by the Sprucewood library

Sharing cigarettes and some baked goods from a clear, plastic container

It is an iconic scene.

The group breaks up slowly

Hesitant and with resignation

Leaving cigarettes embedded in the cracks in the sidewalk.

The last one to leave, stoops down

and puts a clear, plastic container on the ground, in a bed of weeds

filling it with water from his bottle

” It’s for the birds” he says.

Days later, I walk by and see a sparrow

Alone

Drinking this small gift of kindness.

Shakespeare versus Textsphere

In April, I had the pleasure of seeing Romeo and Juliet at the Citadel Theatre. The iconic love story of two teenage star-crossed lovers made me curious to mix Shakespearian language with what I imagined today’s texting teens might create. This is what I came up with.

 

Romeo: Smiling Face With Heart-Shaped Eyes

Juliet:   Smiling Face With Heart-Shaped Eyes

“O Romeo, Romeo. Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

Romeo: WYWH

“If I profane with my unworthy hand this holy shrine

The gentle sin is this:

My lips two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

Juliet: I  Purple Heart  U

“And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay

And follow thee my lord throughout the world.”

Romeo: 4EAE

“Call me but love,

And I’ll be new baptis’d.”

I  Purple Heart  U2

Juliet: SWAK       Kiss Mark

“Good night, good night!

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

Romeo: TTYL

HAK

Juliet: XOXO

 

  • All quotes were written by William Shakespeare
  • WYWH wish you were here
  • 4EAE forever and ever
  • SWAK sealed with a kiss
  • TTYL talk to you later
  • HAK hugs and kisses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Young Man Watching

I watch you watching the sun rise

With your face turned upward, expectant, excited.

The City reveals itself slowly

Gradually becoming visible after a long night’s sleep

Glittering and shiny

Red gold

Your face too shines in the reflection.

When you see me watching

You smile sheepishly

As if I have caught you doing something wrong

This staring in awe at a new day

You sit on the window sill

So golden, so still


Like some forgotten icon.

 

 

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Falling Into Life;… Without Warning

I am in my neighbourhood grocery store, and
I go to the line with my regular check-out clerk.
Today she looks drawn, thinner
We chat about the usual old stuff
The weather
“Will it ever warm up?”
Or conversely,
“Will it ever stop snowing?”
The price of gas
“Outrageous”
My face asks a question
“It’s my husband, he’s ill,” she says.
The words tumble out now,
fast and furious- worries and concerns about him- and then stop.
“Would you like carry-out with that?” she asks
Would I like carry-out?
I would like carry-out!
Carry out her husband’s illness and her pain and fear
That’s what I would like to see carried out!
Instead I say,
“No, no carry out, thank-you,”
“No carry out.”

Video JoJo

In the August 2013 edition of the Rat Creek Press, I  wrote a poem entitled Don’t send a poet to do a dog’s work, which was about our dog JoJo. Several weeks ago, we found out that he had cancer and he died. He was a wonderful spirit and a good friend to our family. Thanks, buddy.

Video JoJo

I sit in the vet’s office, in a straight-backed chair,

not moving,

as I watch the shadows miming stories behind the window blinds

I find myself projecting your life onto that shadowland.

You are a puppy

Your big paws and big ears- too large for your small body.

I remember you running in between the pine trees,

following the fence-line of our acreage

you moved in and out of the whispering shade,

the trees’ lower limbs, patting your back gently as you leapt with abandon,

diving under the pines and back into the light.

Outside this room, the outlined limbs of a tree scratches at the window,

the black silhouette beckoning.

I hear the doctor’s verdict in a far-off voice, you are dying,

like a skipped stone-never reaching the other side of the lake.

When I send my friend, Mary, a video of you

I type ” Video JoJo ” in the subject line.

We buried you there in the trees

on a day filled with light.

Picking up your beloved squeaky cow toy,

I still think that it is the worst excuse for a squeaky that I have ever heard!

I place it on top of your grave

the squeaking moan breaking the silence

making its way to my heart.

Kaleido Saturday Snap Shots

Kaleido 2013 was a lot of fun. Colorful and lively. Here are three poetic impressions of what I saw on Saturday.

First Date

They pause in front of me, two smiling teenagers

Shyly holding hands

Torn between a rocking Cuban band,

And the performance artist, Spandy Andy.

I wonder if this is their first date.

As they separate-her hand flutters apart from his,

Like a bird gently released into flight

Her fingers look back as she lets go.

Behind them a middle-aged couple spontaneously starts dancing in the street,

In their own world

Their joy in the moment so real

That you want to reach out and grab it.

Shiny Objects

When in line at a bistro, a little girl shows me her new, sparkly, butterfly tattoo

She’s so proud of it.

The food line consists of my new friend with the tattoo, a policeman and, me, dressed in Shakespearian

garb. An ordinary Kaleido line-up.

Outside the restaurant, there is a drum circle, the drum beat is magnetic.

In the middle, a little boy, with a blue dolphin painted on his cheek,

is playing a triangle and dancing.

From the Nina Haggerty Centre emerges a youngster clutching his blue and green watercolor

painting, which he tells his dad  is “magic,” as he skips away with his arm in the air,

the painting fluttering in the breeze.

At the building’s corner, two human flies are waving at the kids below.

On a balcony, farther up the street,

Hojo is singing an old Monkees tune, ” I’m a Believer,” in acapella

A kite pokes its nose above the crowd,

As I watch a flash mob of “YMCA”

And two helicopters continue to circle above-adding to the cacophony of sound.

Dancers 

Three aboriginal Cree women,

sway and drum as they sing beautiful, breathy songs

about the women who went before them, and about their concern for Mother Earth.

Down the street, exotic belly dancers, encased in glittering fabrics and flashing jewelry,

enchant the onlookers with their finger cymbal playing,

while the crowd hoots its encouragement.

I turn and see Mary Rankin dancing up a storm with Spandy Andy,

as people make way, laughing and smiling.

This is the Kaleido view,

a view of Alberta Avenue filled with joy, acceptance and love-

and maybe a little magic.

Don’t Send A Poet to Do a Dog’s Job

This is piece which I really enjoyed writing. Hope you enjoy it too!

Don’t Send a Poet to Do a Dog’s Job

I pull the pillow over my head and pretend that I don’t hear him. I really do not hear that ninety pounds of German shepherd, who is fiercely barking and staring directly at the large elm tree in front of our house. It is six o’clock on a Sunday morning in Norwood and the world is in slumber—it sleeps. That is, all but our house.

JoJo barely acknowledges my presence, when I enter the living-room. Invader alert! The squirrel is back! Our furry sentinel stands with his front paws braced against the tattered couch arm and stares statue-like after the offending presence.

We do a mind-meld. “Do something!” he commands. So, I go outside and look up: and the shade-giving canopy into which our nefarious squirrel has disappeared envelopes me.

I am lost in wonder…

I feel the slow tremble of the leaves as the air moves through the trees

My eyes absorb the vivid green

This wondrous monarch, with her living crown of flora, dwarfs me.

I reach out my hand to a feeble ray of light, which has slipped through the twiggy arms

As the wind ruffles my hair, brushing it gently back from my face

The elm moves—a pantomime of some loose-limbed creative dancer,

Communicating a story of larger worlds than mine.

I go back into the house, and sit with JoJo, his head resting on my knee now.

“Don’t send a poet to do a dog’s work,” he mutters. You’re probably right buddy, you’re probably right.