Wednesday, December 14, 2011


the beer truck backs up
~ beep beep, beep
at the vet's window, a happy black cat

Friday, November 11, 2011



stripped bare,
 
 in the cold the trees let fall ~

a new beauty

Sunday, October 23, 2011



Fathers
           Sons

We showed up for work early
“I told you so” I said needing
a public airing of blame

No time to return home so
we went down to the harbour
and sat looking at the lake

We did not say much
truthfully we never had
too late now for either of us

Is that what wisdom is,
                late.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Seeing  the school year starting again and frost on the cars
this morning, I decided to rerun one of my older poems.
 
Guy
 


Days of Construction Paper and Macaroni


Office bound how often the seasons, years go unremarked.

In the younger grades you decorated the classroom.

Iron autumn leaves between sheets of wax paper and it is fall.

Black cat cutouts, Halloween, an accordion turkey, it is Thanksgiving.

Cut out intricate snowflakes for winter, macaroni trees, it is Christmas.

February and there are Valentines for everyone for once.

Easter eggs, paper tulips, it is spring and change is in the air.

And in the summer you ran thru an endless twilight

until the street lights called you home.

                                                                                        Guy

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Tuesday, August 30, 2011



a bee flys off ~

the purple flower nods to

sun and shadow.

Friday, August 26, 2011






Showing blooms and berries

a hawthorn both ~

spring and fall.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Monday, August 22, 2011

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Monday, August 15, 2011

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Wednesday, August 10, 2011



I went for a walk
way out beyond the far fields
clouds followed me home.

                                    Guy



Monday, August 8, 2011

Saturday, August 6, 2011


Summer days
along a country road
dragonflies everywhere.

                           Guy

Sunday, June 26, 2011



Red Squirrel in Red Deer

Waiting for a meeting to start, always early,

time to worry, wrong place, wrong day?

I watched a small red squirrel at the foot of a large spruce

no time for self doubt there, but I wondered for him.

How did he choose which of the hundreds of cones

to hoard, to bury, to eat

how did he decide to leave his tree for another to get a cone there

to bury back here.

What instinct drove him, industrious, territorial

always acting, always moving.

What memories can he harbour in May of a winter to come?

And what should I hoard from this, what to treasure, from this moment

with its lesson in industry, preparation, self confidence with

a leavening of obsession.

                                               Guy

Friday, June 3, 2011



The Dawn Deer

A solitary silhouette at dawn, ears wide cocked like the gun

I do not carry, we are both poised between past

and future, and so we wait, trapped in the amber light.


For me this is merely a walk, I have simply paused

between one step and the next. But an error on your part

is freighted with consequences and finally you slip away.


Today neither of us is prey, but mute to each other

we know only what has been, not words, not intentions.

                                                                      Guy

Wednesday, June 1, 2011



Chickadee dee dee

Who has tamed your wild heart?

No one here I know; so how far have you come

with obsidian bright eyes and dainty clawed feet,

expecting the seeds I did not think to carry.

Your expectations may have been extinguished but mine

lit by your wild beauty, shine like a minute sun.










Friday, April 29, 2011






You hated visitors but loved their shoes

For so many years you slept a
small still weight by my restless feet.

When I got up you would claim
my spot, leftover warmth, a cuddle.

In the end you who were silent
cried out waking, sleeping, lost, alone.

I would hear and nudge you gently,
not knowing if you were awake, asleep?

To let you know I was always  there
awake, and with you in the dark

Thursday, April 28, 2011



Ice

Once you folded entire continents, oceans rose and fell, lived, died at your whim
you coughed up boulders big as houses, pulled vast sheets of rocks across
thousands of miles, as effortlessly as a child with a blankie.

No one stood against you not man, not mammoth not muskox well maybe muskox
but mostly you came out on top, your gallstones ground a world to stretch marks and
your cousins rolled through space with a heedlessness that made dinosaurs tremble.

Now it's all downhill, you clutch little boys tongues, nip their noses, lurk
in the mouths of alleys to attack someone home from the shops with a bag of apples
and today you tripped a small white dog in red boots who bumped his chin on the curb.

Despite a short lived triumph as the screaming eagle centrepiece in a buffet
your future is mostly ice hockey, curlers in loud sweaters, and bobbing
around an unfriendly world in a gaudy pink drink with a paper umbrella.

So there!



Wednesday, March 30, 2011


 Camera frost  crystal trees
   
                                                Guy

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

On a Bus Headed North

20 below, everything fades to white,
fields stretch to a white horizon
each tree, woodlot is rimmed in frost
and the white non-light still holds
against an unseen dawn.
On the snow mantled farm the
red buildings bleed to rose,
the yard light shines like a grounded star,
and if I could stop and walk
up the long path, pass the granaries,
the black on white piano key
repetition of fence posts,
would I be a mysterious guest
a magi, or merely home?



But we continue north to a grey,
shuttered city, waiting for spring to come
and open it like a can.


Tuesday, March 1, 2011



Sometimes a Falcon is Not a Single Edged Sword


Magpie eye, magpie mind, always tempting fate

a blue black jester, wings arched in a graceful fall.

Time and the world conspired to create

violence and beauty wrapped in a strident call.  

King among cattle, nothing you won’t steal

a lonely egg, fallen chick, any sad mischance,

life offers so many, for diversion, for a meal

There’s always your own agenda to advance.


Yet at the height of your triumph, in fading light

another blade equally hard, equally honed, took

you broken to the ground, only one shape ascends

two ill fated lovers launched on one final flight.


And I found your feathers here by the foot

of the power pole where the fence ends.



                                                        Guy








Sunday, February 20, 2011



Calender with Magpie

Early spring, late winter
wobbly magpies busy with sticks
it begins again

Late spring and magpies
kill jackrabbit leveret
unloved assassin

Summer comes, time
for weaning fat magpie chicks
raucous noise follows


On sunny lawn a
magpie pecks sleeping rabbit
futile kicks follow


Amid green leaves
many loud magpies come to mock
embarrassed tabby


Fall and teenaged
magpies wrestle the plant tags
but for now wire wins

Winter magpies watch
as we slog thru slushy snow
watching just watching
                                   
                                                            Guy








Monday, February 7, 2011



Dreams of Disarmament

Harry the great polled Charolais

swollen as the sin of pride,

heavy with muscle and vitality

counts his kingdom of one

way out in the far field.

He spares us only one baleful glare

for his thoughts are far away

down to the main corral where

Morely the half-pint Hereford

flashes his horns for an admiring throng.

                                 Guy
                            



Saturday, January 29, 2011




Golden

Golden lay light upon the sill

after lunch, after school.

Day lingers slowly, a patch of light,

time pursues day retreats

but the moving trail is still new

and I wonder at the golden pool.

The window still speaks of sun

after night after years, decades of time

I see that golden time, still.

                                               Guy

Wednesday, January 26, 2011



Genuis Loci


The desktop gods Ganesha, Hanumazn practice stillness

laid down in the carving, one arm so, trunk askew.

I admire their stoic motionless contentment with their place

beneath an old master postcard and family photos

as one more day moves imperceptibly

but inexorably towards some twilight resolution.

I harvest the silent monument, unspoken words,

sculpt contentment, confinement into my bones.

The world may spin for me centred in my web

but I will turn instead to the filed word, unpaid account,
my compass the world of desktop gods, paperclips

and not let guilt or gyration carry the day away.


                                                                 Guy







Tuesday, January 25, 2011


In My Field
Sleep Rabbits

So I should recount to you
the passing day.

The bandaged wrist of the
server at coffee.

The death of family frail
amid the tubes.

Ending with an ovation to
important immediacy.

or

In the early winter morning
four rabbits sleep in the field I pass
appearing or disappearing like the snow.

Foot traffic drives them out during the day
they crouch amid gravel bed and shrubs
chivvied here, there, somewhere.

That’s where they go but what is it
about this cold dry windswept field
that brings them back?

                                       Guy




             

Monday, January 24, 2011



Days of Construction Paper and Macaroni


Office bound how often the seasons, years go unremarked.

In the younger grades you decorated the classroom.

Iron autumn leaves between sheets of wax paper and it is fall.

Black cat cutouts, Halloween, an accordion turkey, it is Thanksgiving.

Cut out intricate snowflakes for winter, macaroni trees, it is Christmas.

February and there are Valentines for everyone for once.

Easter eggs, paper tulips, it is spring and change is in the air.

And in the summer you ran thru an endless twilight

until the street lights called you home.

                                                                                        Guy
About Face

For each small sad thought, another.

Late summer, young magpies gather in the yard

pulling frantically at the tags on the shrubs.

Two crows perch on the skyward 4x4s

the barcodes are treasures beyond price.

A pine siskin runs joyously through the yard

collides with a blade of grass, down then up.

                                                                 Guy



Sunday, January 23, 2011


                                                    
Paths
                                                  “Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,”
                                                        Tintern Abbey  
                                                                   William Wordsworth
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
Time was I did not walk this path alone, but words uncounted
could not tame the world to hold your shape once more.

Gone now, like so many, gone and I await some future call,

but until then I am here, remembering a questing spirit,


who pads the pathless night, the trackless starfields,
the wild aurora, thru great winding fields of light.

But remember to return by way of these tamer fields
so that one day we may take that walk together.

                                                                Guy



                                                                    

Friday, January 21, 2011




Lost Things ( decorating with)

They said keep what you like, within reason.

But my backyard is too small for tank like ankylosaurus and the great
stegosaurii with spear backs and spiked tails.

So I settled for a single giant sloth who is nibbling the unruly
caragana bushes by the passenger pigeon’s dovecote.

The kitchen is raucous with Carolina parakeets who perch more
comfortably on the high backed kitchen chairs than I ever could.

The tub enclosure is given over to Labrador ducks and countless
anonymous orchids so it’s showers from now on.

My living room is much improved by an aquarium of paisley trilobites
(who said they were black),
and the little rodent guy asleep in his terrarium
(who  is after all family) .

I am sure given a proper nurturing environment the
Tasmanian wolf pups will learn to coexist with carpet.

In the library the dodo (over by the Lewis Carroll) helps me shelve scrolls from 
Alexandria , early episodes of Dr. Who and the remaining verses of Kubla Khan.

And on Saturday nights you and me and the australopithecine, resplendent in his
bright red jersey, will be in the den watching a Red Wings game.

                                                               Guy


I took the photos from of a series of books I have
by J . Augusta illustarted by (the great) Zdenek Burian