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THE
MOUNTAIN
Highlights of a warm and amber evening
Gleam yellow bright.
You left me thoughts that warm
My coldest days.
Your leaving is the longest thing I’ve wept
And,
Now I’ve wept it dead
There’s only left
The soft remembrances.
You found me
Living happiness and planning dreams.
Hand on my arm
You bid me stay awhile.
Your smile was strong
And for a time we played a light flirtation
Before I turned about my dreams.
As I embarked
Your smile and touch remained
For when I stepped away you pressed your love
Into my hand and bid me
Hold it gently all the way to Samarkand
And home again
To you.
My days were joyful
As I bounced along
And laughed.
Each thought, each view was coloured
With your presence.
The Thames reflected back your smile.
The streets of London
Sang the wildest harmony to counterpoint
The sweetness of my agony
Expecting word from you.
And then word came
Of course,
Of course it came;
Your writing strong and vital as your touch.
There is a spot on Cheyne Walk
That I call paradise;
That’s where I read the first
Of all your love
That’s where the street is stained
With one great shining tear
Of happiness.
My letters back were light
With joy of growing expectation.
And tho’ your mail was sure
I’d entertain disaster fantasies
Part fear
Part thrill.
You followed me to Regensburg and Zell Am See
Bukhara, Tashkent, Samarkand
Galway, Chelsea, Liverpool
And finally the road turned back
Turned back again,
Turned back to you.
The five day trip was all on edge
One long preoccupation.
Too much.
Too much to see you standing there.
They made us wait so long to disembark.
Finally
Your arms your eyes your
Kisses
Swept aside all fantasies and dreams.
And thus a smiling idyll
As we climbed our alpine meadow
Intent upon perfection’s height - love's consummation.
We camped
Beside a freshening glacial stream
And played on our delight
Celebrating
With each mountain flower the fullness
Of our long awaited spring.
The sun was ours and ours
The moon;
The moon we watched until the rise of dawn
Urged us to happy sleep.
Our busy days were lit with love;
The nights
Were ours to build and dream and celebrate.
I cheered the mountain and the glacier
And the freshening stream
And tho’
At times with worry in your eyes
I’d find you gazing at the glacier
I’d laugh,
“All
nature is our friend,”
I’d sing.
Thus,
Months were spent with every morning fresher
Than the alpine dew
And every evening warm
And happy on our mountainside.
One night our dreams were troubled
And the air seemed cold.
I woke at dawn with stabbing pains of fear.
The early sun
Half hidden by a bank of clouds
Marked where the glacier had broken
Through
And
while we’d slept
Had swept you from my side.
Gone.
I haven’t seen you since.
And tho’ I’ve searched
I always knew the glacier
Had truly taken you
Away.
Forever.
Along each painful step
That took me down the mountain
The stream no longer freshened to the thirst
But chilled
And set my body quivering.
Between each stride
I felt for life
Some sign
Within the ghost, the cold remains of spirit
That had soaked the sun for months;
The spirit was a wisp of hopelessness.
Finally I reached the bottom
The very bottom.
I sat.
I let the fog of months roll past
Wordless
Living only of my pain.
The seasons turned unnoticed in the shadowed quiet
Of my empty valley.
The passing seasons
now have grown to years.
The fog is rare.
The sun is usually warming.
Now often in the quiet of an evening
I look
And see a glint of sunset
Casting highlights
On our mountainside.
Sept.
75
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WINGS
Now
That I’ve
broken open
the
chrysalis of life,
I
sit on your fingertip
My
wings still damp,
Sunning
in the wonder of eternity.
Smile on
me,
My mind and my spirit are free !
Nov.
94
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ENCASEMENT
Can this be death’s encasement ?
Tomorrow
Doesn’t worry at the edges of today
But sits
Heedless of time.
Tension unbends
Stretching free of yesterday
In a quiet cloister
Muffled from the world around
As on a winter’s evening
Of softly falling snow.
Can this be death’s encasement
With senses quietly slipping
Into an endless night ?
Or will there be a first bird’s song
Piercing
This hour of still;
Calling the world to wakefulness
Before some trumpeting Dawn ?
March
75
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JOB’S
DERELICT
Back from hell
He stands
His catatonic watch.
His cavernous eyes
Reverberate a blankness
Consuming insanities
That echo soundless
Unheeded rings of torture
in his vacant skull.
April
'75
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DAWN’S
POEM
High
above the river
Upstream over Mallorytown
a
line of geese
flies penciled in the sky
Against
the thin stretched April clouds.
Suspended in the shifting
wind
The struggling line
takes
voice
And
calls the sound of northern muskeg,
rivers thick
with reeds
Cool summer’s banquet on the flats
of Hudson’s
Bay
‘Til
overhead
the many throated
echo of Precambrian wilds
In powered raucous flight
pounds rhythms
of sedition
On the drumhead
of my Saxon constancy.
April 78
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TAKAKA FALLS
Takaka River proudly throws
her
foaming water
out
over
the precipice
for
the admiring sun
Then lets it drop
Thundering
onto
a rocky outcrop
to
bounce again
high
into
the sunlight
Exploding white blossoming clouds
of spray
and smoky mist.
The cliff face sweats
Straining to hold the avalanche
and
tiny rivulets race along
unable
to keep up
June
74
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SEPTEMBER MORNING
Autumn’s truest days
Are wet and warm
With mist along the morning lowlands
lush with fruit
Among the dying weeds.
A noontime sun can burn the mist
But now
The morning talks of winter
And I must drink
The muted colours on the hills
Before I put away the summer
For another year.
Sept.78
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THE
RECKONING
Yes,
We’ve met before.
There at a thousand doors
You let me in with helplessness.
Tell me
Did you get my message
Or did my words stand in the way ?
Did you see me
Or was I hidden in a role ?
Did you discover hope
Or only confirmation that the world
Ignored you ?
Sept. 74
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