Shape-Shifting Janus

 

The human animal has many attributes

some of which are integrated toward the 

goal of survival, the first imperative that

nature bestows upon her creatures.

There is the kind of drive and tenacity

that helped concentration camp inmates

to adapt to their misfortune with the

hope that rescue would eventually arrive.

There is the intent of curiosity and its

sister, exploration that drove restless

souls to the farthest ends of the Earth

to discover that there were no limitations

to aspiration. There were the minds so

heavily wedded to science their very

thoughts were capable of exploring the

universe and the impacts on human

health of the unseen creatures devised

by nature to ensure humankind could

never rest on the assurance of existence

in a hostile world. And then there are

those who among the populace consider

themselves the natural arbiters of all that

concerns civilization, assuming positions

of authority both autocratic and democratic

who may have been endowed with their

fair share of principles and intelligence

but choose in the interests of political

power to shelve unneeded albatrosses

in the greater interests of shifting gears

as and when required to be all things to

all people and in the process failing all.

 

Humankind Orphaned

 

Undeniably we remain one of nature's

works in progress, the draft plan

having undergone many spontaneous

alterations from primordial times to the

present and look, we are still evolving.

Nature has patience and she does not think

in terms of her creatures' lifespans for in

the vast time and space that she has 

dominion over we are but the briefest of 

afterthoughts.Who knows, really? She might 

even in that brief focus on humankind's

complex blueprint, have envisaged a tame

cooperative spirit somewhat like a colony

of bees or of ants working studiously together

for the common weal, and indeed her humans

have themselves on occasion expressed such

admirable intentions of emulating those

far lesser creatures. Hers is a busy agenda

however and such details must inevitably

escape her notice as she turns attention to the

much larger order of orchestrating fascinating

events in her vast universe as a whole, only

occasionally returning to the minutiae of which

humans are but one example. And having turned

that attention upon that agonizing evolution might

have muttered a plague on that disorderly house.

Heritage

 

His mother, a latter-day Madonna even 

if of the wrong tribe, whose new-era glow

adoringly considers him her "Golden Boy"

magnanimously inducting him through

her touching prayers to a distinguished

place of honour such as that held by

his sainted father who bequeathed to

this son of two paragons of virtue

dedicated to hedonistic pleasure (her)

and skillful managing of the public weal

(him) to shine a progressive light unto

the world bringing Canada back into the

realm of a middle power strategically

outweighing its size and wealth for the

greater good of humankind. This son of

the sun of sunny ways brought Canada

'back' to its presumed place in the order

of world progress in 'post-nationalism' 

for he inherited the mesmerizing charm

of his father, his cheeky acrobatic skills

and dedication to supreme showmanship

attracting all eyes to gravitate upon his

splendid form. The misfortune was that

inheritance failed to transfer the level of

intelligence required to reach the pinnacle 

of perfection assumed to be his. The result

being a constant series of malfunctions

due to dysfunction sinking Canada into one

abysmal debacle of embarrassment after 

another while the man of the moment

continues to crow happily on his success. 

 

A Grave Event

There are no graves here. Only the plaintive

wind sounding the cries of sick children their 

hopeless mothers, their spirits roaming the

infamous grounds still housing the barracks

and the crematoria, the vast ovens that spewed

human ash over the countryside, nurturing the

ground replenishing soil in an agrarian countryside.

Countless human lives ended here deliberately

and with malice suffocated by deadly gas but 

graves there are none. The site, its purpose-built 

horror chambers and the surrounding soil a 

testament to humankind's capacity to extend 

itself in a vast exercise of destruction. Walking 

in an atmosphere of hushed introspection the 

current leader of the nation that aspired to rule 

the world and was waylaid by its focus on genocide

strolls alongside the leader of the occupied host 

country on whose soil the colossal affront to 

humanity occurred. One demurring responsibility

the other sighing at the inhumane blight her nation 

was responsible for. The world is their witness

they abhor the past even as the corrosive events

of the present creep toward an intended renaissance.

 

 

 

He Pleases Me So

 

When we were young a lifetime ago

I was the one who trusted and he was 

the cynic and I was forever remonstrating

with him, irked that his attitude might very

well turn people away misunderstanding

the person within the skeptic's facade yet

it was no facade and he remains to this

very day the cynic he once was. What

has changed is the loving person within

has found the courage to face the realities

of life while I become discouraged and

always in need of his smile that never

fails to meet my face turned toward him. 

He pleases me so. In our tight clasp of

one another we have grown old together

with grace and thanksgiving. And though

we are decidedly reserved, it has become

his view of others that empathy is an

emotion to bring to the service of those

whose circumstances demand it. And so

I witness time and again his gruff voice

soft, his arms so accustomed to encircling 

me, hugging others reeling from wretched 

blows of fate; an elderly woman bereft of

her dog's companionship, a wan neighbour 

whose health has noticeably deteriorated

a confused child briefly separated  from a 

parent, the presence of animals, insects 

and birds gently moved from areas of traffic 

to natural shelter. Our intimate recognition 

of each others' characteristics has melded 

us as though we are one entity yet time and

again this man introduces me to another

facet of his being and I an suffused with

gratitude for his warm embrace of life.

 

Keep Pumping

 

Agreed, they have all the attributes that

respond to getting 'bang for your buck'.

Hard not to notice their appearance among

the other bright and colourful baubles in a

holiday season meant to appeal particularly

to the child in everyone and the children

living in the homes that host them on their

winter lawns. All the requisites check out

with flying colours for they are large

eye-catching, nostalgic and brightly lit

designed by minds who know the value of

broad appeal to young and old. And there

they sit, irresistible to the eye, drawing

appreciation from all who view them as is

the householder's intention. Last year the

one decorating a lawn up the street was

Disney-themed, with Mickey as Santa

surrounded by a lesser but just as colourful

supporting cast. This year there are two

Choo-Choos blaring colour and form on

two separate lawns down the street. At first

appearance they glow with brilliant appeal.

But this is the white wasteland of the Great

Frozen North above the 49th Parallel and

while a White Christmas is guaranteed, the

assurance that a large inflated decoration

will stay that way cannot be; a tradeoff for 

Christmas in such warm climes as California

or Florida where inflatables are guaranteed 

not to deflate amidst a dearth of snow. Yet

those homeowners, battling desperate chill

of sub-zero temperatures and falling snow

faithfully emerge every day to re-inflate 

those child-centric Christmas decorations.

 

 

Snow Imprint

 

The forest floor, well on its way
to freezing - encouraged, bullied
by impending winter's
dominion over land
and inland waterways...

Those ferocious icy blasts
have brought new, permanent
snow, covering that rigid floor.
Snow flurries pause lazily in
downward spiral toward
winter's certain depths.

Wind whips bare branches.
The scarlet head of a woodpecker
brutalizing the trunk
of an ancient pine, shards flying
reveals a wide, white gap
the bird rewarded for its
destructive industry.

Clouds catapult their spare
contents with diminishing returns
as an insistent gust sweeps them
imperiously aside to reveal
an azure promise.

Beams of modest brilliance
modified by the season
yet still sufficiently solared
illuminate a child's
luminous snow-angel.

 

 

The Human Condition

 

How appalling it is to know that in many 

countries of this great wide world people live 

in squalid, hopeless conditions of extreme

poverty facing institutionalized discrimination

due to ethnicity, religion and social conditions

of long cultural tradition where distrust and

viral hatred between tribal groups and minorities

fosters threats and civil strife and food shortages

threaten alongside lack of health care where

raging epidemics of deadly diseases due to

lack of sanitation compromise the longevity

of those unfortunate enough to be citizens.

And how fortunate those others are who live

in civilized societies whose economies ensure

employment and whose constitutions pledge

sanctity of the individual and equality of

opportunities, if not outcomes. Where the

assurance of a plentiful food supply, housing

and universal medical care fulfills peoples' 

basic needs of ample water and energy and 

schooling where offsprings' aspirations to 

succeed in life can be realized. There, where 

human rights are respected by custom and by

law and where human potential is encouraged. 

Bedeviled by the presence of addictions, by 

homelessness and despair. Where children are 

stalked by pedophiles. The homeless and the 

hungry kick pride aside and public food banks 

distribute donations to the needy. And where 

domestic violence creates the necessity of 

public shelters whose security and capacity is

never quite accommodating enough to solve 

the endemic issues of humanity's incapacity 

to govern itself credibly as a civilization.

 

Winter Solstice

 

This has been most auspicious
this scintillatingly bright day
beyond bone-chilling
given plunging temperatures
high humidity and incessant wind.

Our boots crunch deeply
into the ice-caked snow
as we pass trees in seasonal
white festoon, wind still busy
urging cakes of snow to !plop!

The sky blue, with drifting
white banners decorating the occasion
a silvery scimitar of a moon
lost in the greater grandeur
of that amazing cosmos.

It is not yet mid of the afternoon
sun sending long shadows
as our legs assume slender
proportions as of gliding tentacles.

As bright as the day has been
there is a darkening quality
hovering in the atmosphere
the sun all too prepared to set.

There is a supreme tranquility
on this shortest day of the year
ushering in calendar winter
though the winter season has long
preceded the calendar.

One an event of nature's making
the other a notion of humankind.

 

 

Winter Arras

 

Yesterday wind bellowed through the

forest, whipping snow from branches while

birds fled and animals shivered in their burrows.

Today -- ah today, the wind has transformed

itself from threat to avuncular host whispering

welcome to those who tread the forest pathways

portraying itself as meek and companionable

speaking the language of comity and friendship.

Yet something lingers in the woodland interior

of yesterday's hostility when the surly wind

sent penetratingly icy fingers of painful cold

to remind all that huddled in trepidation and

fear that its power is unlimited and occasional

episodes of theatrical bonhomie do not define

its entire repertoire. Even while the mild and

orderly gusts ruffle the feathery snow dusting

remaining on boughs and branches there is an

aura of disquiet. Dusk has arrived too soon in

heralding night's imminence when under cover

of a black night the wind can plot new excesses

to terrorize its tender victims hoping to survive

winter's misery. For the meantime a collective

sigh is released from the forest as the heavens

liberate their treasury of translucent crystals

their inner sparkle brilliantly lighting the sky.

 

 

Take Flight!

 

The soft, mouse-grey sky
canopies the landscape
lavishly curvaceous with
buoyant snow from yesterday's
blizzard that brought a
mesmerizing disquietude
to Nature's humble creatures.

An icy chill has asserted
over the land, settling into winter.
The orb of the sun gleams softly,
intermittently casting tender
beams of light to highlight
here and there the track
of a hare, the wingspread
of some night-time hunter.

Malevolently-driven winds
harnessing the weather to
an ultimate degree of dislocated
anarchy prevails. Hurling itself
at all that presume to present
in its imperious path. Now
settled into a moderately
persistent presence.

Groaning, moaning, clacking
forested tree tops. Toppling
snow drifts sitting on tree stumps
like ice cream on their cones,
the bundled snow falling softly
creating a landscape of its very own.
The creek streams silently onward
its banks softened in silver sides.

Fall malingerers are placed
on notice; stay, and surrender
to an unaccustomed harshness
of climate in degrees and ferocity
you've not been equipped to surmount.
If survival is your goal - take flight!

 

 

The Silence of Snow

 

Wind spurts fierce thrusts compelling
the snow to drift languidly and
mound into voluptuous landscapes
while evergreen boughs heavy
with snow release great clumps
themselves springing to height.

Lazy clouds of snow drizzle
the landscape. Falling clumps freckling
the grey sky, shifting clouds to
pleasure the insistent sun. Shafts
of light haze through the forest,
firing the snow to silver crystals.

Through the soft and gentle
stillness, the staccato of a hairy
red-capped woodpecker. Snow
generously comforts a recently-bereaved
copse of elm, maple and poplar,
naked no longer. Trunks grey
black and brown stippled
gloriously-blinding white.

Desiccated, bright orange bittersweet
fruit cluster along their vines'
chokehold on prickly Hawthorns.
Their haws shy against the
flamboyance of the others.
The creek drifts clear and tinkling
over gathered fall detritus
now heavily banked in snow.

A raven crosses the undecided sky
its raucous call shredding the silence
swift body a black arrow true to its mark.
Soon, snow-muted silence regains
its imperious reign.

 

 

The Short Story

Not very enlightened
nor expressively creative,
but most certainly qualified
as a short-short story.

About life in general
and an evaporated passion
in particular degree
well beyond rescue.

They met, they tarried.
Sharing the veneer of
common interests
but not, alas values
and cultural background.

He as disinterested in hers
as she in his. Still, they married
and celebrated a scant few
years of mutual neglect
and growing revulsion.

Though neither would
offer the other release from
tension and aggravated
bitterness in expectations
drowned in grievance.

Theirs was a story
abbreviated by his final
solution. Her ultimate demand
answered by his final decision.
He did not attend her funeral.

Inflicting upon him
recrimination and blame
that only a faithless woman
is capable of wounding a man by;
her final act to seal his future.

 

Study In Contrasts

 

Each is dear beyond compare

but just for the sake of the challenge

let us briefly and with love and

affection enumerate the contrasts.

In their precociously early years

grandchildren strike us as 

miniature versions of ourselves

and they instinctively realize

that our purpose in their lives

is to entertain them. Puppies

in their gamboling formative years

entertain us. They are attentive

to us, fulfilling our needs in

exchange for love and theirs

has no limits and few constraints

content with our company as we

mature together. Grandchildren

know us as 'old', likely equalling

mental incapacity, incapable of

understanding their language

as they spurn the formality of

ours, along with our stone-age

musical preferences. They are

horrified to view us dodderers

dancing; our pups are intrigued by

such admirable shenanigans. No

longer in approaching the age of

consent do our grandchildren look

to us for entertainment, but to

endlessly fund their entertainment

their advanced education, their

adult lives. Exasperated? Amused.

 

 

Haven't We?

 

Our social history is one of

imperial colonialism lording it

over less socially, economically

advanced cultures, even cultures

of ancient heritage that the hubris

of ours found wanting, and now

those times are less hallowed, the

spirit of domination and oppression

that zeitgeist acknowledged

with the penance of shame as

we humbly teach ourselves

the virtues of tolerance and

respectful understanding, to make

amends so we may like ourselves

spurning our past. Now we are

tolerant of those who in history

felt somewhat as we did

sublimely entitled to crude

and bloody conquest in a

surging scimitar-led campaign

to forcibly enlist those not of the

faith to surrender ignominiously

and penitently to Islam. Now, we

fatuously empathize with their

campaigns of murderous raging

jihad murmuring sympathetically

past one atrocity after another

that we have, after all, offended

their theistic sensibilities.

 

 

Absent Neighbours

 

Just as well it is winter

and miserably frigid, one

supposes. Puppies have to

become accustomed to all kinds

of weather, after all, and while

duty not yet calls them, we

take up the challenge 

as befits their human

companions since time

beyond memory to ease them

into the backyard ritual

of relieving themselves there

not in the house. They shiver

in the cold as we do, their

tender little paws abused

by snow and ice, but our

gratitude at performance

and our loudly effusive praise

delights them and us, both.

Just as well, then, it's winter

no neighbours out in their

backyards to hear our lunatic

whoops and yelps of

celebratory commendation.

 

 

Immaculate Perception

 

This house of ours, so

ordinarily immaculate

has become a piquantly hellish

place since inviting two

sibling puppies to share a

home with us. Some trade-off

that is, for the ordered neatness

and predictability of a house

lacking the substance and

vigour of youthful joy and

exuberance, a pair of

devilishly wild puppies'

presence replete with laughter

and amazing acrobatic

cheekiness, feats of silly

courage and loving excess

weighed against staid, elderly

boredom, and a tidy home.

On the other hand, of course

they are action-omnivorous

curious and adventurous little

monsters and we may 

not yet survive this frantic

paradisaical exposure.

 

 

Nature's Balm

 

Button -- 1993-2012

There exists a mysterious

element of inheritance surely

as though creatures are

programmed in a strategy to

seamlessly repeat and replace

one another, bred to complement

the emotional needs of people

who see in their beloved canine

companions the arcane spirit and

acquired habits of those that

preceded them. It is as though

grief for the one lost to age's

inevitable descent into death

moves Nature to provide

another, gifted with like

qualities and the precocious

sense of identifying clues

leading to the inspiration of

repeated mannerisms and

sensitivities of the original.

Their presence a consolation.

 

The Delirium of Being

 

It truly is a wickedly 

icy winter day, wind

whipped to a frenzy of 

chill, underfoot treacherous

icy conditions, but the sky

bright with golden sun.

On the woodland trail

suddenly galumphing

toward us, the spectacle
of a pink-jacketed

Irish Setter pup, gleeful

with the freedom from

constraint, wallowing

joyfully in the snow

then headed straight 

toward us, its long

puppy tail swooping

like a pendulum in greeting

leaping on our chests

offering its free affection

to affable strangers and

frantic owner alike, this

young creature infused with

the delirium of discovery.

 

 

Diamond Gleam

 

The early morning sun

gleams, glistens and

glitters on the handiwork

of yesterday's elements

choreographed by nature

to perform their roles

to flawless perfection.

On cue, the darkly dense

sky of pewter released

snow and the wind

blew it into every

interstice, cranny and

crack, until the world

was white and bright

and new again. Then the

icy atmosphere relented

to freezing rain, generously

coating and enfolding

trees with the brilliant

burden of sparkling ice.

A scene of ravishing beauty

transforming the landscape

to a winter wonder, sun

adding the diamond touch.

 

 

Compassion

 

There are those who will

never understand your

grief the loss of a

presence dear to you

has caused, others for

whom your loss is

expressed in personal

relief that it is you

not they who have

been bereaved, and

yet others who tell you

to brace up and

recall the good things

and just accept the sad 

reality of the inevitable. 

And then there are those

whose uncompromised

compassion is a soothing

calm dispensing with words

in favour of a deep gaze

leading to the brief but

lasting harbour from

haunting pain deep

within the firm warmth 

of an empathetic embrace.

 

 

Inspired Language

The muse of literacy is not amused.

She is in fact beyond the state of bemused

quite beside herself in the face of the

unaware unwillingness of those who

embark upon that most common of shared

human expressions to exert themselves

not fastidiously, but deliberately and

with all due courtesy to language -- use

the words meant to convey their thoughts

and use them accurately, inclusive of the

specific order of the alphabet that identifies

those words, for the elegance of language

and communication demands no less.

I know all this and so would you if you

but heeded her rules through the simple

expedient of respect and admiration for

all that language allows. That which has

the effect of demeaning language in turn

identifies the abuser as one unworthy of

the gift of communication. A visual blight

and an assault on one's sensibilities when

a blissfully unaware mangler of prose

poses as one whose opinions are fraught

with meaning and substance, all flown off

in an embarrassment of sad association.