Absent Hallow e'en

And did it rain? Oh yes it most
certainly did, to the value of the
Biblical account of a universal
deluge, it did. So copious the rain
that an instant within served to
drench even those dressed for the
occasion. Speaking of dressing
for the occasion, it is Hallow e'en
night, the second most exciting
event on a child's calendar and
their expectation ran high, their
eagerness to masquerade and to
conquer neighbourhood streets
with their hue and cry alerting
residents of their intent to trick
lest they not be treated fell on
deaf ears when their starry-eyed
plans of edible loot were denied
and the dark, rain-teeming streets
were absent their presence on this
most memorable of disappointments
in their young lives, a premonition
of the little-understood future.

Together

Unremarkable in appearance
though they are both in relative
terms still young, yet age has
blurred their features no longer as
clear and youthful as once they
were. Their tread is more measured
their ambitions for the future modest
and where once each day was an
opportunity to 'get ahead' that is
no longer so, now when each day
is a miracle they share cradling
their memories together in utter
leisure when only failing health
can interfere with the plateau of
life they stretched their arms toward
and mounted with little left to
conquer as their placid acceptance
of accomplishment and comfort in
the familiar and the routines of life
together completes their journey, a
partnership in life reaching its apex.

Neighbours

Remember that old adage reflecting
regretful resignation, that 'you can't
pick your neighbours'? You may choose
to ignore the people living next door to
you as is your right, though running counter
to the conceit of a social civility contract
because you wish to secure solitude for
yourself or because you are just plain
anti-socially hostile to the presence of 
others, but neighbours are no longer those
who merely reside beside us in a shared
neighbourhood. The world has become
one big shared neighbourhood although
advances in technology have made it a
much tighter place of communication and
ease of travel. The neighbour you prefer
to ignore who insists he/she be addressed
in gender-neutral tones, or the one you
prefer not approach your children, much
less those who righteously militate against
childhood disease inoculations thus
placing your own in potential danger are
admittedly one kettle of fish. Another
altogether are those whose tormented
lives of privation, oppression and danger
motivate them to become your neighbour
by illegally infiltrating your country.
Perhaps to place neighbours in an entirely
different perspective is to ponder the
kind of hatred of others that instill in
some an irrepressible drive to mount raging
attacks of terrorism, to slaughter and to
gloat that mass death relieves the world
of the presence of irredeemable heretics.

Artistic Maestra

It seems a peculiar methodology
not at all consonant with the work 
of a diligent housekeeper who
takes pride in caring for possessions.
Her casual attitude toward her own is
baffling to us. The effort we extend
in fastidiously dusting and mopping 
and washing up cannot compare to her 
effortless call upon wind and rain to 
tidy up and wash her possessions. On 
the other hand, none can compare with
her deft touch, her artistic temperament
her sublime aesthetic that leaves us
breathless with admiration, a talent
no one can possibly hope to match
in decor; her sense of colour, form
and texture, simply incomparable.
It is these landscapes that teach us
the basics of sensual pleasure to be
emulated in reflection of her genius.
A genius so oblivious to its own
splendid expertise in launching her
seasonal landscapes that she thinks
nothing at all of calling upon her 
servants, wind and rain, to disassemble
and scatter the colour, the form and
the texture transforming that which 
was so recently sublime into a sere
landscape prepared to welcome the
white monotones of chilling winter.

That Theocratic Pandemic

In the unwritten rule book of alert dynamics
there is the vaguest ghost of consequences
such that whenever good news arises there
will inevitably arise with it the bad news
to follow. So huzzah! at the elimination
of an influential vector of the contamination
of hatred inspiring a psychotic death
industry clothed in the mystical aura of
a command to the faithful that they be
industrious in exercising their mandate to
expunge from existence all the heretics
who have chosen to spurn recognition of 
the manifest destiny of Islam to command
allegiance in every facet of life and death
to the supremacy of an Almighty offering
the choice of supine devotion or inglorious
death to those willing to submit the liberty
of existence called human rights to a defined
and constricting mode of formulaic servitude
to a humanity-despising, slavery-elevating
view of life on Earth. The Islamic State
architect may have been summarily disposed
of but the vicious ideological strain of death
or submission has been granted an impetus
anew in the glory of his martyrdom to Islam.

 

The Garden Spirit

I imagine the spirit of the garden
my constant garden companion of
this past season's shocked reaction
witnessing me destroy what has been
so carefully arranged, or is that just
the wind huffing with indignation?
Surely I imagined a voice dry with
ill humour at my labours asking me
'what have you now to say for yourself'?
In all likelihood it was she conspiring
with the unruly rose bush I've just 
trimmed, to send a thorn into my 
palm. A sunny day, windy and cool
finally I've decided it must be done
before frost sets in and the garden
agonizingly succumbs. And then
there are my loving ministrations
the intention not to destroy but to
prepare for winter's icy blasts. And
so on with my garden gloves, out
with the secateurs, the loppers, the
shears to cut back those luminaries
the peonies, hostas, hydrangeas so
they may take their repose and gather
strength to arise another spring. I snip
and hack and cut back here and there
the compost of once green and thriving
plants growing, and I ask myself why
am I enjoying this ruthless exercise?

Speak Me The Answer

We speak of a labyrinthine riddle
as timeless as memory and as 
inexplicable as passion, one to 
which a question looking for a
conclusion has been as elusive as
the wind, the stars and the air we
breathe, with none of their ineffable
grace, begging only for an answer
to the apparently unanswerable.
When men of rare genius in time
immemorial conceived of a construct
toward which all humanity responded
in faith, the words taken as sacred
impressed upon the faithful above
all things good grace and fellowship
viewing others as they would their
own. A celestial being demanded
no less than peace and good order
among life's creations. That concept
was to transform the savage beast
that is man closer to the angels that
he is not. Ancient philosophers
added their voice in the belief that
deductive reasoning in tandem with
faith would ennoble humankind. 
The question: What happened?

World Travellers

They are legion, and they are as unalike
to one another as their heritage, language
religion, customs and values, colour of
their skin and country of origin. They
have, on the other hand, much in common 
in sharing a drive born of human necessity 
and the inheritance of survival's instincts 
to believe a better life awaits them away 
from the oppression, racism, sectarianism 
and bloody conflict that rules the misery 
of their lives. And so, in their desperation
they resolve to sacrifice the present for the
future, seeking out opportunities however 
fearful, risking life and limb to reach the 
imagined haven of long dreamed-of lands 
of opportunity where freedom resides and 
all becomes possible. Their dreams thrive 
on narratives told and retold of success
realized by others of their tribe and theirs 
can be too if they simply set out to achieve 
their aspiration. Little do they know or wish 
to know the numbers of their peers who 
escape privation and threat to find themselves 
kept as slaves eking out faint hope on dreams 
that refuse to fade. They and countless other 
refugees clogging varied escape routes and 
contracting with smugglers have little idea 
they may be packed into seagoing cargo 
holds in locked steel carriers loaded onto 
transport trucks to be driven to remote 
locations delivered to the custody of slavers 
or quite simply become victims of casual 
forgetfulness whose bodies will be discovered
their souls departed in an agony of suffering 
far outdistancing their original plight, while
the world wrings its hands in ineffectual
despair, knowing their plight will be repeated.

Desolate Loneliness

Reciprocal love is an ideal, like an ineffable
benediction conferred on the giver and the 
recipient alike, as they reciprocate perfect 
bliss in the harmony of emotional needs met
transforming life with a deeper meaning
through companionship and a shared
appreciation of all that life will offer
in the knowledge and confidence that
bonded lovers respect and care for their
others' well-being as the most priceless
of life's gifts. Those who attain it must be
aware that love is a spiritual attainment of
the highest order, one capable of growing
and also of ebbing and waning, placing
that ineffable gift in jeopardy avoidance
through nurture and devotion to its enduring 
stability. Loneliness is a bane afflicting those 
whom love has evaded, casting a deep-seated 
gloom of emotional deprivation over the 
many and varied experiences of life. This is 
a condition that has become viral in modern
society at a time when the great wide world 
has contracted with that essential ingredient 
in reaching out to others resulting in an 
ever-greater pool of binary choices even as 
those in search of the warm arms of love
become distanced from fulfillment in
favour of social distractions focusing on
the popularity of banal but sought-after
recognition without depth or value in
the accredited social allure of celebrity style
and the vacuum of distant and transient
friendships belying the human need of 
physical exchanges of mind and presence.

Shiite Militias : Female Kurdish Fighters

A picture of late 23-year-old YPJ fighter Barin Kobani, February 2, 2018.  DELIL SOULEIMAN/AFP

Shiite Militias

Female Kurdish Fighters

These men of boldly conspicuous purpose
empowered by their faith in a hallowed
god who inspires in them unalloyed fealty
as warriors dedicated to the delivery of
death in accord with the sacred scriptures
calling upon them to fulfill their faithful
obligations to a theocratic way of life
whose venom toward the unbelievers is
enduring and lethal. Their hateful rage
in encountering steadfast resistance from
an ancient and noble tribe long civilized
taking up defensive arms to protect those
vulnerable among their own, is that of
debased humanity for whom committing
atrocities against perceived enemies is
merely just desserts enjoyed with psychotic
rituals befitting deranged psychopaths for
whom tormenting and oppressing others 
is merely the prelude to torture and mass
slaughter, an orchestrated sectarian savagery
of barbaric dimensions evoking pride in its
desolate depths of inhumanity's ascent.

Relativity

Mine is a theory all my own bearing no 
resemblance whatever to those of a great 
mind like Einstein's in physics though I 
have named mine like his relativity. 
Everything, in fact, in a human dimension 
from personal suffering to world-shattering 
events and the ripples they cause beyond
the locus of their occurrence can be
relatively construed. I feel as an example
desolate that my vote will conclude as an 
exercise in hope gone astray since my 
fellow citizens felt in the majority otherwise
in their absent wisdom laying that proverbial
red carpet for the return of the most shallow
egotistical, mismanaging politician the
country we share has ever been locked into 
in reflection of a values culture so unlike 
my own. Simultaneously the Amazon is 
on fire, the Turkish military has been given 
free reign to annihilate an ancient, noble
tribe which set an example of fortitude and 
courage in a world where viral religious 
sectarianism has set fire of another kind to 
humanity. In my world of relativity I feel 
shattered by news from abroad I am helpless 
to respond to while angered by another
situation where my response is meaningless.

My Garden, My Treasure

My garden is stubborn. Yet we enjoy an 
amicable relationship, one of reciprocal
collaboration, mostly patience on its part 
with my constant conceits over colour
shapes and textures. My garden will not be 
told in certain terms how it must behave. 
Whereas I tend to discriminate, my garden 
has a far breezier attitude and welcomes the 
sudden presence of unanticipated and in fact
uninvited guests. My penchant is to nurse
cultivated varieties of flowering plants.
Not so my garden for it has a far more
pacific attitude that all are welcome. What
I identify as weeds, my garden makes room
for and not only tolerates, but takes pride
in their presence, seeing little difference
between wild and tame, all are nature's and
thus equal in status. My garden, my treasure.
My garden has been hard at work at my
beckoning, obligingly nurturing annuals
to flower without end and perennials to
perform their seasonal flowering before
tucking them away discreetly for another
year. And another year beckons, close on
the weather horizon. A fact my garden has
taken to studiously ignoring. Although my
garden is steadily fading it is in rebellion
for as I mentioned, no one, not even nature
herself calling in frosty nights and chilling
rainstorms alongside autumn winds, is able
to persuade my garden it's time to rest and
slumber under the snow soon to fall. My
garden's resistance to the inevitable is, I must
admit, a reflection of my very own, for I
have no wish to bid it adieu for another year.

Come, All Ye Faithful

As faithfully bonded to and adoring
of nature as I have always been
seeking out the company of her trees
and forests how was I to know of 
her penchant for practical jokes
her fetish for witnessing those such as
I coming a cropper while worshipping
in the cathedral of her woodland
settings, innocent of her sense of
humour that could surely appeal only
to a confirmed sociopath? It is just
lately that I recall the frequency of
falls in the long past that occasioned
bruises, cuts and sustained limps all
of which I self-confessedly attributed
to my inexcusable inattention and
unfortunate clumsiness while in her
embrace. Older now, and in the wisdom
of my years, my love for her has not
the least diminished even as I admit
with the utmost reluctance that those
incidents were planned connivances
where roots and rocks were alerted to
my imminent arrival and obeyed those
instructions which led to my temporary
and painful downfalls, and in obedience
to nature's calls storm-slick forest trails
heeded reminders to arrest my ascents
in instant disaster the better to elicit
chuckles from their mistress at the
most inelegant display of my aged
body splayed helplessly, mind in shock
at yet another betrayal by my beloved.

Societal Reversals

There are none so righteously bitter
and venomously vituperative as
those whom 'normal' society has long
set aside as degenerates and distatefully
flamboyant poseurs whose natural 
attributes marked them as profoundly 
at odds with the social contract allocating 
defined roles for all those who fall into
those designated categories assigned 
to each at birth through the inheritance 
of the human race. Scorned as misfits 
and insults to normalcy their outcast 
status buoyed by malignant language 
and violence gradually abated with the 
maturation of social philosophy finally 
accepting the abused others as nature's 
offspring. Now, while the social contract 
has expanded to full acceptance the
former outcasts exercise the authority
of shame verbally flagellating those
scorned as 'normal' in a reversal of roles 
taking pleasure in the cringing apologies
issuing from their former tormentors.

Repent in Pain

An instant, all it takes for everything to
change. You know that, just as you are
all too keenly aware of the truth in that
old adage: haste makes waste. It has often
enough laid waste if but temporarily to
your state of health through impaired
mobility. But life is good. Finally that
all-day rain that made the cold so much
worse and the wind that brought down so
much foliage deigned to stop. Though
dusk was settling in you could still get a
nice hike through forest trails before full
darkness fell if you hurried. And you did.
And that little escapade was worth every
minute you spent in the forest watching
stray gusts of wind bring the confetti of
brightly coloured leaves spiralling down
to the forest floor in growing heaps of
delicious shapes and colours on the trails
so well known. The inundated landscape
and the dusky forest interior collaborated
to create an otherwordly landscape of
transendent beauty before impending
darkness obscured it all and you hurried
coming abreast of that steep gradient often
avoided in these conditions, but not this
time. In that instant you were in disbelief
that your sturdy grip on the trail had fully
disintegrated splaying your body where
your boots normally nimbly grip dry clay.

The Unreconstructed Cynic

Shh! Have you heard, can we possibly 
give these rumours the respect of possible 
credence? Bearing in mind the cerebral
imbalance of those who passionately subscribe 
to conspiracy theories of a quality worthy of a
plotting extraterrestrial planning an uninvited 
drop-in party resembling an invasion, and 
realizing the necessity of creating as large 
a distance between the unhinged and the 
intelligent segment of society among whom 
you of course count yourself, as a theory
real-world outcomes appear to validate the 
hitherto unspeakable. That, in actual fact, we
continue, sheep-like, to delude ourselves when 
exercising the basic tenet of democracy's
victory over dictatorship by casting a ballot
and celebrating our brilliant choice of a
nation's peerless leader. As social creatures
spurning the very thought of those among
us who are clearly anti-social grabbing
a foothold on executive power, it is beyond 
counter-productive that the great (moronic)
voting public time and again elevates
candidates who are clearly by their idiotic
decisions once in power, demonstrably
egotistical sociopaths gloating over their
powers of persuasion over the unwashed.

Autumnal Woods

The stream winding through the
forest at the bottom of the ravine
froths with foliage fallen from trees
leaning above discarding treasures
of gold and red. Their green mantles
of summer have assumed improbable
shades of orange and bronze, yellow
and pink and the maples, birches and
oaks respond like mothers horrified
that their newborns have been switched
in the cradle by refusing to accept them
as their own. The forest floor is rich
with its own brocade of striped and
spotted, blanched and vibrant leaves
billowing its surface, catching the
rays of sun filtering through the
depleting canopy to scintillate shades
of a palette known only to nature.
Crickets and cicadas sing their pleasure
at the vagaries of the seasons while
platoons of regimented geese embark
on their annual migration as night
frosts surrender to crisp days and
swiftly diminishing daylight hours.

The Doomsday Clock

Its hands move silently forward then 
slightly back again, no need for the
rhythmic tictoc of time clocking its 
passing for it does and it will of its own 
volition unmindful of the schemes and 
visions of mere humanity, uncaring and 
oblivious of those who conspire to destroy 
their very own existence. It is as though
SunYat-sen and Machiavelli met as
kindred souls to prognosticate a future 
they would not knowingly be part of 
yet gleefully predicting the lengths their
successors would strive to promulgate in 
the universal human preoccupation with
deadly precise contrivances of increasingly
advanced technology whose strikes are
more than capable of obliterating life
and for whose eager proponents visualizing
success in achieving such ends leading to
power and conquest view mass annihilation
a somewhat modest price to pay to achieve
their overweening but Pyrrhic ambition.

It's Show Time

Hopeless romantics and nostalgia
seekers alike join as nature lovers in
the annual trek to the scene of the
drama where flamboyant conceit hangs
from trees and litters the forest floor in
the original colours that nature devised.
Their reward in the inner confines of a
forest their forbears long since migrated
from in favour of progress and the
tenor of the times mitigating against
the embrace of nature in favour of
a sterile urban setting where awaited
employment and the leisure pleasures
of city life. In dimly perceived primal 
memory of something discarded they
flock briefly back to their origins as
the offspring of nature's creations to
fondly recall moments in childhood 
when the appearance and texture the 
aroma and sound of autumn leaves 
and migrating bird calls drew from 
their souls a memory they failed to 
recognize but now stirs deep within 
their subconscious the latent desire 
of return, to witness their past.

Seeking Refuge

Our world, once so vast and distant
mysterious and unknowable has
contracted immensely. No longer are
there unknowns and distances too vast
to bridge for now technology in our
modern era has enlightened our base
of knowledge, our capability to travel in
a measure of time never before imagined
while communication is instant and there
now are no longer places so exotic and
remote we have no inkling of their
existence. Humankind's capacity to
learn and to invent as masters of their
own fate and stewards of nature's gifts
have tested our mettle, and found it
lamentably lacking for despite all such
advances we have been unable to tame
the wild beast that lurks menacingly
within. The slender veneer of civilization
wears thin and transparent in ceaseless
conflict and power struggles; primitive
urges surging through the subconscious
motivating the psychopathic tyrants
among us to dominate and demand
their due, the while creating an ever
growing class of people known for 
their desperate search of haven from
the ruthless ambitions of conscience-
absent rulers intent on their territorial
ambitions serving none but themselves.

All Is Forgiven

In a northern latitude where climate
rules, word of impending weather is
always first and foremost on everyone's
anxious tongue, warning of extreme
events, complaining of nature's tantrums
and her intransigent disregard for the
comfort and well-being of her hapless
creatures, a gloom descends when the
all-too-brief season of warmth and sun
prepares to depart leaving another year's
memories of transitorily benign days
all too soon consumed by rampaging
time, in their wake a rising tide of
expectation buoyed unhappily by those
sage interpretations of farmers weighing
subtle hints to predict an oncoming winter
of ultra ferocity, and all shiver within 
the confines of their shelters hastily
embarking on preparations for survival.
Days and weeks of waning light and
cooling nights of frost and migrating
birds increase the anxiety quotient
beyond toleration. Then sanity returns
to the hovering masses suddenly
noticing the beauty surrounding them
and the forgiving of nature's extremes
when autumn allows a final few weeks
of gloriously benign days where the
landscape extends its invitation to 
enjoy what we have when we have it.

Aiding and Abetting

What does it take to embark upon a plan
of action cloaked in righteous sanctimony
whose end result will be the agonizing deaths
of a vast multitude of children, women, men 
representing a vulnerable population whose
plight as a target for territorial cleansing is of
little moment to the world at large, expressing
outrage yet moving not one iota of intention
to intervene? Start with an alliance between
a pair of tyrannical bullies for whom their own
and their nations' interests overwhelmingly
eclipse all irrelevant notions of human rights.
Despite a power imbalance, they share the 
characteristics of benevolent dictators who 
walk softly among their own who obey and 
torque a deadly cudgel to those who fail the 
test of loyalty to regimes known for their  
extravagant bombast and eagerness to impose 
deadly force to solidify their rule. The alpha 
ruler considers the argument of the beta ruler 
agreeing to set aside considerations of humanity 
enabling the crushing of the spirit and body 
of a noble people whose numbers will be 
decimated, the remainder become stateless 
refugees to satisfy the whims and wiles of 
conquest. This game as ancient as humanity 
once again striding across the world stage 
unleashing death and destruction and a huge
wide yawn of disinterest on the part of the 
global institution representing the finest
interests of humanity, failing the critical test.

As Theories Go

On their street of middle-class homes with
more than their share of backyard pools
despite living in a region with but few
months of the year conducive to that 
manner of luxury, they stand out. Where
the vast majority of home-owners take
justifiable pride in their ownership of such
fine homes the condition of theirs marks
them as slovens. Fastidious in caring for
their smooth, green lawns and shrubbery
the appearance of their almost-upscale
homes, the wretched appearance of a
house whose outer aspect resembles an
abandoned domicile where weeds have
long crowded out grass and the property
fences have long since collapsed, the
attitude toward these people on the part
of their neighbours resembles resentment.
Some homes over the  years have been
burglarized, it's true. Think: is that not
supremely clever? Who would want to
break into a house that appears abandoned
with nothing of any value to be taken?
Brilliant! Oh, right, forgot. Their home
once long ago had been burglarized in
bright daylight. They long since installed
a security system serviced by a reputable 
security company. It was only a theory.

The Democracy of Equality

Are we, the great unwashed public, really 
that feebly credulous as to cling to the urban 
myth that 'all men are created equal'; all 
equally endowed with an equal measure of 
intelligence. Lending credence to that other 
urban myth that democratic action ensures
a fair and equal opportunity for those who
aspire to the highest offices in the land as we
acknowledge the welfare of the common weal
to be uppermost in their minds for they so
very demonstrably wish nothing but the 
opportunity to rule wisely with no intention 
whatever to advance their own agendas, no 
wish to gain worldly goods, no irresistible 
attraction to power motivating them whatever. 
No never. And so, to the great masses is
given notice that all is in their hands by
popular acclaim through the ballot box and
that their choice, their vote, their earned trust
invested in a flamboyant, egocentric and
well-born celebrity figure will serve to advance 
the public good, where equality will prevail 
and a flood of goodwill to equal expectations 
will reward everyone equally, those whose 
support a democratic tyrant relied upon  to
become dulyt elected and those sufficiently
intellectually discriminating to recognize the
gross deficiencies in character, honour and 
honesty underlined with pride in incompetence
that would surely bring ruin to all, equally.

 The Dilemma

Really, it's ridiculous. These items are
my personal property. I wear them. They
are indispensable in their basic utility.
Yet no matter how much time I set aside
to reasonably impress that simple fact on
him, he fails to acknowledge that these
things do not belong to him and his
constant assumption that he is free to
make off with them is becoming tiresome.
His sister is much more reasonable. She
never sneaks about to nose them out and
make off with them, just her brother does.
Of course, once he puts them proprietarily
in the toy chest she assumes, reasonably
enough, that they're fair game to play 
with. It's not as though he's deprived. He
was presented with very similar items to
regard as his personal possessions. He
seemed pleased and played with them at
first, but since placing them among his toys
he ignores them and continues to seek mine
out, relentlessly. When I rescue mine I can
hear his little feet padding purposefully
after me and I know the minute I leave them
where I can handily retrieve them when
needed, he'll reclaim them. They're my
socks, my gloves. He's incorrigible.