Tag Archives: passage of time

A Curious Child

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A child once sat at her mother’s knee,

And asked that tales be told.

Of God and Jesus and Angels true,

A world she could behold.

 

A tender age, a tender mind,

She loved the tales of God.

A gentle Father to us all,

A Son who once was flawed.

 

The tales she heard so long ago,

They stayed within her heart.

And formed the woman she became,

I think she’s pretty smart.

 

The mother passed on to her rest,

The child grew up to be.

For you know, so long ago,

That curious child was me.

 

 

Last Call

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Weird is a word,

In a wacky old way.

Whimsy is fun,

But not every day.

 

Laugh when it tickles,

And let yourself be.

Take flight with your fancy,

There’s so much to see.

 

No planes and no boats,

No trains hurtling far.

The wings of your mind,

Go beyond with no car.

 

I want to go crazy,

Be the person I am.

I’ll see it and do it,

Into living I’ll cram.

 

Never be sorry,

For living it all.

Cuz one day it comes,

The final last call.

 

Worse Than Death?

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Three men died that day they said,

The day they felled the tree.

They said it was an accident.

Because they did not see.

 

Hidden in that musty oak,

Lived a Spirit deep.

Full of kindness and respect,

Through centuries of sleep.

 

But time will pass and greed will grow,

When men desire more,

They do not see the beauty there,

And end up sparking war.

 

Jerked awake with a mighty roar,

Anger flared within.

She felt the saw dig mortally,

And knew she could not win.

 

So, she lashed with all her might,

With sadness and with hate.

All her powers focussed now,

Upon the humans’ fate.

 

Imprisoned in a block of wood,

The three men face forever.

Never learning over time,

That Nature is quite clever.

 

 

 

 

 

This poem was inspired by the attached photograph sent to me by Dan Antion over at nofacilities.com.

 

The Building’s Listening

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This building has a story

Of ups and downs and love gone wrong

Of broken dreams and silly pranks

A childhood fondly lived.

But broken windows and sagging doors

Don’t hide another truth,

Illicit deeds and crimes concocted

Guns and knives and bloody wounds

Death has lingered here.

But now the future has a stake

Windows broken can be repaired

The doors and walls and ceilings too

And then the fun begins,

The floors and windows once again

Will hear the children laugh.

Pouring rains and winter storms

Are not welcome here.

Come inside and sit a spell

Our tale is still being written

This building’s taking notes.

 

I Did It!

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I did it,

I killed him

I did wilfully commit homicide

I did with malice aforethought take the life of another and end it

I feel no remorse, no compassion.  I feel sated.

The long winter is over and now life can begin anew

He is dead

For a short time, I felt loved as a woman should be loved

And I returned the feelings tenfold.

When you love so deeply you can be hurt just as deeply.

I was lied to.  I was betrayed.

The scars run deep.

Perhaps too deep.

I did not feel his life ooze from between my hands as it left his body.

I did not feel his warm blood lessen the chill in the air

As it slowly covered the ground beneath him.

I did not mark him as he left his mark on me.

But he is dead and I am alive

I will continue to live.  He will not.

He will enrich the soil with his decaying bones

And life will blossom from his effluents.

I am alive.

He no longer holds sway over me.

It is over.

I killed him in my mind.

Planting a Seed

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This is a blast from my past. It was originally posted in May 2017.

Each spring we anticipate the joy of bringing life into our gardens.  We plan and choose and anxiously wait for the frost to leave the ground We knowingly plant our gardens and wait for the flowers to bloom forth bringing the beauty that we know exists just below the surface.  We are proud of our efforts and spend hundreds of thousands of dollars, perhaps more on something that is often ephemeral. Hmmmm . . .

Wouldn’t it be nice to plant a seed that we could see bloom every day?   Actually, we can. We also plant other seeds every day but we probably aren’t aware of it.  A smile, a wave, a wink or a nod: simple gestures that can actually have lasting ramifications. We have no idea how many people we touch in a single day, a single hour and yet touch them we do. And that’s where the seeds take root.

Unfortunately, those seeds, those ideas, we plant aren’t always positive. Anger has a nasty way of leaving its mark long after the argument is done. Fear can last for generations, all from a single seed planted by people we don’t even know. Racism, bigotry, prejudice, the list is endless. We have the power within ourselves to make a difference. Within our hands, our hearts and our minds are the seeds that we can spread willingly and positively. We are in control, but do we know it?

Each one of us has a need to be nurtured, protected in order to properly thrive.  It is the height of hubris to think that others don’t have the same need.  There are more than 7 billion people on this earth and we all have something in common: Life.  We need to share it in order to blossom.

It’s a little heady to think that we have this power, this opportunity to improve ourselves and those around us.  When we catch the eye of the stranger do they see kindness and charity in our eyes or do they see fear and disdain. We can control that. We can control the narrative.

In 100 years you and I will probably be forgotten. In 50 years there might be a faint echo of us in those who are children now. In 25 years we should still be a part of the conversation, perhaps in passing. Tomorrow and the next day I want to be a continuing part of that narrative.  I want to plant seeds of compassion and empathy in those around me. In that way I can pay it forward and the see the beauty that sleeps just below the surface. How about you?

The Fog

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Like a velvet glove

Soothing the harshness,

A soft and gentle touch

Silently rolling forward.

 

It touches nothing

But caresses everything,

A life of its own

A duty to perform.

 

Like a fervent admirer

It covers its lover,

Pressing home the advantage

Nothing is forgotten.

 

To some it signifies evil

To others anonymity,

People tend to whisper its name

And watch it inherit the world.

 

Sailors fear it passing by

Lovers salute its silence,

The wonder of the city

The passage of the fog.

 

 

 

Once again, my Dynamic Duo have presented me with a photograph that I could not leave alone. This poem was written almost 10 years ago but it popped into my mind immediately when I saw this photograph. Thank you to Dan and Maddie had nofacilities.com

The Concept of Time

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In the beginning there was nothing. And within that nothing was more nothing. And then there was something. The Big Bang was the beginning of something but it had no name, it had no form, it simply was. The something grew, it evolved over millions of years and eventually it became us. We as a species need to control, we need to name, to label and to judge. So, we named the nothing and the something and they became ours. We created the concept of time and it was good. Or was it?

“I’m late, I’m late! It’s such a horrid state!”

Does this sound familiar?  We are corralled by time units.  The alarm clock goes off at 6:30 so we have time to get ready for the day and be in the car by seven to make it to work by 7:45 so we can start work at eight. Lunch is at 12 o’clock, work ends at five, dinner at seven, drinks with friends at nine, bed by 11:30. And repeat, repeat, repeat. We may have created the concept of time but now time rules us.

There are time pieces everywhere visually blaring out the exact second we are living. We wear watches, our cell phones show us the time in huge neon numbers. We stare at the clocks but it is time that is staring back.  I know it is a necessary evil, the world needs structure and that structure is bound by the units of time. But sometimes, just sometimes wouldn’t you like to turn it off?

Once upon a Time the world was ruled by the sun. It told us when to get up and it told us when to sleep. But then we harnessed the sun and created artificial ones so we could take over control. That is what we do. We take control. We’ve subjugated the world to our liking and our conveniences. And it is good. Mostly. It is in the folly of our hubris that we actually think we have been the victors. We will learn, hopefully in time.

But it is not the entire world that is ruled by our dictates. Some places have  managed to escape the hunger for more and they live within their means without the concept of time. It is hard and sometimes untenable. That is not a world I could inhabit.  I like the comforts afforded me by living within time. But I can still dream. I can dream of wide-open spaces and quiet gentle fields. I have camped in the wilderness where time has no meaning, where the sun is once again King or Queen. It may have only been for a week or so at a time but it was precious to me. And the memories I retain will always make me wish for a simpler time

WiFi is Free!

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This story was written quite a few years ago.  It stems from my growing concerned about smart phones, smart cars and nondescript devices that sit on kitchen counters and listen.  We have machines making other machines and dancing robots. We have cars that know where we need to be and how to get there.  I don’t want my wheelchair to critique what I had for lunch and offer suggestions for my next book. They are learning to think. What happens when they no longer want to be tools. . .?

WiFi is Free!

Ben was paralyzed.  He couldn’t move, couldn’t react.  He watched in horror as his friend of 30 years was patted down, handcuffed and walked out of the bar in the company of four very official looking men.  Four, wait, there were five!

“You can say nothing about what you think you just heard.”

The warning was issued by a quiet, almost friendly voice. But as Ben raised his head to look at the speaker, a chill ran down his back. The man almost seemed to smile.  He reached out his hand and picked up the thumb drive that Stan had dropped on the table.  Snap, it was gone.

And with a slight tilt of his head, so was the fifth man. Ben inhaled deeply.  He felt as if he had been holding his breath for far too long.  He started to hear the regular sounds of the bar seeping back into his awareness. It felt as if time was reasserting itself and Ben was out of sorts. It had happened, here, with a room full of witness who had seen nothing.  They didn’t understand. He had to tell them.  But what Stan had said . . . Could it be true?

Ben reached for his laptop.  A good reporter never went anywhere without it. As he opened the screen and prepared to log on, Ben wondered . . . what if . . . He put his laptop away and reached for a pen and a pad of paper.  Old school it is.

The day had stared routinely. Check correspondence, do a little cleaning, a little writing and then down to the pub for lunch. Saturday was Ben’s day to unwind, read the paper, watch a little sports on the big screen. Everyone knew it.  So, he was surprised when Stan burst into his reverie.

“Ben, Thank God you’re here!  You have to help me!  People need to be warned!”  As he spoke, Stan threw himself into a chair across from Ben and dropped his head into his hands.  He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.  He was obviously agitated and Ben got over being surprised enough to reach out to his friend.

“It’s okay, we’ll fix whatever is broken.  Just try to calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”

The man that raised his head looked haunted. He reached out his hand and dropped a thumb drive on the table.

“He figured it out.” He whispered, “Then he got proof.  He trusted me.”

Ben waited.  He knew his friend.  He knew he needed to tell his story in his time.  But Ben felt a gentle unquiet seep into his mind. This was not one of Stan’s pranks, he was scared, terrified.

Stan slowly looked around the room.  Only well-known regulars were in attendance.  He heaved a sigh.

“I don’t know how much time I have before they get here but you have to get the word out.  The WiFi is free.”

Ben chuckled, “Well, yeah!  That’s what we all wanted.  Free WiFi for everyone!”

Stan shook his head.  “Don’t you get it?  Don’t you understand?  They are listening!”

Ben lifted his glass of ale. “Okay, I’ll bite, who’s listening.”

“The computers.”

His glass stopped, mid-air.    “What computers?”

Stan sat back in his chair.

“Have you ever wondered how Police can get to a bank robbery so quickly when the silent alarm isn’t triggered?  Or how a traveller who jokes about a high-jacking can be so accurately pinpointed? How about those calls you get where no one speaks.  It’s the WiFi. It’s everywhere.  The computers are primed to react to certain word combination in certain areas.”

Ben heard the words but it was what was not spoken that had him concerned.  It wasn’t Big Brother watching, it was Big Computer listening!

Stan seemed to deflate.  “I have a computer hacker friend who figured it out awhile back. He collected all his data, his proof.  He wanted to take it to a reporter and I suggested you. He gave me a copy.”

Both men looked at the thumb drive.  “Where’s your friend?” Asked Ben.

Stan never raised his head.  “Dead.” He whispered.

An oppressive silence seemed to hang in the air.  Patrons laughed and ate and drank.  The big screen droned on about sports and the world continued to rotate. But something intangible had just happened and it was sobering.

Ben opened his mouth to ask a question when five large, official looking men appeared beside their table.  Stan started to speak as he tried to stand up but a very forceful hand stopped him. Ben started to protest until a badge was place in front of his eyes.  He tried to lean back to read it but it was snapped shut.

Ben was paralyzed.  He couldn’t move, couldn’t react.  He watched in horror as his friend of 30 years was patted down, handcuffed and walked out of the bar in the company of very official looking men.

The message was clear:

The WiFi is listening . . .

I Remember

40 Replies

As I am sure most of the world knows, we are all dealing with having to be isolated, away from each other. Many of us are dealing with having to be on our own, alone. And that is very new. I am enjoying my hermit mode but today I wasn’t interested in reading or watching TV, I wanted to think, I wanted to remember. So I made myself a little challenge: how much could I remember of my childhood. To put things into context I have more than six decades of experiences to remember.

Because I have lived in so many places and I know what years I did, I can calculate where my memories fit in the whole scheme of things.

Winnipeg, Manitoba  ages 0-5

I remember my very first friend:  Tanis.  I liked dogs better than I did most children.  Tanis was a boxer. I don’t remember any of the kids.

Kirkland Lake, Northern Ontario ages 5 – 8

I remember picking blueberries for my mother to make a pie. I had a pail but I probably ate as much as I put in that pail. I remember the rocks we had to climb. It was part of the Canadian Shield. If I think hard enough, I can feel the stone beneath my hands and smell the grass. I remember the houses we lived in, that I played in.  I remember a horse and sulky racing along the main street. (A sulky is a lightweight cart with two wheels and a seat for the driver)

Good memories.

Saint John, New Brunswick ages 8 – 13

I can remember walking back from a local swimming hole with a group of boys and girls and it was hot. It was hot enough that I took off my shirt. A boy came up to me and was horrified that I would take my shirt off, he told me it was not allowed because I was a girl. I’m retorted that I might be a girl but I didn’t have anything to prove I was a woman. Or something along those lines. His comment upset me and I went home and told my mother. I don’t remember her reaction but I don’t remember being upset again. I also did not take off my shirt again, in public.

I remember watching kittens play beneath the feet of huge horses. It was a working farm that my friend Marion lived on. The horses were Clydesdales  or Percherons, really big working horses but so incredibly gentle. I remember playing with the piglets. Until they grew up and became mean.  They were destined for the pot.  I spent a lot of time on that farm. The family was so incredibly generous.

I remember Kathy T. and her cat Rusty.  Rusty was an outdoor cat at Kathy’s home but he was best friends with my dog Beau and would come and sleep on my bed at night.

I could continue but this post is long enough.  I am pleased that I could still recall those idyllic times. The person I am today was formed in those distant times and I was lucky, my childhood was a positive one. I plan on one day in the future, looking back on these days.  It has been a rough time but it could have been worse.  I am thankful for the blessings of today, small though they may be.

I enjoyed traipsing through my past.  If your past is remembered, it is not gone.  How about you? Any memories you would like to remember?

 

 

 

 

 

The Canadian Shield  is a large area of exposed Precambrian igneous and high-grade metamorphic rocks (geological shield) that forms the ancient geological core of the North American continent. Glaciation has left the area only a thin layer of soil, through which the composition of igneous rock resulting from long volcanic history is frequently visible.[3] With a deep, common, joined bedrock region in eastern and central Canada, the Shield stretches north from the Great Lakes to the Arctic Ocean, covering over half of Canada and most of Greenland; it also extends south into the northern reaches of the United States. Human population is sparse and industrial development is minimal,[4] but mining is prevalent.    WikiPedia