Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Colon Cancer

I am a passenger in a van
My mother is driving
My mother never drove
Two people are in the backseat
We drive into a building
A deep pool of water
we are sinking
This is my one phobia
trapped submerged
I rehearse how to escape
Wait while
the interior fills with water
I’ve rehearsed this
Don’t panic.
As the car fills I fill my lungs
Try to roll down the window
No power
Reach for a manual handle
In the miracle of dreams
It is there
Roll it down
We all slip out

Except my mother.

On the surface
I refill my lungs
Look down
Still no mother
The van is nose down and sinking
I take the rear bumper
Pull it up like superman
Spin it around
To get to the drivers side
Reach in and pull mom out
To surface and safety
She’s not breathing
I hold her hug her
do the Heimlich
the Heimlich?
We call for help
But she revives
I save her life
Because it’s my dream.

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Cold Cuts

Ah, bitter January,
sandwiched between
festive December
and loving February,
your cold silence
is brittle
and unbecoming.

Tuesday, January 9, 2018


As the sun disappears, 
temperature drops
and thanks rise 
for a good heater 
and heated seats 

thru a frozen fairyland;
ice crystals bloom
from every sprig, 
tuft and tree. 

thru flat fog ribbons, 
drifting ten feet above the plain, 
again and again, 
then          gone.

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Darkness to Light

Only when you emerge into the light can you begin 
to understand the darkness thru which you passed. 

Hold on, follow close 
to the One who is the Light.

Photo credit: personal collection

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Autumn Is

Autumn is heaven's gilded frame on faded summer; 
a vault door opening to winter treasure; 
compensation for all that is not, was not, cannot be.

Photo: Bluerock Wildlands 2010, personal collection

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Thursday, September 28, 2017

In love with Autumn

On this day in 2009:
Autumn blows fierce against
summer’s lingering warmth.
Aspen and willow wave wild,
surrender bare branch bouquets
of lively leaves
to the first dance of fall.

On this day in 2011:
Kick through dry-crisp leaves
sprinkled over still-green grass,
squint into low-rider sun
uncovering fresh-snow mountains.
Hello, deep-breath happy-place.

peaceful golden glow
of summer's sunset
calm quiet
warm and languid
fade into fall

Thursday, September 7, 2017

Life is Not a Highway

Some might say life is a highway
but I much prefer life lived on neighborhood streets,
holding hands in hospitals, meandering back roads
or mountaintop paths with friends.
A life of honest conversation, laughter and song,
whimsy and character and possibility,
the heritage of farmhouse, harvest, horses, hard work,
corn on the cob, newly dug potatoes, hand cranked ice cream,
perseverance, weather worn, quiet afternoons by the pond,
little girl giggles, tea parties, games of tag, fireflies,
pastels, cinnamon buns, white eyelet curtains ruffling the breeze.

Photo credit: Joyce Rempel, Cranking Ice Cream at Heritage Park

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Morning Exercise

Reach up into the cupboard
lift down the bowl and plate
place softly on the granite
so neither one will break

Pull the first drawer forward
pick up the knife and spoon
circle round the island
like a crescent moon

Bend into the pantry
through the yawning door
granola and some raisins
into the bowl to throw

Grip the fridge door handle
pull out the coconut milk
add raspberries for color
stir circles smooth as silk

Return to fridge, take out the bread
sans gluten, unrefined
slide the butter closer
sweet spun honey find

Push down the toast, rotate halfway
to even out the burn
While you wait, pivot and take
your coffee cup to urn

When all is said and done
you've stretched and put away
sit down to eat this silly poem
and send it on its way.

Picture: Personal collection

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Dark Night

I wake in a roar
sustained drumming
a million worries
on tin pans

summer rainstorm
sans wind and wave
only deluge
deep calls to deep

in an hour long concert
then finish with
a lightning chaser
thunderous applause

God alone gathers
my tears in a bottle
uncorked tonight
to wash the earth

and now the blackbird sings

Picture: Fish Creek Park, Calgary AB, personal collection

Thursday, July 6, 2017

Good Things

Evening bike ride
in the twilight by the river
Blackbird singing
from the edge of the wood
Moon smiles back
and we thank the Giver
For every perfect gift
and all that is good.

Picture: Fish Creek Park, Bow River, Calgary, personal collection