Relations

Relations

Old enough now to have
experienced the indelibility
of words which
once spoken
hang on thunderclapped air
and inscribe themselves
forever on the reeling mind

she takes deep breath
and instead 
pierces me with the
anger of her eyes,
their deadly shafts
speaking more clearly

than past emotional
incoherences.
and I wonder,
did I ever
hate my mother to that
same transitional degree?

Could my mother
have been the devious
roadblock to happiness
I am presumed to be
or was she always

how I perceive her now
a simple-minded
and trusting survivor.

And So, Be It Resolved

Shackled through the covenant
of marriage, where is autonomy?
And where complete autonomy is
absent, so is freedom, the liberty to
do as you wish when you wish to,
with whomever the fancy takes. A
second, a third and a final thought
on the matter leads to the firm
conclusion of conviction born of 
a half-century's value of experience
working toward the second tranche
of a century and therefore be it
resolved that this signee to that
convention has the priceless freedom
to enjoy life in the steadfast company
of that other; the freedom to share
joys and sorrows, confidences and
confidence, labours and recreation,
conversations and bedroom intimacies
some not even in the bedroom, along
with adventures and sojourns,
delights and surprises, danger and
rescue, hope, health and survival.

Weeping Foliage

 

Weeping Foliage

Peels of thunder bounced off the
dark skies and an unending series
of ferocious downpours left
the early fall woods fully
exhausted, boughs and tender
saplings burdened in an agony
of weeping foliage. The drenching
left a sudden, sullen atmosphere
of near-drowned despair, the
ambient air unable to wring
itself free of the fine moist mist
lingering over the landscape,
silvery-grey sheets of minuscule
droplets hanging within the emergent
dusk of the cloistered woods, the
forest floor rampant with deep
dark pools inundating feeble
bracken, expiring after its long
season. In a swift transformation
as startling as Nature's mood 
swings a shimmering golden
beam of droplet-infused light and
warmth illuminated one discretely
cowering space after another, the
sun breaking the dreariness of the
atmosphere brashly making inroads
through the overburdened forest
canopy lifting despair into the
ineffable lightness of hope renewed.

My Self

I am many where
I would be one
fearing forced explication
or the face
turned away from mine
so I become malleable
       as clay
responding to others' biases
tamping down
my inside self
forcing up those double images
parroting words
to evoke pleasant acceptance
prevent awkwardness
yet disliking this stranger
making her uncomfortable
             sojourn
nestling among my
sinews my bones
where that one and that one
is all things
to all men
and that too-quiet
lonely voice calls out
yet unheard
hear me!
let me out ....
         I cannot

The Waning Garden

We are in mourning for the
senseless loss of life in our beloved
garden. The tenderest of annuals
whose sprightly beauty gave us
so much summer pleasure, have
expired their season. Little did we
know the elements conspired a
sneak attack. Yes, the day before
had been brittle with unseasonable
cold, but the flowers and we
felt confident they would weather
the temperature plunge. Secure in
that knowledge, when dusk fell
they drowsed the rest of the virtuous
and so did we only to awaken with
dawn to the carnage of early frost.
Now the ipomea is shrivelled, the
begonias wilted and the impatiens
alas, have descended into the
apathy leading to death's door.
Unfair and brutal; we will remember
them as they were, in lively form.

The 3-D Child

Love dies hard, but no doubt
it can shrivel into obsolescence
with enough abuse. Take the
parents of a child afflicted with
oppositional anomie, standing
out among her siblings for her
defiance, disaffection and
dissatisfaction with everything
offered in emotional security
and love, opportunities and
constant placatory attention to
her moody sullenness. There was
always hope she might outgrow
her passion for dissent, but
she was intent on fracturing the
bonds of love with one intimate
after another, all failures she
laid at her parents' trembling feet.
Faulting them and dredging her
memory for perceived slights
deserving of her accusing venom.
You'd think elderly parents would
finally understand the sad
pathology, but no, sadly they
kept returning with hope, then
retreating in confusion even as
they treated her with the exquisite
care given a favoured exotic plant
while she reciprocated, viewing
them as noxious weeds to be
destroyed; lesson never learned.

Shush...!

Nature spoke today in 
unfamiliar tones of hushed
silence. No birds sang in 
the peculiar hush of the forest.
Nor did wind ruffle the leafy
canopy, nor the forest stream
lift a ripple on its stilled
yet swift downstream passage.
Strangely peculiar was that
soundless atmosphere; even
the sun, streaming faint
beams of light through foliage
gaps sought sudden haven
behind dark clouds. And
then a Morse Code chatter of
rain enveloped the environment
neatly solving the mystery.

The World In Words

Such inexcusable greed. How, 
then, to defend oneself already
in possession of such an excess,
there will be much difficulty
finding space for the latest
acquisitions. Particularly since
those already in place are
meant to remain there. Greed
of ownership compels me to 
seek out even greater numbers
of those compelling goods,
even though the bookshelves
in my home already buckle
under the weight of all those
tomes of irresistible appeal. It
is not reason, but an unappeasable
hunger that constantly prods my
insatiable appetite for books.
How much can one mind strain
to absorb all their contents?
No matter, the draw of compulsion
dictates their steady increase and
my eyes and my saturated brain
resident in its ageing skull
acclaim all new additions to
a library promising the world.

Canadian Icon

Retired from active duty the man
remains the very picture of
resolute steadfastness, proud
discipline in an endeavour he
loves. Craggy-featured and 
lean-heightened he drives his
mind and body to excellence
in performance. With countless
missions behind him, he trains
those who succeed his generation
instilling in them a pride he hopes
equal to his own. A warrior, in and
out of uniform, he smiles often
his manner gracious not gruff
and his carriage one of civil
courtesy. He exemplifies the best
Canada has to offer in crises
responding to emergencies at home
and courage abroad in foreign wars.
He has seen them all. Now, his
sons, bred of the same steely resolve
represent in turn what he did then.
But he is not withdrawn from duties
he self-imposes, teaching new
recruits, raising funds for the
national Army Run and research
funds in memory of his own abiding
hero Terry Fox, another man whose
purpose in life stimulated others
to practise what he too briefly lived.

 

Benighted Dominance

What a difference a day can make
in one fell swoop plunging into
the doldrums of mourning summer
though the calendar, not the weather
assures summer has not yet departed.
We shiver now in a premature 
assault of wind, cold and rain, with
the advent of frost breathing its
icy threat upon our beloved gardens,
vibrant and peaked with colour and
form, flowers shrinking their tender
petals in fear of imminent collapse.
Our house interior is in a state
of chilled discomfort as we bemoan
impulsive nature hurtling so heedlessly
into mischief, leapfrogging mercilessly
from summer to fall, then winter in
one arced swoop, merely because
as mistress of all she surveys, she
tends to succumb to the appeal of
totalitarian rule made effortless,
her logic doubtless because she can.

The Rain Garden

Injured Pride

It comes as one of those
unfortunate surprises to a man
whose confidence in his gait and
balance suddenly lost both in an
instant with no opportunity to
regain them before colliding with
the ground he had a moment 
before been effortlessly skimming.
Though recall eluded him, the
pain of sprained fingers and
torn nails informed him of its
source. The explanation was a
puzzling one afterward when
repeatedly asked the cause of his
badly bruised face, the fallout of
pride preceding the fall.

 

That Tempestuous Wind

Have I mentioned the wind? It's
worth a mention, hard to ignore,
bringing in another weather front
something it is so adept at, ushering 
in the unwanted, shoving around the
pleasant temperatures we've been
basking in as summer draws its 
veil close and casual leisure and
admirable garden displays begin to
wane. Warblers call their soft trills
to one another and on clear nights
shooting stars briefly light their
way southward. Wind interferes
with hummingbirds' and butterflies'
seasonal migration. Indifferent to
the complications it blows our way
the temperature drops and so do
dead branches and foliage, whisked
unmercifully from the woodland canopy
as wind roars through the atmosphere
aggressive in its destructive power
aimlessly wreaking havoc, felling trees.

Garden-Enraptured

It was a wasp-sweet trap, the
avid gardener willingly entered
helplessly entranced by the
enticing prospect of the future,
while living in the present of yet
abundant garden pleasure, of
leisure hours garnishing the
summer season wandering about
her garden grateful for nature's
generosity in an abundance of
fruits and flowers, colour and
scent bringing bees and butterflies
to savour the offerings; birds to
sing high praise of nature's bounty.
And there she was, anticipating
the chill and whitened monotone
of winter when gone the garden
to its slumber, making her spring
bulb choices of scilla, allium, crocus,
tulips and daffodils, beside herself
with the pleasurable greed of
opportunity and the fantasy of
her fairyland garden as it would
present resplendent in spring.

Taz

Tiny is adorable, so cute 
drawing attention from 
perfect strangers, pleasing the
admiration-focused owner
no end, the little creature
manageable, but oh dear, so
very frisky, alert, not the
passive lapdog she intended
it to be, demanding instead
to be cared for, exercised,
cleaned up after; in short, a
whirlwind nuisance. Which
explains how Tax ended up, 
surrendered to the welfare of
others, a forlorn puppy still wearing
the pink rhinestone-studded collar 
reflecting the disappointment
his owner experienced. Now,
Taz is the companion of an
elderly, overweight man with
arthritis and a cane, who never
misses a day taking his faithful
little companion on long
woodland strolls where Taz
flashes through the undergrowth
after squirrels no larger than
he is, stopping now and again
to cast adoring glances at the
old man who discarded that
collar and regards the Chihuahua
with love and relief, to himself
escape the formidable trap
of boredom and entropy.

Elder Mischief

Fifty years since last we bantered, 
attending our neighbourhood
high school, whispered our 
considered opinion about boys
and likely prospects, nudged each
other when another friend
distinguished herself embarrassingly,
visited each other's homes, played
"nice" girl around one another's
parents when we giggled, knowing
we were not at all "nice", cattily
defending our loose clique,
flirting with someone else's boy
friend, criticizing unfortunate
wardrobe bloopers, flaunting our
accessories, natural and otherwise,
ignoring decorum for another type
of reputation while disobeying 
authority but circumspectly, and
wincing in pain at our parents'
generation, ourselves dancing
feverishly to the music of our own.
And then adulthood elbowed all 
that aside as those experiences
melted deep within the basement
of our memory. Yet on meeting again
though the eyes are tired and cheeks
wrinkled, those grins hold
something impressively familiar.


 

What Now!?!

There she goes again ... on
one of her all-too-well-known
rampages. Something has enraged
her and she won't be mollified
until she sees her creatures
cowering in fear at the ferocity
of her vituperative rage. It
had started, this day, promisingly
enough, her mood pleasant,
exuding warmth and light as
she ordered the sun to shine
and gentle breezes to tickle the
atmosphere. But she is notoriously
volatile, her moods famously
changeable and unexpectedly,
the sun was lost behind a phalanx
of darkly threatening clouds,
while wind shunted aside its
timid little cousins. Soon, a
prolonged bellow of thunder
alerted the world below that
something was awry with the day,
confirmed when long daggers of
icily fiery light rent the lowering
darkness that fell to envelop
all it dominated and a deluge
drenched the environment in a
discharge of flooding panic.

Mt. Robson Provincial Park, British Columbia

Berg Lake Trail

 

 

 

 

Photos courtesy of J.S. Rosenfeld

High Park, Toronto

 

Yes, You Can

Sometimes you can really
go back to search for those
long-ago places of sentiment
that suddenly appear from
backstage in memory as we
reminisce and grow nostalgic
for what has passed. There are
times when a modicum of return
may be allotted so we can
glimpse what had been. Youth
cannot be recovered but a
brief escape to the places of
fond remembrance may still
be possible though time has
altered certain aspects of their
current reality. They may be
robust enough and sufficiently
unalterable as to retain their
firm scaffolding that makes them
unique, be it a neighbourhood,
a landscape, a cityscape, a
natural geological feature
famed for its quality of being
that featured large and unforgettable
in your very own storied past.

 

Force of Nature

Asia has transplanted itself
seamlessly, with a surge of
dynamism born of patient 
doggedness and its entrepreneurial
spirit, within another continent
far from its own, as it relentlessly
outgrows its broad and generous
outlines of geography, reaching
its human tentacles abroad.
There, the cantons of Asia have
established a presence with the
first few tenuous pioneers
followed by wave after wave
of resolve to bring the streams
to populate within other cultures
younger, less imperative and
resilient, to overtake and overcome
all resistance, bringing Oriental
adeptness, skill and acumen to
fecund display and prominence;
useful, charming, engulfing dark
heads bobbing to burst the bubble
of indigenous domination, with
isolated sound, colour, display and
innovation, indifferent to the society's
values it steamrollered so impassively,
no quarter given, no swords drawn,
simply the stoic, inevitable of
increase and appeal of cuisine,
custom and invariably courtesy.