Spaces

Busy weeding garden and lawn lest neighbours complain,
I stoop to pluck an offending dandelion.
In the small space between thought and completion
delicate white wings flutter down.
Gently fanning soft air, a butterfly hovers,
settles, sips flower nectar.

One creature’s nuisance another’s opportunity –
our concentric worlds mutually supportive.

The freight train wails through the still, dark night:
Roars through the rock cuts and over deep rivers.
It cross the marshes hemmed in ice
As it rattles and shakes and shivers.
Above in the dark on the cold hillside
Wolf watches and waits and quivers.

The leafless trees on the ancient hills
Raise thin bare arms to the moon.
Wolf crouches there where the leaves decay
While he watches the train and soon
From ages past his wail joins in
As he bays for a hunter’s boon.

.

Mid-summer’s Night

Cat danced by himself in the moonlight
And waved his paws in the air
Out where the shadows mingled
And moonlight dappled the lawn;
Out where the fireflies flickered
That night was soft and fair.

Out where the owl was hooting
His low and mournful song
“Come out, come out,” he coaxed me,
“Where midnight weaves a spell,
Out where the breeze is sighing
Before the moonlight’s gone.”

But midnight’s not my hour,
The owl’s is not my song;
For I have learned to ponder.
So human-like I lingered
Unyielding to his song.
Now night and cat are gone.

Garter Snake

We were not friends or enemies, just passers-by.
I’d note his handsome ways, his flickering tongue,
Well-ordered scales, his sinewy sides with lighter stripe,
Keeping always to his path and I to mine
Going on about our own affairs.
He was familiar, part of warm summers,
Field flowers and long grasses.
Then one day I came upon him
All his graceful gliding motion still:
I felt bereft, as if I’d lost a part of me
And all that summer’s meant to be.

On Pacifism

All summer long I’d thought about the gentle ways
Of followers of Buddha’s Path.
I took to peaceful, kindly deeds,
Leaving spider webs intact, moving crickets out of doors;
I felt ennobled by these simple acts.

Until in late, late summer,
To prune a patch of rampant marjoram,
I waded in with fearsome shears a-clicking.
Out sprang some buzzing flying thing
That stung me on the chin!

I waved my shears and shouted;
Undaunted it took up the fray
And stung me on the cheek!
I swung my hat and shouted;
It zeroed in again.

I whipped my hat once more at it,
Then buzzing still and valiant, off it flew.
I had not murdered it: but not for want of trying.
So there I stood, knee deep in marjoram,
My Buddhist aspirations dying.

Gypsy Market

Went to town for the Gypsy Market: it rained,
no swirling skirts or bright music.
Disappointed, we sat in a street side cafe;
I ordered, “Tarte des Almandes, espresso.”
He scoffed, ordered, “coffee.”
The rain blew in through the café awnings.
Shivering, we huddled together
‘till the pastry and coffee came;
He took “just a taste,” ate more than half.

Suddenly the rain stopped, the sun came out.
Refreshed and comforted, holding hands,
fingers entwined, we rode the bus back
along the winding road through almond orchards
to the shimmering Portuguese seashore.
Reveling in the warm caress of sand and waves
on liberated feet and thighs,
laughing in the glorious sunshine,
we made our own gypsy music.

Kodiak

In the frigid air above the sepia coloured crags,
On dark brown wings the golden eagles soar,
Build their stick nests and raise their young
Beside the froth-rimmed black volcanic shore.

Huddled spruce trees crowd the rocky slopes,
Their branches hunched against the constant drip of rain;
Layers of thick mosses wrap their gnarled limbs
As if to ward off cold’s primordial pain.

Small streams meander through dun-coloured flats;
Ever pushing up, the permafrost
Strives to exert its icy dominance
Until the tender growing plants are lost.
Beside the sea the hungry grizzlies lumber,
Beneath it all ancient volcanoes slumber.

Oshweken

In Oshweken when the snow lay deep
And smoke rose straight above the long-house roofs
From fires within where corn soup simmered
Sending fragrant steam aloft to Broken-Nose,
Outside where trees wore black and white
Dark men in moccasins filed by.
Their laughter rang across the frozen fields;
Raising sinewy arms they made the snow-snake sing.

photo courtesy of the estate of William C. Lyne

Change

Root bound
sinking into lethargy

suddenly
I grabbed hold of my life
gave it a shake

out fell the memories

scrunched them up
tossed them aside

lightened my load
held back the tears

walked away free