Regel

Passionate, and extremely human.

The reisling is indeed white wine best served chilled. Thank you for the comments.

Everything green forgotten,

Buried beneath this icy cotton.

Sirens in the distance calling

As the snow keeps on falling.

Young and old kept shovels going

Churning snow machines a blowing

Still inside the warmth is calling

As the snow keeps on falling.

Plow will soon be down my street

Stamp my boots to feel my feet

Back and shoulders start to calling

As the snow keeps on falling.

Winter scenes we used to know

Delivered in the form of snow

Busy travelers cars are crawling

As the snow keeps on falling.

Thought winter had its last hurrah?

So sorry not in Canada.

Smile inside the Riesling’s calling

As the snow keeps on falling.

I am a Canadian citizen, and yet I was offended. If that was the intent then I say bravo, you were successful. As a Canadian I can look no further than this country's history to find the racism that your poem talks about. It has had its share of dark moments and while it speaks of tolerance it has been anything but. It is difficult to take an entire society and cast aspersions without understanding it was true of some but not of all. The truth is a transient thing, devoid of content and without balance it be made to seem what ever you want it t be. Probably the most controversial piece I have seen you write and not one of my favourites even if it did have some valid points.

Only a young naive person or a fool would put their whole trust in a person at the beginning of a relationship. I guess I was that fool as a young man. Life has beat some sense into me. At this moment and time I still give people the opportunity to disappoint me, but I do so with a watchful eye. Trust is something that is earned slowly now. I found out early that my greatest disappointment and my biggest wound is that of a trusted friend's betrayal. It is an unforgivable act of cruelty to me so for me trust is now no longer a default but rather a prize that is won over a substantial period of time.

November muse

Ever wonder why when we injure ourselves a scar is formed? Mother Nature's reminder of all the injuries we have ever sustained. I have many scars. Those that you can see and those you can't but I carry them all just the same. Many of them are too small to be conspicuous, some too large to be missed. All of them tell a story and carry a strong memory when we revisit them. Some of those stories make us laugh, but not all of them. There might come a time when medical science may give us the option to remove the scar. I am sure there would be many that would avail themselves of that service and perhaps in its removal we might forget the injury all together. Somehow I rather doubt that would happen to me for the largest and the deepest of my scars have never been visible but I'll carry their stories to my grave.

Welcome home, you have been missed.

I tend to agree Da_Yog with that assessment but I am trying to decend to this pathetic excuse of a man's depravity and while I can be a cruel cold hearted bastard I can't even get close to him.

In here there exists a place,

too dark for this world to face.

No quarter in those murky waters,

hatred pours red, mercy falters.

Silently I'll slit your throat

Watch you die, and thrash about.

For you there won't be another day

As I calmly turn and walk away.

Inside me something's broken

Kind words were never spoken

My cooling heart grew fearless

Painful death? I could care less.

I'll see your existence end

Misfortune has found you friend

Save your begging I don't care

Blood stains, bone shards, bits of hair

Thanks for the comments.

In here there exists a place,

too dark for this world to face.

No quarter in those murky waters,

hatred pours red, mercy falters.

Silently I’ll slit your throat

Watch you die, and thrash about.

For you there won’t be another day

As I calmly turn and walk away.

Inside me something’s broken

Kind words were never spoken

I grew hard cold and fearless

Forfeit life? I could care less.

I found this had a simple elegance with a powerful message. I enjoyed it very much. I have had heroes when I was young. People I would listen to and respect. I have known people that appeared to have all the confidence and strength to lead others. I am an older reader and the last three stanzas are the pay off. The old sergeant fell in battle and his young charges saw in his death a fear that comes from a mortally wound man in a moment of self doubt that shook their belief structure to their foundation. It is a frightening experience for a young person, the first time you watch some one pass on and yet it is also a bit of a wake up call. It does bring into question your belief structure. I have watched people pass without fear into the next stage quietly without that look you so eloquently described. In that moment you watch in awe in the faith they exhibit. In their moment of grace when they quietly pass to the next life unafraid you rediscover strength in your own belief structure. I hope god grants me that kind of strength, and that kind of faith. I see a definite growth in all the work you have put forth lately Da_Yog.

A small loaf of bread fresh out of the oven.

Some olive oil, olives and pecorino cheese and a few sundried tomatoes.

A glass of red wine and a tangerine,

Travelling now had become largely a solitairy activity. We had brought several hundred hours of music on cassette tapes and it was often the only time we got to be alone. The directions were simple stay on the Trans Canada until we see the ocean then head south. As Domenic explained it even I should be able dollow those directions. I lit a cigarette as Domenic slept away my shift and a song suddenly came on that immediately made me smile. We had heard it in a Calagary bar the night before. The locals (all dressed up as urban cowboys) were not quite ready for us and we were definately not ready for them. There was some sort of subtle get-the-fuck-out-of-my-town game going on in this bar. Every time I left my beer unattended (for even a minute) I would find a cigarette in the mug or bottle I was drinking out of. After a couple of unfinished beers I nudged my cousin with my elbow and suggested we leave. The cowgirls weren't treating him all that kindly so we got up to leave and this song came on. The lyrics were already too familiar to us both and we just about laughed are way out singing along to it.

Well I don't know why I came here tonight,

I got the feeling that something ain't right,

I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair,

And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs,

Clowns to the left of me,

Jokers to the right, here I am,

Stuck in the middle with you.

Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you,

And I'm wondering what it is I should do,

It's so hard to keep this smile from my face,

Losing control, yeah, I'm all over the place,

Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,

Here I am, stuck in the middle with you......

The music always helped while away the hours and so it did that day

Have you ever wonder if the world has gone mad?

Why people out for a walk on a beautiful day bring their smokes?

Why people order diet coke with their cheeseburg and fries?

Why some people beg on the streets in fronts of merchants stores looking for help?

Jasper turned out to be more than a few hours away. My shift had ended just before dinner and between the meal and the day long drive I was beat. I had stretched out as best as I could in the back seat. Domenic drove with his friend beside him up front. When we finally arrived I was awake with my eyelids shut. The lack of road noise and motion had awoken me. I listened as Dan opened the door and got out to call his girlfriend. My cousin was watching and commenting as the scene unfolded."What's goin' on?" I asked in a sleepy voice. My body was saying it was 12:45 but the local time was 10:45pm. "Dan has gone to call his girlfriend."

Dan was standing in a lit pay phone booth while flies and mothes swirled above him. He fished out a small crumpled piece of paper, dropped a dime in and started dialing.

After a few minutes he began to speak. It was obvious to my cousin Domenic that things were not going well for his friend. A keen observer and wise beyond his years Domenic had seen this coming.

"Oh no." he said flatly. "Oh no." he repeated. "Oh no what?" I said. I was laying down in the back and could not see Dan but in my minds eye I did as my cousin went on " His girlfriend doesn't want to see him. Oh no." I interrupted his commentary with "What the fuck are you talking about! How do you know that? Are you a lip reader?"

Domenic sighed and spoke "They were having problems before she left for out west....oh no.....and based on his posture and the expression on his face....she's dumped him....oh no."

Domenic was right on the money. A few moments later Dan was back in the car dejected explaining that would not be staying with his girlfriend and that she was living with someone else. Domenic suggested that he should travel with us to California but Dan's heart was broken. To be honest I don't think he could have lasted another day travelling with us and our constant bickering so we stayed in a youth hostel that night had breakfast the next morning early and said our goodbyes. Dan would hitch hike home to Ontario with his backpack and guitar case looking every inch the flower child.

Welcome back Da_Yog! As I read this poem the memory of my recent visit to Arlington came back vividly. Battlefields are often littered with young lives and often at the end of a conflict scars remain in the living that never go away. Your poem captured all of that for me. Nice to have you back.

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

My youngest son and I read this together out loud at the Lincoln Memorial. The marbled temple an shrine was one of the highlights of my Washinton DC visit. The power of those words and their eloquence moved me. I am not an American but a Canadian Citizen that was visiting my American cousins. It had been an all day affair that included many of the sights on the National Mall. including the near by Vietnam Veterans Memorial, Korean War Veteran Memorial, and National World War II Memorial. We had already visited the Arlington National Cemetary. Our guide was my cousin Roger and we saw where both his father's gravesite and his younger brother's were. How utterly beautiful this final resting place was, and how horrific that we could walk these grounds and see just how many crosses, how many have fallen defending these words. I let my son wander off to view the rest of the momument as I discreetly wiped my nose and eyes. Dam allergies.

I thank you for that GeldrinHor, and Reverie the invite is open ended. That is the thing about moving on, you grow you move forward but everything you left behind also moves and changes. If you were a player from the days of Maritel the game has definately changed. It is in different hands and is now called The Reincarnation.The developers have made many changes, new units and styles of play have developed and starting a new blue mage might be frustrating if you have not kept up. We are a small core of friends and we have some very good allies (ask Tanny) so if ever you want to come home again just look us up and drop my name. You are all welcome.

While my friends from Saskatchewan will hate me for saying this, man that place is flat. The drive was both amazing and so mind numbing. Now I know why a Saskatchewan farmer can watch his dog run away for three days. The drive across Manitoba was bad but Saskatchewan was way worse because the scenery really never changed. We kept the shifts to four hours and under my cousin Dom's watchful eye and constant nagging we finally saw the landscape starting to change. We acrossed the Alberta border and had dinner. Jasper was another few hours away but eating was more important just now and besides we were road weary. We all needed a stretch as well.

These two lines struck me for a couple of reasons. In this line:

My brain spins as overcome I am with revelations I have about you.

At first blush it seemed a bit backward and confused. Very much like we would be feeling if we were experiencing the same revelation, but the speed of your recovery is reflected in this next line.

Through the cracks in my shield I am suprised to be burnt by conscious light.

The confusion is over and this startling revelation crystalizes in the following statement:

In this light,

You are not everything.

You are not my everything.

When I hear this from a younger person I want to stand up and cheer. Some people never see it.

It's funny when it happens

It surprises me even now

People that think they know me

Then gape when I furrow my brow

They crossed the line

While thinking the deal was done

But there was something in my voice

Was I serious,or just having fun?

I often start off slowly

Repeating what they said

Then peel away their certainty

And fill their heart with dread.

You stupid ignorant moron!

Did you think I would smile and grin?

When your words they did offend me

And your manners are mighty thin.

There is no happy ending here

You should have stayed in school

As my anger sends you packing

You realize I will not suffer fools.

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My ode to telephone solicitors

"Bickering is just something we do, there is no malice in it. We enjoy it."

This was the response to a very confused and tired Dan when he asked if we ever stopped arguing?

Stretches of this trip were very quiet, so many miles of two sleepers and one driver. The only good thing was you got to pick the music. Steely Dan, Gerry Rafferty, Paul Simon, hell even a little Phoebe Snow with out comment. I loved these times where I could revist and think about her lyrics while listening to the sweet melody.

I'd like to be a willow

A lover, a mountain or a soft refrain

But I'd hate to be a grown-up

And have to try to bear my life in pain

I wish I was a soft refrain

When the lights were out I'd play

and be your friend

I strut and fret my hour upon the stage

The hour is up

I have to run and hide my rage

I'm lost again

I think I'm really scared

I won't be back at all this time

And have my deepest secrets shared

I'd like to be a willow

A lover, a mountain or a soft refrain

But I'd hate to be a grown-up

And have to try to bear my life in pain

As I think about those times and the meaning that eluded me as a younger man sinks in now. Funny how that works.

It has been a strange few months. Summer's last hurrah will soon be here in the form of the Labour Day long weekend. The three day weekend is usually when I close the pool but the summerlike weather will continue during the day time but the cool nights and the falling leaves makes keeping the pool all work and no play. The lawn mower was waiting on me and so was the yard work. The list of small tasks around the house started as a list but has cascading into a small novella. Had I really been too busy or have I been to lethargic? Probably a little of both I am sure. Cardboard and plastic cluttered the veranda, the left overs from our recent purchase of new living room furniture. The leather sofa loveseat and match arm chair was delivered late Thursday night.The grass took 30 minutes and the clutter on the porch another 40 minutes to square away. I trimmed the hedges and thought about the pool. I had been in it once this year. Where did the summer go? It does seem like the calander and the clock have been telling falsehoods. I took the trash to the curb and looked at the old couch and loveseat sitting there. Apparently pink furniture was not as popluar as it once was. I was slowly crossing off chores and the list (or small novella) was down five with fifty things left to do. On the seventh day God having completed his work rested. I wish I could but my work isn't.

Dan was a musician friend of Domenic's. I had met him once or twice and he was a nice (but very quiet) guy.

Light brown hair with a slight build and an easy smile Dan was considerably smaller than either of us and he was the surprise waiting for us in Espinola. Home for the summer he had hear Don was planing a trip out west and thought he would travel with us as far a Jasper Albert. "What's in Jasper Dan?" I asked with a smile. He quietly responded "Not what but who, I thought I would surprise my girl friend. She is working out west this summer. "

We didn't stay long at the modest home of Dan's parents. He grabbed up his backpack and his guitar and got into the back. Domenic was back behind the wheel and speaking, "This is great we can all do two hours shifts driving now and share the load." "Ya, what ever." I chimed.

The drive was deep into Northern Ontario heading west along the north shore of Superior. Spectacular scenery that begged us to stop and take a closer look. Unfortunately Dom was in a hurry and refused to stop for photos. Rocks and trees and long stretches of isolation bisected only by two lanes of asphalt the followed the rises and falls of the Trans Canada. We made camp late that day in a provincial park between Wawa and Marathon.

The next day we would travel down a very special piece of Highway

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It would be only a few years later that a young Canadian would attempted to cross this same stretch of highway on foot. Terry Fox would hop-jog-run on one good leg and an artificial limb right across Canada on his Marathon of Hope. Starting in St. John's Newfoundland he dipped his foot in the Atlantic in an attempt to raise money to find a cure for Cancer. The disease that took his leg in March of 1977. On September 1, 1980 – After 143 days and 5,373 kilometres (3,339 miles) Terry stopped running outside of Thunder Bay, Ontario; his primary cancer had spread to his lungs. Before returning to BC for treatment Terry said, “I’m gonna do my very best. I’ll fight. I promise I won’t give up.”

Several years later this same stretch of highway would be renamed "Terry Fox Courage Highway" in Terry’s honour.

A big sigh and an overwhelming desire to have had the courage to take more chances. The hesitation of a love struck young man that can now regret his indecision at his leisure. Nicely written

Another Shadow Sonnet with imagery that speaks of darkness in a place where things decay not blossom.

The juxaposition of this imagine in this place and time, a rose blooming in the winter makes it sound like a visitor left it behind for a remember loved one. Probably not what was intended but in some ways we always bring some context of our own to every poem we read. Nicely done.