Category Archives: Poetry

A Sketch of the Lives of Parents

Parents –
Mother, Daddy –
my world –
the centre of my life.
Comforting, supporting,
leading me
from child to adult.

They are windows to the past
connecting me
with ancestors, long dead,
who live again in stories.

The future looms, unknown to all.
Fearful, I falter. My loving guides lead on,
stop, step aside, and point the way.
Tears flow.
I say goodbye and leave, their words ringing in my ears.

“The future now is yours.
Enjoy life. Hold your head high.
Lead an honourable life.
Keep us in your heart, as we hold you.
As long as we live
the doors of home are open.
Return often
and tell of your adventures.
We will laugh, sing, and celebrate
before you leave again.
Travel far
on the journey only you can make.
May life
be full and challenging
and all go well with you.”

Memories flood over me.
The years
have flown away.
The loving guidance of my parents
has travelled with me all the way.


Filed under Poetry


“Eat your porridge, Marjie.
Daddy does, Mommy does
you need it too!”

“Eat your porridge, Marjie.
Teens are so active, so busy
you’ll need good food to stay well.”

“Eat your porridge.” The refrain rings
in my ears.
The microwave is fast, still time to walk
to work along the river path, so beautiful right now.

“Eat your porridge.” Now I’m the one
throwing out the old refrain.
My children, they must learn. Many of the simplest habits
pay great dividends through the rest of life.

“Eat your porridge.” It is part of the rhythm
of my life. Around our breakfast table, I join my friends.
A different group of souls, we share one trait,
we all are old. Life is lived and enjoyed from a different view.
We appreciate –

Porridge – served with coffee, laughter, and toast.
Porridge – dished up with world events and doctors’ appointments.
Porridge – with grave concern for friends ill or suffering, mixed with cheers for the birth of someone’s great-grandchild!
Porridge – accompanied with “Pass the salt, please” and “Who’s heard the weather forecast?”

Porridge – a lifetime – and still with joy I hear
a loving voice calling:
“Eat your porridge, Marjie.
Daddy does, Mommy does,
you need it too!”


Filed under Poetry, Prairie Childhood

Spring For a Prairie Child

The sun’s rays are pouring down.  Warm breezes blow against my face, tossing my hair into my eyes.  I run down to the east corner of the house, and look out across the prairies.

The winter has been long, the snow piled high.  None left now, well, almost none.  A few traces remain under the dense lilac bush which guards that house corner.  Spring is here, it really is.  A meadowlark sits on a fence post singing its heart out.  The smells, the sounds, the sights – I am so happy.     Continue reading


Filed under Poetry, Prairie Childhood

My Lament

I lost my friend
    did I tell you?
        She died.

An ache gnaws my heart, persistent, sadly reminds.

She walked early, loving
    morning light
        early walkers
            fresh crisp air.

Late afternoon for me
    light warm golden
        from the setting sun
            late walkers with dogs.

So many topics we explored – politics, ethics, food, multicultural relations
religions international and personal
the priceless value of family, friends, and strangers
and finally
what our remaining future holds.

We spoke our minds
    bared our fears
        our joys
            our questions.

In the end, no world problems solved
    no personal stances altered, just
        two souls lovingly understanding
            one another.

For both, the end hovers in sight
    the final battle cannot be won
        in our hands only the skirmishes before the end
            our fight to make our last days good.

Our challenges?
    Her failing heart
        my dementia
            trivial things like that.

I point to the extra years she has already squeezed from this heart
    why not more?
She claims dementia must be fast to beat my declining pool of years
    why not this?

Then we look into one another’s eyes
        clasp hands
            sit close together
                and remember.

I lost a friend
    did I tell you?
         She died.

Dedicated to the memory of Elizabeth MacLeod, an outstanding person, loved by all.


Filed under Poetry

Friday Musing on a Spring Day

My world is hushed.
The sun, low in the western sky, lovingly throws its warm rays over spring’s first offerings.
Buds on old gnarled trees tentatively present small green leaves.
Young eager trees stretch for the skies, small blossoms on every slender branch.
Mature trees draw gasps from passersby,
their beauty signalling nature’s salute to spring with blossom glory.

Stillness spreads over all.
So very quiet.
Does nature know?
This is a sad day, a holy day, a beloved man lies in his grave.
He also waits, waiting to burst the bonds of his tomb,
to feel again the warmth of the air,
see the glory of the flowering plants,
smell the scent of the blossoms.
Resurrection – will it come?

The mountains beyond our valley hold high their snow-capped peaks
shimmering in the dying light.
A breeze brushes my face.
I sense a whisper.  “We wait, and wait – will the resurrection come again?”
The weary world waits and wonders.
Spring comes again.
Will this be the one that ushers in what we wait for – our healing resurrection?
The mountains whisper, “We will see.”


Filed under Poetry

Still on the Path

 Still on the Path

People think of life in many ways
or don’t think at all.
What is it?
Something everyone knows but cannot describe.
They say it is like this
or like that.
replace what one feels and knows but can’t articulate.
For me life is a long path on which I travel
until it ends.
Sometimes smooth, sometimes rough, always changing.
Looking back the path shows wonderful views but
the future
disappears around a bend.   Continue reading


Filed under Poetry