Floating Salvage Yard 1997

Relics abused and disregarded,
Longing to be recognized once more,
We all feel attractive in our heydays,
Of splendid Beauty,
With our Handsome Images.

Only our aging presence will suggest who we once were,
Where there's a saying,
Even when painting a portrait,
Especially a young woman,
The model should be twenty-one.

Her beauty is formed and she will give good face,
And one feels the height of a persons attractiveness,
Reaches the glorious age of Twenty-four.

Unfortunately the disrespect and disregard many good people have to endure,
By the meanness of others,
May cruelly age and ravish that mortal into a living fossil of hardship,
But ones beautiful Soul will never be tarnished by the heartless.

Perhaps those rusted dilapidated hulks,
Fish trollers, ancient ferries and other floating dreams,
At there berths of despair,
With some tender loving care,
May surface to float on their usage,
Rather than castaways sinking to the depths of someones belongings.

Please don't make them a living reef,
And just another chance to operate once more,
On these floating molecules of hope.

Mountain Ash 2008

Last summer when I went to Vancouver Island I visited the beautiful quaint Village of Sayward. The drive was long but well worth it and we set up camp at the campground. This pretty oil of the Mountain Ash with the clusters of the reddish-orange rowanberries, always reminds me of the great time we spent there. Johnson Strait was always teaming with lots of activity and we explored the rainforest around Saywards estuary.

Weepers of the Willows 1993

Send me bounding out of this land,
I once saw a spirit,
I shutter to know why your mournful cries swept amongst the dying leaves,
Small pendulum and extraordinaire,

Willows of this ancient bank,
The river swift and hid and knows,
The body of the solemn all lost,
But at last your soul I have found and grow to woe,

Please may I save and release you,
A shroud which awaits you,
God is forgiving and will bless the mortal,
You have been absolved and express in that place which you will rest,

I have remembered the deeds of their gone byways,
My kin and I would play amongst the dunes of sand,
These monuments of land which drift and would travel ,
Hearing those cries once more as the willow will force,
That entity which I fought many, many decades ago,
Worried itself away and could not steal my Soul,

Now the insolent boat clubs tread,
The ancestral place your people worshipped you to Rest,
Your remains searched for but eluded,
But the willows voice never ceased and divulged,

A journey of reincarnation awaits you,
Or perhaps a prophet in your next life will venture you away,
I like to believe to a better place than here,
The decaying leaves only cast a layer of uncertainty,

That life vessel which I suppose you chose,
A mysterious Dol-porpoise all waiting,
Along the middle-arm it eloquently swam on its peaceful journey,
Your Soul, in which now will go,

Have you now transported yourself back to a different plane?
You live once more and a peace fills my hopes,
Your watery journey has lead you back to your ancestors,
As the weeping from the willows no longer can be heard.