Poetry

    Margaret Cracknell

    Warm Thoughts from a Cold Clime

    Oh, to be in Winnipeg
    Now that April's here,
    And the winter snow is melting
    And there's water everywhere.
    Elm leaves, green and curled, wait within each bud.
    Robins peer and poke in the slushy mud,
    While geese in v's fly honking, overhead,
    And grass is dead!

    II

    And after April, when May follows,
    And the frogs croak, and come the tree swallows,
    Hark, to bird song in the newly leafed hedge.
    And apple trees are covered all over
    With blossoms that fall along the path's edge.
    That's the teen that plays each tape twice over,
    In case his ghetto-blaster can't recapture
    The first fine careless rapture!
    And though the lawn looks rough and brown of hue,
    Give it a week and it will look like new.
    And the dandelions, like a golden shower
    Blossom as bright as any summer flower!

    (With Apologies to Robert Browning)

    Emma Degen

    Parody on "Sea Fever"

    I must away from the seas again, to solid land ashore
    And all I ask is never to see that swaying ship any more.
    With winds roaring, sails flapping, decks heaving up and down
    While my stomach churns and my feet skid like a booted tumbling clown.

    I must away from the seas again, from the slippery, rocking deck
    I do not dare let go of the rail for fear I'll break my neck.
    Soaked with the spray, I shiver day after day,
    Can't eat a bite, or sleep at night - all this for paltry pay.

    I must away from the seas again, as an earthy gypsy rover
    Where gulls don't screech or whales breach, and the wind won't blow me over
    And all I ask is freedom from the butt of sailors laughter
    And a life ashore far away from here forever after.

    Alex Domokos

    Reminder
    On the 40th. anniversary of the Hungarian Revolution - 1995 October 23.

    I still feel the fear of dying as the grenades roar around,
    Exploding fire-geysers tearing up the paved ground
    And the people shouting, cursing, bare-handedly storming the barricade.
    Many twisted torsos bleeding, decorated the stockade.
    Blood was flowing on the pavement, on the street of Budapest.
    Youngsters of a suppressed nation were forced to the supreme test.
    They were forced to pay for Freedom and life was their currency!
    To belittle the heroic past is the present tendency.
    But the people who forget all the lessons of the past,
    Their freedom and independence as a nation will not last.
    For not knowing, for not feeling history, there is a price.
    To regain the forfeit, freedom needs a double sacrifice!

    Dorthi Dunsmore

    Wings

    Come in from the world and rest awhile.
    Laydown your bones and fly with me.
    Rise up on wings that dwell within
    Where life is pure and strong and free.

    Soar on the wings that love has grown
    To give us respite from our sorrow;
    And then, refreshed from loving rest,
    Pick up your bones and face tomorrow.

    Christmas Past

    Back to the core of Christmas
    Back to the gift of light
    Back to the spark that came to us
    One calm and starlit night.

    The spark now glows within our hearts
    And we can touch at will
    That special core of Christmas
    The love is with us still.

    Rainbow

    Beyond the scudding clouds or overcast
    The sky is always - blue
    But spectrum colours linger there
    They linger and they loiter there
    Waiting in their special role
    To arch their beauty
    Across the constant sky
    That constant sky - that is always blue.

    Emily Fedewick

    August

    August, glorious August!
    Bursts forth in a riotous display of color.
    Warm is the sun, and warm is the earth
    Beneath my feet.

    There are touches of gold on the trees and the green grass.
    I hear a cricket chirping in the long grass.
    I see a daisy shyly peeking out.
    There are lilies, begonias, petunias and asters too.
    Apples hang like ornaments on trees.
    The golden grain fields are full of plenty.

    Be still! And gaze upon the world around you,
    And know in your heart
    That there truly is a God.

    Mary A. Green

    Big City Cats

    Pippi and Jada reside in Torrona
    Don't know if they wanna
    But they hafta
    Make their home on Cadorna
    With Mary their owna
    It's the Friskies and Vittles they're afta
    Now Pippi as Jada
    They know Nature made 'er
    A huntress - a creature nocturnal
    So while my Mary lies sleeping
    Her felines go leaping
    Creating commotions infernal
    Pursuing felt mouses
    Through duplex-ed houses
    On Bellhaven and now on Cadorna
    And as morning comes dawnin'
    Our Mary is yawnin'
    While her cats sleep content in a cornna

    Air Conditioners

    Streets of Wolseley
    Tree lined
    Homes of Wolseley
    Branch draped
    Summer traffic
    Sizzling off Portage
    Shade blessed
    In Wolseley's elm leaf tunnels

    A Visit to the Veterinarian

    He entered with a lot of help
    Pushed
    Tugged at
    Lifted over doorstep Then on his own
    The creature waddled to the desk
    Where his belly hit the floor

    And he lay there walrus-fashion
    Pumping fountains of spittle
    Over lax jaws
    With each convulsive gasp

    But there was dignity
    In those tired eyes
    Prompting image of a judge
    MAGISTRATE - RETIRED
    Relegated now
    To brown velour robes and nursemaids
    And too many servings of cream cheese
    With butter crackers and sherry

    The one who held his leash
    Himself near portly as his pooch
    answered the receptionist
    "Now"
    When she asked if he preferred to settle
    Now or later

    "Now" and gave a credit card
    Held ready in his palm
    His own eyes watering
    Jaw trembling
    Snuffling as he signed

    Seeing them together
    I pondered that
    This must be a friend
    Fur color of cattails
    Of marshes where they huddled once
    Conspiring against ducks

    And I wanted to say something profound

    But a door opened
    And someone else said something
    And the old dog flippered out
    Still salivating

    And a door closed.

    Whodunnit?

    Don't slander Spot for any do
    
You may have picked up on your shoe
    
And though the deed occasions scandal
    
When clinging to your Sunday sandal
    
		Don't blame my Spot
    
No, don't you blame my doggy
    
For canine dirt in spring gone soggy
    
I've always scooped even when pooped
    
After trudging through deep snow in temperature forty below
    
		And Spotty straining homeward
    
Now that it's warm and snow is going
    
We've left no sins on sidewalk showing
    
We know that pungent goop disheartens when stuck
    
                    to someone's posh Doc Martins
    
And though it's too late in the game to go around
    
	          assigning blame
    
			Why don't you ask at Rover's house?

    H. Vi Jamieson

    Song of Being

    Behold, I am most wonderfully made!
    I came from the formless sea of Divine energy
    Into this present form and consciousness,
    An individualized expression of First Cause,
    By no thought or choice of mine.

    I am supported all the days of my life
    Making my journey like a guided missile
    Which, while speeding free in the ether,
    Is, by its own off-centre movements,
    Aligned and realigned to true course.

    I too am kept on course,
    My seemingly erratic movements taking me
    Nowhere but back, maintaining me always
    In true flight toward the purpose of my Being.
    That purpose? I know not what, yet
    I fulfil it in spite of myself.

    By what authority then do I run
    Pursued by the hounds of all the things
    I think I should do, or be -
    According to the world?

    Anna McDonald

    The River called "Li"

    In southern China there winds
    Through a breathtaking mountain range,
    A beautiful, slow flowing river,
    A jade-coloured serpent-like river,
    A river called "Li".

    Children barefoot and naked
    Play on its soft, muddy shores.
    They splash in this sun-warmed river,
    In this playground, yet a river,
    In this river called "Li".

    Fishermen set out for the day
    In their bamboo-poled canoes.
    At each end there sit like sentinels
    The two neck-banded cormorants,
    Ready to dive into this teeming river,
    To reel in their catch of fish
    From this life-sustaining river,
    From this river called "Li".

    Women, small and bent over
    Come down to its banks
    With heavy hearts and laden hands.
    They kneel to wash both body and soul,
    A meeting-place by the river,
    A life-supporting place by the river,
    Peace by the river called "Li".
    Mountains odd-shaped and weird
    Spring up from the valley floor.
    But more beautifully strange
    These mountains became
    When seen upside-down
    In this reflective deep river,
    In this thought-provoking river,
    In this river called "Li".

    Up and down this Chinese waterway
    The boats cruise every day.
    Line-ups occur at every bend,
    For all must obey the rules of the river,
    This fate-deciding river,
    This ruler-supreme river,
    This river called "Li".

    Though eons have passed
    To etch on this land
    This memorable river called "Li",
    But a moment it took
    To etch on this heart
    This breathtaking river,
    This river called "Li".

    Jean A. Young

    Breakfast with the Birds
    Here I was in the garden of Eden
    Where nature had excelled herself
    With an abundance of her beauty
    Against a snow-capped shelf
    Although I came for breakfast
    I was treated to much more
    Bright sunshine accented
    The many sights in store

    Spring is a little late this year
    But birds ignore this fact
    Pecking at buds on the crabapple tree
    Their plans remain intact
    Evening grosbeaks come in droves
    Forty or fifty at a time
    Brilliant yellow plumage stands out
    With a stark black line

    Moving in swiftly and noisily
    One wonders when they last fed
    To satisfy their need for sunflower seed
    They move on straight ahead
    The redpoll, a much smaller bird
    Shines in the morning sun
    Despite its smaller size
    Its brilliance delights one

    These surely are making their way
    North to the forest boreal
    Pausing briefly for food
    And a rest, is part of the deal
    Soon a slate-gray Junco moves in
    Thinking, "Now it's my turn
    Surely some food will be left for me".
    To wait is a good lesson to learn.

    The raven across the ravine
    Has found a morsel of food
    Escaping the hustle and bustle
    Which can clearly be understood
    In the distance a crow calls out
    "Caw! I stayed all winter here!"

    Now he'll have to work harder to
    Re-install himself in his sphere
    At this point, Molly the mule
    The farm folks' long-time pet
    Sticks her head through the fence
    And her link to the humans is felt
    The new-born foal, still wobbly
    Stays very close to his mother
    Endlessly consuming breakfast
    With love we hope he won't smother.

    How could we miss the blackbird
    With all his noise and activity?
    Because of his dowdy appearance
    He loudly proclaims his proclivity
    A robin flew into the area
    Landing on a telephone wire
    Worms are his main objective
    Not easy to find in quagmire.

    Won't you come with me to Eden?
    It will really be time well spent
    Its sights and sounds will excite you
    Exactly as nature meant.
    I say, "Good-bye" now to Eden
    I'll be back if Fate so deems
    Back to the garden of Eden
    If only in my dreams.

    A Prairie Season

    The snow has all but disappeared
    As the crocus and daffodils break through
    The weather is so inviting
    Everything is new

    The robin is pulling worms
    From the half frozen ground
    The black bird is overly busy
    Can be identified by sound

    The Junco has stopped off for food
    On his way to the boreal forest
    The rabbit has turned brown
    To hide from predators he hates most

    My doggies are anxious to get out and visit
    There surely is a reason
    Nature continues to remind us
    That with her there is a liaison
    The clouds are light and fluffy
    The wind gentle and warm
    The buds on the trees come quickly
    No sign of a thunderstorm

    The children are playing long hours outside
    Not laden with heavy clothes
    Are they the same laddies as last year?
    After seven months of winter, who knows?

    Everything is coming alive
    We recognize how much we missed
    Unable to absorb it all at once
    We are cognizant of this
    Humans too come alive
    Interested in everything
    Then we really get the message
    Surely, surely 'tis a Prairie Spring