Tag Archives: Alberta Avenue

The Gift

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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.

Kaleido Saturday Snap Shots

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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.

My Bottle Picking Man

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My Bottle Picking Man  

I see you immersed in your metal sea of blue,

Searching through the bags of garbage and the hollow boxes

Seeking your treasured bottles and milk cartons.

Suddenly you come up for air and stand  – your knees in a sea of garbage,

Which washes around you flowing backwards

As you shake out a castaway cigarette pack-

One left

You gaze at it with amazement and pleasure,

Like a beachcomber, who has found the perfect seashell.

You raise your hand to me in a friendly “hello”

When I look again , you are gone

But will return on the morning tide.

Greetings From the Bard

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Welcome to the new Bard of the Avenue blog!

Guess who the one is without the beard? (Maybe I shouldn't second guess my menopausal chin hair growth)

Guess who the one is without the beard? (Maybe I shouldn’t second guess my menopausal chin hair growth)

Thanks for joining me. This is a space for folks who love living in the 118 Avenue area in Edmonton, and especially for those who want to share their poetry.
I have two dogs and two garden gnomes, but more than two poems. We have awesome neighbours.
But ,when you envision where I live, don’t fill your head with majestic mountains or prairie fields. We are surrounded by Commonwealth Stadium and a fire hall, and sometimes overhead, just for interest, throw in a police or Global helicopter.
The “roar of the crowd” was formerly only a poetic image for me, but not now. I have sat on our swing in the backyard and listened during a football game. Sometimes I experience the sound from the stadium as a crashing wave of noise-filled air, a hot roar. Sometimes it sounds like a sigh and at other times the anguish of dispair, or the intense quiet or a collective holding of breath when the ball is airborn.
This is the Avenue. This is my home. This is one of the poems that it has inspired.

Alberta Avenue Audio
I sit on our backyard swing taking in the sounds of Alberta Avenue.
The high pitched demanding chirps of newly-hatched sparrows,
The screech, screech of the grocery carts, as the street nomads make their way to the Bottle Depot,
The automated lady-voice, coming from the P.A. system at the fire hall
Telling the firemen the latest disaster- followed by the shrill whine of the fire truck siren.
The steady basketball beat of my neighbour’s children and their ball.
The roar of the crowd from Commonwealth Stadium, when the Eskimos are winning and the almost perceptible sigh when they are not.
The music belting out from a boom box, as the man across the way fixes his truck, while listening to his favorite tunes.
The ringing of bells from the nearby Church.
This is the audio behind the story of a day in the life of Alberta Avenue.
A call to arms, a call to nature, a call to prayer-
All in my own backyard.