The Sleeping Forest

One of those days it is, a still
landscape of winter in progress, a
hiatus between fiercely piercing winds
making ill alliance with a penetrating
icy atmosphere following a series of
snowfalls leaving all innocently
white blanketed and postcard perfect.
Everything in this season is 
ephemeral and hauntingly lovely
distanced from the vicious storm.
When a gentler aura pervades in a
moderating time between an onslaught
and the merest breeze lifts a ghostly
skein of snow from tree to forest floor
and a copse of symmetrical spruces
are sugared with icy snow glittering
their magic presence on a spectacular
white arras, perfection is attained.
When, through the filtered light of late
afternoon the bright, diffused warmth
of the sun hanging in a cloud-fleeced sky
breaks splendidly through the
collective screened masts of the
sleeping forest's leafless colony.

Rest, Then, In Peace

No man can be cherished and
heralded as a fallen archangel,
for though goodness may
describe his heart and his soul
he is but a man in whom was
vested all the faults, no less,
of fallible mortals. Those
capable of surpassing 
expectations are held to
deserved great acclaim but they
falter in resolve and display
the very unfortunate traits
that vexatiously hinder most
from achieving that sublime
state of altruistic justice. Those
we worship and acclaim as
outstanding exemplars of the 
finest nature humankind may
aspire to are feted for their
humble exploits befitting champions
but they die with a conscience 
aware of their all-too human failings
as their compromises between
supra and human collide and
they succumb, tarnishing self.

Fable

This is not a fanciful work
of serialized fiction. Nor is it
the result of sentimental
reminiscence. It is a true story
of steadfast love and the
comfort of tender assurances.
When they were so young and 
new to the world about them
they were already sturdily 
possessive and protective of
one another. He, in particular,
would reassure her, brush away
her fears for he was there to
protect her from harm. And
none ever befell her, for she
trusted him. They embarked on
a prolonged voyage of discovery
in a tandem of curiosity and
aspiration. They truly were an
inseparable pair. Does joy and
contentment insult fortune and
invite the impish reaction of fate
to turn happiness to sorrow? It
can, and does in many stories, 
but this one remained unblemished
by misfortune. He smiles at her
still, speaks softly with love, and
in the quiet night hours, tells
her fabulous tales into infinity.

Winter's Options

The sometimes overwhelming
pastoral gloom of a winter
day has its options. Those
transcendent scenes of
ephemeral beauty can appear
to the housebound like sinister
humps of icy distress threatening
broken bones. Like chameleons
perceptions change to suit
one's moods; a gleaming
winter playground generously
shared by the creatures of the
forest who accommodate themselves
to nature's offerings, unaware
they have no other options.

We May Yet Hope

We tried our best
and believed
we taught our children
sensitivity, intelligence,
appreciation toward
the benefits of hard work
and a fine aesthetic sense.

The shock!
to discover
on the dart board
passed so many times,
never before noticed,
stapled photographs
at points of 
highest benefit,

She to whom
we owe allegiance
smiling deathlessly,
her face pockmarked
by unerringly
directed darts.

And there they are,
the Prime Minister
and all those elected
to high posts in government;
irremediably scarred,

barely recognizable.
Does this behaviour
defy patriotism?
Have we raised a
viper's nest of anarchists?

(c.1979)

The Divine Director

This day was born in mischief,
cautioning dawn to bypass
daylight and proceed directly to
twilight. The freshening wind,
prepared to clear the platinum vault
of the sky from days of snow
sighed through snow-laden trees
as Nature's theatre disclosed the plot.
Colour the sky white, tinted with
hazy grey to complement the layers
of snow humping the forest floor.
Dim the lights to emphasize
the drama of relentless dusk,
lightly sprinkle with snow and
slightly shake the landscape's contents,
Nature lectured as she busied herself
meticulously assigning appropriate
roles to her skilled principals
whose expertise in their field is
unparalleled, capable of divine
gentleness as well as brutal fury
in instant response to stagecraft.

 

Finding Faith

Psychologists and behaviourists and 
those wise in the ways of the 
emerging persona baffled by those
famed raging hormones label it
sublimation, a focus transferred from
the confusing carnal animal inheritance
of the human animal to the passion
and emotion of hypocrisy revealed in
the aggregate of social custom and the
conceit of species superiority. Voice
vibrating with the intensity of 
outraged indignation the girl verging
on womanhood rails against the unjust
treatment of non-human animals. She
sheds tear of anguish when her peers
corner a frightened mouse in their
classroom to triumph in its casual dispatch,
amusing others no end at her sympathy
for the tiny creature. She composes a
sternly unforgiving essay on the right
to dignity and fair treatment of 
animals destined for slaughter, a topic
scorned in her rural community. 
Reasoning her classmates should care
if animal husbandry and the livestock
industry use methods of housing and
inoculation of pathogens that will
inevitably pollute the water table and
infiltrate human bodily health, she is the
converted, preaching to the heathen, 
alone and alienated in her faith. And yes,
of course, she has transformed herself,
an absolute vegetarian, shunning gore.