Prairie Roots

excerpt

I stare at the Saskatchewan landscape, mesmerized by a sense of
space and feeling its impact on my whole being, this land
where I was born, nurtured and raised. The view is endless, green
fields of grain rolling into a flat horizon punctuated by clumps of
farmstead trees and changing into a sky blending from the lightest
blue at the horizon to a beautiful deep blue overhead. The
rows of brilliant white cumulus clouds accentuate the blueness of
the sky.
A strange, melancholy feeling washes over me. I feel this way
every time I face the prairie expanse of motionless earth and sky,
and the feeling always leaves me cleaner and more peaceful.
I have no identity crisis; I was born a farmer’s son and shall happily
go through life with that tag and the learned values. These
have served me well through my life’s journey—as an air force career
officer, as a pilot to Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip and the
Queen Mother and as the Canadian Forces Attaché in Czechoslovakia
during the depths of the cold war. Then, on retirement, as a
nursery grower; an airport manager in Langley; a fascinated student
and backroom participant in national politics, watching the
politicians posture—many confusing their parties’ agenda with the
needs of the nation, and as an observer of the strengths and weaknesses
ofmy fellowman.And seeing in them a mirror image of my
own strengths and shortcomings.
My upbringing has armed me with resourcefulness and an
ability to separate the seed from the chaff. I have used these qualities
to find solutions to life’s challenges. Hopefully these will continue
to serve me in this world. As for the next, being an optimist
helps.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562900

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897920

HEAR ME OUT

excerpt

Morning Wake Up
My love,
I can endure everything away from you. One I can’t: waking up next to your vacant pillow.
It’s hard to get used to coming back home alone at night but the morning wake up is unbearable.
I’m truthful to you I open my eyes and shut them right away. I don’t want to wake up. I can’t endure to stretch my arm on the empty side of the bed.
The bathroom misses the sounds of you shaving and the fragrance of your after shave.
I cover myself to the head with the bed coverings and wish light wouldn’t come, time won’t come when I’ll have to go down to the kitchen to make coffee.
In the morning!
The breakfast I prepared for you and the coffee we had together.
When I took you to the garage door and kissed you good morning.
When I looked at you as you drove the car away.
The day that has no reason to commence, no expectation for your return at night.
Every day from now on.
Day after day until I get used to it.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562946

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763807

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume I

God’s cry named us from there
Tomorrow we’ll swim again
tomorrow we’ll travel more
tomorrow the dawn will ask for our endurance
and we’ll respond to the sea
We wrote our first verse in the sand
while the insisting masts looked at us solemnly
and the wave whispered the eternal homecoming
We stood on the rock like busts of escape
staring at the moon designing circles
asking our secret
about ships carrying white shadows
about the endless voyage
about the anchor that didn’t nail the water
We touched our wound and time
and we escaped
The voyage always remains with us
and the endless clamor of the sea
The ships had come with the dawn
loaded with wheat coal and wine
for the dreams of captains
for the food of fire
You threw the bread the wine and coal
and remained naked in the sea
without cloth covering your ribs
without love hiding your eyes
The hour had the color of secret pearl
sunk in the thought of dawn
with distant voices filled with danger and promise
You looked at your body in the water
and you loved the water forgetting your body
Oh voyage without any burden
with fire without coal
with hunger without bread
with thirst and elation without wine

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562834

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763076

Troglodytes

MIDDLE ERA

II
Décor and pompousness abound
on the outside and the headman’s
crown, while a dark shade swirls in his heart
like a heavy shroud blanketing logos
leading the way toward a thick bog.
“This time, perhaps this time
we shall prevail over them and
stitch on bitter lips of life
the ever phony and capricious laughter”,
the headmaster claims in his role
marching as in a pantomime.
He graces the simple-minded
with a false yellow beacon
perpetuating their sanctified killing.
Beast man against man
deep stigmata colored in dark red or
light gray on the faces and
on the limbs and in the spirits.
How would the hungry wolf
listen to the voice of the pious lamb?
How would the voracious
volcano, listen to the dry
kindling in the summer forest?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186583