The Soul to the Clock 2002

Every time I look towards the south,
The beauty which once stood there,
Seems to call out to the sensitive man,
Sketches creative in chalks of colour,
Many more sticky charcoal indications,
Should well impress all that is calm,
Invite me back to your parkland as I reach out,
I except the offer as the river swells in song,
Last night across the river,
With those goings-on and screams of calamity,
The night storms and the wailing from the land,
Will mask those savage brutes and conceal their illicit deals,
That we all have known and seen,
Keeping them away from this civility,
And please create that screen,
Even the ghostly flights of the geese which never scream,
That marketplace,
Its imprint lost and hidden by greed,
Sometimes calls out to a stranger,
Only the ones that know the place and remember,
And the breaks of silence which speak,
Elegant hands of the clockmakers,
A human touch and soul left to fuel the clock,
I know its hidden in the loft,
The warehouse doors shut tight,
With its secret locked up for all the nights.

In Praise of the Songbirds 2002

Voices sweetly converse with melody,
They'll sing back with delight,
Each pose with sweet forms of vitality,
What tiny hearts and a song in tune for the night,
Perching with such frozen elegance,
I wonder what the other people have felt,
This composition reveals something which may delight,
Island of Mayne in these Straits which we've sailed,
Do these waters reflect or embody the murky depths,
Greenish blues collide with the umber greens,
That I have met and many of us which have seen,
The songbirds which hitch a ride on the winds,
Hold to the wild strawberries with care,
I'll hold these sticks of colour and dare,
Mere scratches I hope will delight,
Perhaps a song to mesmerize,
My beautiful sunburst of life,
The gusts persist and tantalize,
Just the rhythm of this land awakes,
Please don't release the goldfinches,
As their sudden flight will take shape.

The Hidden Treasures of Richmond 2007

I would have never imagined driving along River road in Richmond and coming upon wildflower trails.
This painting was quickly painted in oil and I did another lovely watercolour painting.
We always enjoy visiting in Spring those trails again and what a treasure; every year many more beautiful flowers growing wild.

The Gray Whale...May Love To Stay More in the Fraser 2010

If these waters could cleanse that False Creek,
Perhaps more vivid dreams could surface,
Only to impress that wanderer,
Its form so beautiful,
And warm-blooded like us,
The months have gone by now,
Its glistening ashen body,
Frolicked and searched,
In that wasteland of neglect and abuse,
Land that seems to revive,
Time heals but will only hide,
Cold facades and concrete replicas,
The soils secrets,
Still leaches their toxicity,
Back into that ancient waterway,
Settlements in this estuary,
From the First people,
Their Nations harmed none,
And left silent talk,
Their spirits may have called out,
People of our times,
Friendly and excited,
Will run to the decks and wave on,
But the whales language still searched,
In its ancestral waters,
And moved on and away
And out to Jericho Bay,
Without play in its liquid world,
Its watery breath sighed,
Please come back another day,
Seen last from Spanish Banks,
Come back to us along this Rivers Bank.

And Once There Was A Cannery 1991...

As if I was walking back in time,
Only the trails of Boundary Bay,
Still hold that certain mystic for me,
I love revisiting those places painted,
That time would never relinquish
Those faded memories stripped away by familiarity,
Which is beauty,
Resting stoically in places untamed,
And weathered by the elements,
Still lives on in this painting,
And the many more images ready for the reveal,
Perhaps its form no longer rests along that slough,
The luscious land,
The sea with all its baggage,
And the space around,
Companions of my West,
One would love to wonder,
Even the winds hushing breath,
As it flows through the cottonwoods,
Teases the crying willows away from my attentions,
Would leave us all dreaming and wishing,
To stand now at the very spot,
Where the years have gone by but I have clocked,
My youth taken away mercilessly by time,
If closing ones eyes real tightly,
And opening them quickly,
Could reveal the beauty which once stood there,
Please Sun aid in reviving that dream,
I have seen your waves of heat,
Transform this land,
Into that mirage,
Which would help me in my dreams,
And reveal the wooden cannery once more to me.