Impressions

Somewhat taken aback that
someone you've never before seen
much less spoken with has chosen
you to be the recipient of her
feverish expressions of love and
dedication to nature, you watch
nonplussed as her arms, like windmills
tilting the frigid winter atmosphere
to tame the energy they express
matching in her boundless
enthusiasm to portray herself
as one of the original woodland
nymphs that surely inhabit every
forest, peeking coquettishly behind
trees (no...wait...that's her dog...)
smiling and emoting and frantic to
leave the impression of a diehard
nature lover, you politely nod and
listen, since this is the least anyone
can do to relieve the chance
encounter of the air of melancholy
such people bring with them. In her
anxiety to portray of herself the very
picture of Earth Goddess the woman
betrays her state of insecurity, her
dire need to impress someone, anyone
and that anyone happens to be you.


 

Epiphany

Disconcerting, is it not, when you
muse in the deepest recesses
of your mind of the peculiarities
of theories. Say, for example, that
a parallel universe exists of which
we are completely unaware although
its creatures and their business are a
presence alongside our own, each
unaware of the being of the other.
You turn over in your mind the
abstruse dimensions of such a
thought and the likelihood of the
existence of other lives sharing your
space albeit in a totally other
dimension, and suddenly you hear
the echo of an unfamiliar voice
in agreement. When you look about
seeing no one the voice begins to
sound familiar and you realize it
emanates from within. Can it be
possible that a doppelganger shares
your body; two souls in one dimension
within the body they share? Perhaps
that disunity within unity might
explain how it is that places you've
never before seen or things done
seem familiar; not your experience
but that of the other presence within.
Or that when you have the feeling
of being watched and scrutiny of
your near presence reveals no one
rather the sentinel is within. Those
times when you make decisions that
seem not your own ... edified? 

 

Nature's Gifts

Their incontestably sublime trills
are the last to be heard when
dusk introduces the stillness of
nightfall, the first to sing of
their delight when dawn breaks
the dark curtain of night, their
sweet sound permeating the
atmosphere, the sight of their
brilliant flight mimicking a
counter-world where one views
flowers of surpassing beauty
in flight. The cardinals grace
the landscape with their
evanescent presence, truly
poetry in sound and motion.
The early morning pair in the 
tandem of mating in preparation
for spring nesting, decorate the
atmosphere in a palette of
brilliant red hues, their notes
of transcendent loveliness
gracing the airwaves with sound
as exquisite as the music of the
spheres in the very firmament.

Glory Be!

Out of sight, out of mind! Oh
really, perhaps when considering
matters of significantly less vital
importance than the well-being of
a cherished garden. In which case
it is never out of mind, though it
sleeps under a blanket of snow and
ice, awaiting release from the damp
and the dark and the frigid chill
that imprisons all growing things
that thrive in warmth and sun
rain and wind. There they lie, well
sheltered as though creatures
fearing to peer from under lest
they be blasted by winter's cruelty.
But as the atmosphere warms and
the sun approaches the vernal
equinox and the snow inevitably
begins its melt all those summer-
cossetted, admired blooms must
surely know their exile is approaching
its end. And the gardener, oh the
anxious gardener envisions that
sublime reunion, when the garden
stirs as the soil begins to warm 
the bulbs tingling to surface
heralding that brave new order
of return to brilliant beauty with
the garden restored to full glory!

Forever Yours

Yours is the hand that reached out
for mine when we were young.
Yours the mind that linked with my
thoughts, lingering in my dreams
feverish with your touch, your
image, your smell, your smile.
Yours is the life that has shared
itself with mine over a lifetime of
aspirations and experiences, joys
and forebodings. As the years have
been our companion, your nearness
has given me the comfort and
sweetness of a love lavished and
a companionship cherished every
minute of each hour comprising
the days that have passed, leading
us to contemplate those yet to
come. At night, in our bed, yours
is the voice that soothes and delights
me, your touch and your fragrance
leading me yet again into that
dream-state between here and there.

Hush, Now!

Tch, the United Nation, that formal
bastion of political correctness
has temporarily lost its way. Its
uncommonly incautious flirtation with
Islamophobia surely speaks of a
random forgetfulness, in its
temporary pivot to the unerring
statistics leaving it teetering on
charges of libel from that
redoubtable source, the Arab League.
But there they are, the figures 
that tell quite a story indeed. It is
a story in which pride and honour
absent themselves, summarily
shoved out of contention by the
misfortune of verisimilitude. As
per example, these nit-picking
details of which the devil is so fond
that the Arab world is where five
percent of the world's population
calls home, yet is responsible
for 45 percent of global terrorist 
attacks. Truly a formidable reality.
But wait, there's more as in the
fact that 17.6 percent of violent
conflicts roiling the world and 68.5
percent of deaths related to battle,
47 percent of internally displaced
emanate from the Arab world. Which
just incidentally, owns 43 percent
of total proven oil reserves to
produce one third of the globe's
oil supply, enabling it to lavish
treasury on military spending to
an extent 65 percent steeper than 
globally. Caution: Should you repeat 
this you obviously are Islamophobic.

Speciesism

Sigh. Existence can be so miserably
unfair. Life in a species autocracy
specifically, condemned by those
animals to whom human logic
remains obscure and wildly canted
to favour upright bipedal-prone
animals whose hubris is insufferable.
After all, even they subscribe to the
truism that he who 'finds' is the
'keeper'. Yet here is a glaring
instance of humans favouring their
kind over legitimate aspirants to
'found gold'. What space more neutral
than a woodland setting where a
lost mitten or scarf forlornly pleads
for notice, and a black Labrador
responds, taking ownership, only
to have the treasure summarily
retrieved from his possession and
placed on a raised tree branch out
of reach of the frustrated finder?
Oh, there are those who find it in
them to commiserate with that loss,
witness to the unjust treatment, but
they too belong to the very same tribe 
as the one who has been deprived.

Cri de Coeur

This is no fairy-tale, or fable, a
cautionary folk-legend meant
to thrill the young and present a
moment in a morality tale
that goodness will prevail
over evil. This is reality, it is a
desperate story of losing youth
to the cruelty of impending
death, a potential they face
each time they acquire a street
drug fashioned to resemble
an opioid they feel compelled
to gravitate toward, a contest
between life and fatal attraction
to an industry built on
deception and the acquisition
of wealth enabling those
without conscience to live the
celebrity lifestyle they so
admire while studiously
ignoring the lives they place
at risk. Desperate parents turn
to the state to help their
children survive an epidemic
of death, deputizing the public
to administer an antidote
when the security apparatus
of the state fails to apprehend
the deadly trade while the
death toll rises reflecting the
impulsive nature of youth
subscribing to the compulsive
draw of the zeitgeist of their
desolate time in history.

The Urban Woods

They are hugely successful
adapters within nature's household
observing the habits of 
humans who inhabit
an environment
originally theirs, now
claimed by construction
of houses, buildings taking
the place of the natural
surroundings once theirs alone.
They, at least, have accepted
the reality of a shared
landscape, one where humans
boldly present themselves
secure in the knowledge that
they alone control and take
ownership of what they will
while the others take refuge
in the places where
nature has designed itself for
preservation, unsuitable for
building enterprises and
human habitation. At dawn
and at dusk when shadows
are absent and night
still cloaks their presence
lurk the dim figures of
the original inhabitants
the foxes, coyotes, and fishers
the carnivores occasionally
swifting away with a
hapless pet unaccustomed to the
reality of life in the primitive
rawness of survival, their
absence a mystery to the humans
whose presence dominate the
waking hours, oblivious to the
dramas that unfold in the nighttime
urban woods surrounding them.

Overnight

The humped ghosts
of yesterday
peer through the
dim gloom
of night
edging into day
snow falling
thick as a
lover's promises
an incandescent halo
glimmering from
light standards
a refraction
stippling
the snow
reflecting the
barely-limned moon
moving serenely
through overcast
as deep
as a rejected lover's
thoughts.

Melancholia

Beginning anew, turning over
into another year, that old marked-up
calendar can be discarded now, can't it?
Only paper, dissecting your life with
appointments and events marked
indelibly as an aid to memory.
Two scheduled vacations
cancelled due to unforeseen
circumstances when it was fated
you would lose a close family member
to an early death. Following hard on
a beloved pet's death. Two messages
you have no wish to revisit. Nor
the pre-surgery appointment, much
less the surgery to follow, let alone
the agonizing recovery. A test for
auto license renewals reflecting
advanced age and a cautionary
government protocol. That call to
your lawyer to schedule an appointment
revising your last will and testament.
This, and so much else, reflects your
annus horribilis. Of course it is not
the calendar but your faithful diary
that records the unfortunate lapse in
familial accord leading to a schism.
If you discard the calendar in favour
of the new year and throw in your
diary, will life and memory expunge
the reality of those misfortunes so
convincingly that you can wish and
believe they were incidents in an awful
novel you've read and set aside . . . ?

Out of Mind

She worries that she might
have entered the world she fears
populated by the elderly whose
cerebral function has regressed
suffering from dreaded Alzheimer's
but her memories are intact and
she knows what she loves and
mourns what she misses and she
detests where she is, that place
where her family has placed her
concerned, they explained to her
that at her age she was living alone.
Her home is gone, taken from her.
Her pleasure in life has been
diminished but she can still get
around, though slowly, and when
she can she exits the place she
loathes to toddle to a nearby park
with a lake, and sits there so she
can reminisce about how much
she and Allan loved to do just
that. Allan, where is he? She 
would so much like to be with
him. No one comes to see her
not surprising since everyone lives
far away. It is like that with the
elderly; they become transparent
people can look right through
them as though they don't exist
and out of sight, out of mind.

That Beatific Greeting

Nothing quite outranks its pure
essence of communicating trust
and kindness, happiness and friendship
as does the spontanaeity of a smile.
It alone of all human expression
sends its message of instantaneous
sharing in the human tradition of
open embrace of the other. The smile
of a stranger is capable of instantly
shedding hesitation, as an invitation
to commune with someone unknown
but willing to share sentiments or
the slightest of greetings. It represents 
a signal of hope where none
has been evidenced, a message of
caring and concern. It sends out
feelers and receives in return a like
response linking those with no
similarities in background and
experience yet eager to share what
they can. Love is enhanced when that
facial corroboration is embraced as
reassurance. The exuberant radiance
of a young person's smile welcoming
reciprocation links generations
in the amity of the finer emotions.
The twinkle of a smile can be heard
in the soft voice of one who hesitates
but whose intention is clearly
inviting. The face transformed
by the inner soul venturing instant
contact disarms and invites us to
restore faith in common humanity.

Tradition . . . !

All together now, and with
due conviction reflecting your
progressive status, vow that the
truth will prevail and justice 
will be done in naming and 
shaming the despicable entity
known to be responsible
for all the ills that plagued
the world throughout history;
verily unto the present day.
That mendacious, conniving
clan whose notorious
ambition to conquer all
knows no bounds but deceit.
Presenting proof of a divine
instruction in their sacred
scriptures of recent vintage
disguised as antique, with the 
Almighty tasking them to be 
a light unto the unworthy world.
Claiming persecution while
busily persecuting others. Never
will the world forget their
six million assertions of
their kind destroyed, those
racists destroying millions
through their merciless war
on innocents they deprive of
heritage and land, strewing
havoc in the Middle East and
plotting throughout the world
to gain power through control
of the media, banking, finance
and political upheaval. All the
while weeping crocodile tears of
bigotry and pogroms decimating
their numbers in an orchestration
of widespread deceit. Justice 
and truth will prevail, of this
be certain. Beware their
disarming tactics, recognize
their practised guile, oppose it
reveal it and censure it, 
consign that enemy of humankind
to the cellar of bleak despair.

The Ballet

The peerless pirouettes
and arabesques are an
expression of perfection
orchestrated by the
uniquely talented
originator of all that
exists. It is a graceful
exhibition of balletic
majesty, as each
flake of snow joins
with countless others in
a performance of
breathless beauty.
One slight miscue
only adds to the arcane
mystery of nature's
designs, as the sun
makes an impromptu
appearance and just as
swiftly fades behind
the curtain of pewter
clouds parting ever
so slightly to spill
scintillating flakes onto
the  spellbound
audience below.

Communication

They are nameless, faceless
and terrifyingly legion
in the wilderness
of the Internet. They
have language and they will
speak. Their hunger is for
recognition for they
have much to say. And
they will say it. They will
speak softly, loudly
demanding notice. Out of
the wells of their
consciousness flows
poetry that would
otherwise languish to
be repeated forever in
the chamber of their
thoughts. Release to the
ether brings the expectation
that the immense indifferent
audience will care
to recognize their genius
their inchoate plea for
someone, anyone -- everyone!
to hear them, read the
priceless language they deliver.
In an unfortunately unknown
alphabet whose meaning
is conclusively obscure.

 

White Tempest

It billows and shifts, blows
this way and that, the incandescent
veil of flakes, each a unique and
lovely droplet of water blasted
by the frozen atmosphere into a
work of art. In its sheer force
of numbers inundating all
that lies below the tumult of
the sky above releasing
its frozen treasure, hidden
by the tumbling, twisting
of the wind-driven snow
so fiercely abundant that
all it blankets assume shapes
only nominally identified
in their ghostly, white-transformed
guise absorbing the creeping
twilight and exhaling a
scintillating play of light on
the variegated planes of those
inexhaustible starry symbols
of nature's gifts from her
storehouse of tricks and treats.

You    Me    

In the constellation of my universe
I am the moon, wan and cold
in your absence, suddenly come to
life in your presence, illuminated
and warmed, comforted only in the
atmosphere you create, beside me.
I am aware that there has never been
a love as deeply rooted in the soul
and consciousness of any other two
people as that which exists with us.
When your strong arms encircle me
and the heat of your body invades
my own tepid existence life is
renewed in the passion of our love.
What is the force of possession that
enraptures me in your presence if
not your evanescent being, your
wit and intelligence, your capability
and humour, the reassurance of your
being there, with me, always, forever.

Burqa, Niqab. Hijab

Who cannot recall that perennial
admonition directed toward ill
behaving children that they would do
best to be seen and not heard. That 
paternalistic observation in the interest
of teaching children how best they are
expected to behave in adult company
we now know to be a practise where
honour is involved in tribal cultures
which savour the expectation that
women may be softly, ever so softly
heard, but best not seen. And to that
end girls and women, chaste and
obedient must be garbed so completely
they resemble ambulatory tents, eyes
peering above and through slits to
enable them to see but not be seen.
Among some, it has become a matter
of pride and piety to adopt the half
measure of hijabs, projecting femininity
and aesthetic appeal to tempt the
imagination while covering the hair
as a symbol of defiance of freedom
to be as equals to men, construed as
strength of purpose this choice to
present as submissive to a supreme 
being, the women revelling in their
status as chattel, preening and posing
as uniquely endowed with strength of
character, abandoning social constructs
demanding no sacrifice of women. They
abandon in so doing the plight of those
women and girls who have no choice.


 

Linked Sight Unseen

There is a global chasm between
the social construct of her culture
and mine, but between us no gap
exists for she echoes my humanity
this tribal woman whose sentiments
represent the portal to her soul
whose words have entered my heart.
We have never met but we have
touched one another, giving comfort
and exchanging assurances heartfelt
and without pretense or guile, she
and I. Yes, there is a sisterhood we
share for our expressions of
concern and values are as one, she
and I. We hold little in common
in birth and geography, in age and
heritage, but we both hold the
common ancestry of humankind
and the bitter disharmony lavished
upon those inhabiting areas of the
world awash in bloodshed in mutual
dismay; she through experience of a
direct impact, and me through the
inheritance of a dystopian world that
sought to destroy my kind. It is a
mystifying science of communication
that has linked us in a communion
of hope and aspiration, she and I.

Soles Afire

She stands accused of haughty
passive indifference to her subjects
in the global court of public opinion.
Less a condemnation than it is a
plea that her powerful manifestations
of majestic rule play less havoc in
the affairs of the world of geology
and atmosphere. But nature is
disinterested in our puny complaints
though she does seem to delight in
hoisting surprises upon our hopeful
expectations, playing her tweaking
little games that concern and
delight, but never concurrently.
Yesterday we were entertained by
biting cold and bitter wind when 
copious snow, freezing rain and ice
pellets had their turn in the decor
of the landscape, doubtless pleasing
nature while causing consternation
for her creatures. But today, ah,
today the blazing sun pushed aside
those leaden skies to illuminate
nature's vast acreage of winter
the season's snowpack deeply
garnished with pellets of ice frozen
overnight and impervious to shovels.
In the forest, deep in white billows
hikers and dogs shuffle along over
the depths of shifting white like
sun-dazzled desert dwellers slowly
moving aside sand with their
heat-blistered feet, soles afire.

The Lawyer

He has surely amassed over
the years the qualifications to pose
as a psychologist, a social worker
having worked his conscience to
its utmost in seemingly empathetic
appeal quite as though understanding
(though the complexities yet puzzle him) 
the vicissitudes of intimate human
interaction; the manner in which love,
trust, respect and perseverance in the
adversity of human misunderstanding
so swiftly transforms into emotions
of disappointment, vitriol, and anguish
with hatred waiting in the wings so that
family cohesion is in disarray while
bruised egos and pained feelings
unerringly guide once-caring
parents and their grown offspring
into opposite corners of a stage
brimming with resentment, the
intention to snip the struts of the
last connecting bridge and write
inheritance out of the last sad and
sorry will, testament to failure in
the will to sunder ties that bind.


.

Still Dancing

A delicate child with fragile
health, she was sweet-faced and
gentle. Admirers never knew she
could not view them as they did her.
A forceps delivery impacted her
eyesight and as she matured she
became legally blind. In her young
years she was shy and reserved
and her mother despaired she would
never find someone to love her. But
she did, mothered three of her own
managing to work around all the
obstacles others would view as
impediments. Her husband concerned
she was too retiring, convinced her
to accompany him to a social event
and for the first time she heard the 
laughter of people dancing in tandem.
Ballroom dancing became her passion
as together they became skilled and
committed to social gaiety and graceful
movement. She lives now for the
dance, moving as she is toward her
80th year. Moved as well beyond
merely ballroom to include square and
line and whatever else she is inclined
toward in joy of the elegance and
freedom of movement and laughter.

Mighty Benji

Benji sees himself as a force
of nature, responding with lighting
force speed, his voice a thunderous
warning to other dogs failing to
view him seriously. For a small --
a quite small -- dog his energy and
endurance know scant bounds -- yet --
since he is awfully young and yes
of course, impulsive. He's a woolly
ball of curly-haired bombast and
fun striking poses that send observers
into gales of laughter, a natural on
the stage of life. He'll get his deserved
comeuppance at some time in the near
future, but not just yet, because it's
snowing, and the ground is puffed
with the white stuff he so loves
burrowing into, leaping about in
speeding over in huge bounds
that might touch the sky since
there's such a low cloud cover
dispensing all that snow, but try
as he might and he does mightily
his prodigious leaps far slightly short.