On Notice

There's a reason why antagonists are

portrayed to reflect the regard in which they

are  held in popular opinion. As a northern

people we absorb the lessons of intimacy

with nature welcoming the inevitable. In

that respect the seasons' arrival at nature's

designated times are accepted and celebrated.

Each of the seasons has their purpose and

becomes a welcomed presence. Only Old Man

Winter seems predisposed to overstay his

welcome. On arrival we rejoice and indulge

in a multitude of leisure pursuits geared to

advantaging the presence of cold, wind and

snow, exulting in the beauty surrounding us

and the invitation to make use of the lofty

white coverlet that puts the land to rest. The

indulgences of  winter comfort wear thin

however as time moves forward leaving us

less bewitched by cold, ice and raging winds

when the arrival of spring lifts our spirits

and we yearn for the sight of verdant fields

and forests to replace the presence of snow

grimed by age and atmosphere. Winter placed

on notice of evacuation can be a hard sell

and nothing seems to please the departing

season quite so much as lingering cold and 

snowfalls topping up the vanishing snowpack.

While winter grudgingly packs up his baggage

of ice, snarling wind and freezing temperature

he leaves a parting message: I'll be back.

 

 

 

Yesterday's Child

 

Fiddleheads in the garden

slowly unfurling

Lilies-of-the-Valley

not yet belling

the Manchu Cherry

sprinkling white confetti

on the vibrant green

of urgent grass

and swallows executing

their preying arabesque

while beyond the

sun, a pyromaniac's frantic dream

slips behind the houses.

Sitting idly on the swing

spring air filters

through the maple's

tender thrusts

as bees target straight for home

and the mesmerizing hum

of the neighbour's mower

returns growth to order.

The children

never recall other years

only living in the warmth

of the breeze

pulling stray hairs

beyond the spiralling

loops of the bicycle.

Memory of another child

yaps close behind the

flushed faces of

this spring day's children.

 

 

Voyage to Strange Latitudes

 

In the strange latitudes

of that hemisphere

animals wear shifting eyes

wind blows a hollow song

through aeolian strings

set on a razor's edge.

             There

the newborn adorn

dark furniture like a

ship captain's parlour

displaying mementos

of exotic voyages;

mewling objects d'art

             and

love is played at feelingly

coevals plucking sole eyes

doing the rounds

in comradely fashion

so all can see through

fortune's mists. 

             There

mountains blossom

bright thorn flowers

earth opens welcome

chasms for escape from

terrifying sameness.

In that country

trespasses are welcome

in boiling cauldrons

spitting primal brew

             and

heat brings saline dew

to unsuspecting brows.

 

 

Windows to the Universe

 

In the sphere of culture and heritage

of primitive provenance there is

vast irreconcilability between the

past and the present, one venerated

the other basking in blasphemy. As

when ancient civilizations viewing

the heavens recognized the abode of

the gods, sacred and obscure, hidden

from human eyes and knowledge

a veritable closed book to be worshipped

as humanity lives its humble existence

below. The great unknowable heights

of the Earth's geology shared with

the heavens all the godly sanctities

demanding obeisance and worship

as remote from human habitation one

from the other until humanity obsessed

over the existence of all that is and was

and will ever be, sending rude emissaries

to the sacred heights on missions of

conquest of noble pinnacles of granite

and having achieved those goals

using grand summits to house views

of the cosmos to unlock nature's secrets

in the process alerting the gods whom

peering humankind must not enrage.

 

 

Talking Back

 

I thought that

talking to photographs

of dear departed

was the last desperate act

of a senile mind

never realizing that

people locked away in their heads

often have nowhere else to turn.

I always dreamed about a

captive audience to receive

my unprotected thoughts

so wrote this fellow

whose poem had been so

poignant. He responded

saying I'd been the

only one to answer

the silent echo of his need

behind bars of steel.

Letters chatted back and forth

and one stranger whose body

was a prisoner

communed with another

whose head was also

that way. He wrote

wistfully of memory

of birds winging forests

and his incarcerated

birthday celebration.

In the last letter he

asked me to wish him luck

getting ready to put on kneepads

go before his parole board.

Looks like he's no longer

sending letters in search

of captive company. Guess

he doesn't need me anymore.

Wonder now if photographs

ever appear to talk back.

 

 

Arras

 

The waters rush

white-capped and lunatic

over granite boulders

speaking eloquently

of erosion

and infinity.

       The lonely cry

       of a flighting bird

       shatters the air.

Willows stand dank

roots entrenched

in the timeless brew

flinging arms

at the careless sun.

Winds bend long grasses

whiskering the lip

of the waters.

       Creatures dart headlong

       to join the element

       they know best.

This landscape evolves

a rich and humid

syllabary

of forgotten tongues.

 

 

The Last of Her Line

 

Achilles slaying Penthesilea, Athenian black-figure amphora C6th B.C., British Museum

The last of her line of warrior queens

Penthesilea spurred the flagging Trojans

to combat with brave words and Priam had

faith until the oracle showed him her

limp form on a funeral pyre.

But the fleeting glory of the Amazon

inspired the armies of Troy, dispirited

by nine years of encirclement, by Hector's

death and they followed her wild mare to

the battlefields and fought as they never

had before, lancing and axing the Greeks

driving them back to the beached ships

with newfound fury, their wild warcries

crowning the seagulls' wails. Blood

gored the plains of Ilium and heads rolled

like stones on the breach of Achaean

          offence

until Achilles, still mourning Patroclus

joined the battle to confront the warrior

woman. The air thundered with battle

the cries of the dying, the speared, the

gutted. Pacing each other, the half god

the Amazon each scented victory. Ah

Penthesilea's spear glanced off dread

Achilles' shield, his greave and in  his

turn Chiron's pupil pierced the warrior

woman through her breast, penetrating

the horse to stick her body like meat

upon a spit. Plucking the helm from her

head, Achilles looked with rage on the

dead beauty of the woman whose courage

matched his and he lusted helplessly

for those slack limbs to entwine his

that dead mouth to catch  his, that gone

breath to sweeten his life. There is

no victory in conquering

                    there is no glory!

he cried in anguish and tried to die.

 

Apocrypha

 

In the beginning

there was chaos, but then a gregarious atom

encouraged a clubby atmosphere

where they all gathered and there was order.

At first there were hot gasses, but then

cool season prevailed and

minerals and metals crusted the fires.

One lone amoeba suffered incurable hubris

thought she could do better

and founded a dynasty

on her vision.

In time a she-ape clambered down from the trees

pointed at the sea, and declared 'there is my creatrix!'

Named her daughter Eve

and set her the task of naming others. So Eve

chatted up giraffes and elephants

whales and crickets. She called

a brash Adamai snake-in-the-grass

for offering her figs when she

couldn't give a damnation

for his ignorance. Everything

was fine until he learned to 

wield a pen while she

continued to till the earth.

Eve provided crops for their

offspring and Adam pushed

back the night of eternity

offering superiority and his

own rendering of ineffable truth

that of himself as Supreme Creator

half of him up there

the other down here.

 

 

Shoah .... Desolation

 

Theirs was the voice of anguish and fear 

echoing spiritual disbelief and confusion

in the agony of yet another rejection

murmuring softly their trust betrayed yet

their proud existence as equals in humanity

before finally turning for compassion

abroad for hope was not yet lost though 

the soul was gravely wounded. Their

obedience to a succession of rules meant

to disenfranchise and strip their humanity 

a gradual exercise in humiliation finally 

attaining the greater purpose in a precision

clockwork of organized cleansing toward 

the goal of national perfection and conquest 

where expunging the impure and inferior 

was the first order of business to restructure 

a world free of Jews. A voice unheard

calling to a disinterested audience oblivious 

with its deliberation of non-involvement

revealing a vile shared pathology. A lifetime

later the genocidal perpetrators profess

profound regret, their global audience

applauds and the sinister venom of hatred

that fuelled that genocide is once again

abroad in the resurgent world community.

 

 

Child of Nature

 

In the favoured legend of human creation

alongside that of the universe itself

as a monumentally divine act of being

god made man in his image and forbade

humanity from the kind of curiosity that

would reveal the arcane knowledge so

adamantly forbidden them, expressing

his rage at womankind for leading mankind

into sin eating of the fruit of knowing all

things. Adam's intensity in seeking the

unknowable; the original sin however, Eve's.

Hark then to the creatrix of all that exists

and lives -- not a legend for a perplexing

all-powerful presence whose own design

and creative genius brought out of nothing

everything. Nature herself the most fecund

of all that exists whose spirit resides in

all she created, values curiosity as a vivid

example of her own, spurring humankind

to ever greater adventures of discovery to

discern her limitless power and influence

bringing illumination to the dark heavens

of her imagination, endowing humanity

with a certain portion of her vigor through

inspiration to uncover the mysteries of existence.

 

 

Mayday! Mayday!

 

How fortunate the world is to have forged

a noble institution wherein sit national

representatives of all nations on Earth in a 

monumental and ongoing learning experience

the goal of which is to achieve among all 

equality of opportunity and mutual recognition

of disparate methodology in reaching the apex 

of a national aspiration. Within its hallowed

fortress walls are dispatched those best suited

to express the language of diplomatic eloquence

in servitude to the administration of a body 

for which servile yet respectful overtures

toward anointed judges elected to sit on diverse

committees screen applicants' and supplicants' 

adherence to rules and regulations of civil 

behaviour in a universal covenant the better

to consider the status of other nations with 

impeccable human rights records hampered 

by the misfortune of historical suspicion and 

hatred yet awaiting judgement by the hierarchy

whose criminal acts against humanity shield 

them from criticism by the sheer weight of 

their numbers. It is a revelation not quite yet

understood universally that the institute where 

nations are united in common defiance against

decency and common sense that those who 

fall outside the default represent the outliers 

whose conduct though exemplary is despised 

in a world where those assigned to the highest 

echelons of united nations control reward those

whose blights are so reflective of their own.

 

 

Ah, The Internet!

 

Fascinating how modern technology

in communications has advanced with

a rapidity that is head-spinning to the

elderly and liberating to the young and

the opinionated, though the latter's use

is an exploration of impermissible limits

and the former's the opportunity at long

last to air yawn-inducing perceptions for

which there was never an audience at hand.

This is termed the democratization of

free speech and communication enabling

anyone able to master the starter-level

of advanced technology to grunt out in

illiterate mumbles their dissatisfaction

with life as a social-victimized outsider

of constantly shifting populist culture. The

irresistible allures of the social media

platforms draw the interest and the ire of

the entire spectrum of civil and uncivilized

society from local sanitary engineer to president

homebody to celebrity, royalty to prison

incarcerates, each invested in opening the

deep confines of their sensibilities to

eager public scrutiny, all while insisting on

their right to privacy, prepared to bring

suit against those who intrude, while the

more political-minded state their outrage

firing up against incompetent governments

and waging skillful verbal battle with the

numbskull morons who admire and support

the same useless twits their votes have

placed into public office in a world where

doom draws ever nearer, cry its prophets.

 

 

Thwarted

 

The sign read
'inexperienced climbers beware'
(arrow pointing to alternate).

The ascent precipitous
narrow path boulder strewn
criss-crossed with treeroots
helpfully gripping the soil
grudgingly assisting our climb.

At the cascades the
tumbling waters were a sight
yet fear of a misstep
and wildly winging heart
dulled the image to a
delirious troubled mirage.

A mile up the mountain
we could rest and
lave tired feet in the
crystal stream
           cold as death
       clear as a wish
  pure as my fear.

In retrospect I regret
my refusal to go on
valuing as I did my
every limb -- for the memory
of a peerless overview
and promise of more

at the summit pricks my
frailty
         goads your recall.
If I promise
                 same time
           same place
      next year?

 

 

Perils of Forest Life

 

Magical, mystical, ethereal the

forest valley was bathed in a pearl-white

mist lifting the gloom from the interior

rising and falling in swells from the

frozen creek undulating through its

banks newly lofted with fresh snow.

No sun to penetrate the leaf-naked

forest canopy this day, only the wind

shushing through the evergreens

their needle-pointed tops nodding

and clacking against each other. The

newfallen snow absorbed all sound

until the high-decibel cry of a giant

red-headed woodpecker pierced the

silence as the bird reached its destination

and the near woods drummed with the

percussion of its wrecking beak ripping

great shards of bark rhythmically and

mercilessly, leaving great gaping wounds

in the old tree's trunk where spring sap

would rush dismally up from its roots

and finding the open gap, overflow to

the trunk and the forest floor in the slow

and agonizing death of an elder tree

playing its part in nature's revolving

door architecture of life and death.

 

 

Always a Bridesmaid

The essential dynamics of human trust

are elemental; sincerity, truthfulness and

open communication. Rare qualities to be

sure when two groups face one another in

an irresolvable struggle where one speaks

of inheritance while the other accuses those

of timeless existence in the disputed area of

being interlopers, false claimants to land

contestants intend to share with none other 

than their own. The wisdom of Solomon 

put to the test judging whom between them

proffers the more valid argument when it is

an ancient temple dedicated to the almighty

which his era and his order established. Yet

his successors in the land of Judea where

his descendants have never failed to worship

and till the land welcoming an ingathering

diaspora's return are violently assailed by

challengers to a dry and history-dusted land

transformed by their enterprise to verdant

productively arable orchards, yet must turn

their ploughshares to military defence against

counter-claimants adamantly resistant to the

peoples' presence in a land of their own. So

frequently have the offers of apportioning and

friendship been refused, the bridegroom is no

longer invested in cohabitation with the

sullen bride, left to bitterly call upon her

extended family to destroy the home that 

might, with earned trust, have been her own.

 

Conform or be Stigmatized

 

Truly, the ancient sages were wise when they

 

placed covetousness among the damned emotions

 

motivating humanity against better judgement

 

for jealousy and resentment are bred of that

 

state of mind and invariably what results does

 

no justice to the societal need of the reasonable

 
social contract that would have us regarding

 
others unlike ourselves with perfect equanimity

 
and generosity of spirit. Thou shalt not covet

 
has its place on the tablets of command and

 
yet we do, for this inheritance is coded into

 
humanity. Gregarious creatures, we are

 
anxious to be as like one another as to be

 
accepted as a clan, all others strange and to

 
be shunned. Yet even when we are able to

 
genuinely view others as equals to ourselves

 
whose flamboyantly visible psyches deviate 

 
to seek their own sex, insist that what be 

 
discreet among intimates be visible and 

 
awarded plaudits, or risk the wretched

 
condemnation and persecution they once 

 
themselves suffered. Cultural heritage 

 
institutions must now extend beyond serving 

 
the vast majority of binary pairs to equality 

 
of recognition in the covenant of the marriage

 
bond, and those who will not willingly 

 
take part in public manifestations of open

 
sexuality at 'Pride' parades become social

 
outcasts in a contradictory reversal of 

 
social intimidation as cultural outcasts.

 

 

Your Truth

 

What could be as headily liberating

as the freedom to speak, to release

from the prison of your mind how

you feel, what you think, your

unsolicited but urgently needed

expressions of belief, your solutions

to problems that you know exist yet

are rarely discussed, the details of what

you know so that others may too and

from your generosity of sharing may

join you in your private campaigns

or laud your courage in airing such

sentiments, perhaps even assemble a

cadre of like-minded stalwarts in a

campaign to air the musty corridors

of certainty and introduce nuances of

disbelief challenging and exciting. So

no need to clasp silently those thoughts

and misgivings lest you betray your

enmity to the smug civility of the social

contract for the greater virtue of free

speech calls. You are not truly racist

when you parry-and-thrust verbally

over critiquing the criminality of

Zionism, the penchant of Blacks to

disrupt the serenity of the white race

the slovenly habits of Asians and others

whose culture and errant habituation

sounds the clarion of disruption to the

norms. And when you scathingly consider

feminism a symbol of man-hating

bitches focused on empowering women

while emasculating men. And nor do

women have a monopoly on gender

for any man bent on upsetting their

referential superiority has but to declare

himself an absolute her for society to 

humbly genuflect -- for this, you see, is the

grand power of free speech utterances.