The North York Poems

(for Tara)

Evergreen and Hawk

Impossibly tall, 

Wonder wander in the skies. 

Clouds that enthrall,

A golden new beginning

Black hawk with frayed looking

Feathers at the back,

And the green so old

And slightly moving

Firmament worlds fine

The Red Chairs and Table

The paint held up,

Wooden and steel,

Round, not large not small

Just medium size chairs

Designs on their backs 

Like faces

A table is everything,

For I needed somewhere to

Put my items upon

Whilst watching the day,

Whilst thinking of the creative way

A Garden is a World

Yellow petals have occurred,

And some red ones on the ground also

I think the raspberries

Those old red ones new again will show 

Up this summer,

Reminding me of the spirit

Of my grandparents…

And we have learned how

To make jam,

Oh the soulfulness of the

Jars and process and

End product 

The Story of the Raccoons

Solitary one wandering. 

Where are you going?

Be careful of everything,

It can be a weird world

Nice eyes and fur,

You are looking no doubt

For food. And aren’t we all

In a way actually and

Symbolically?

Watch the tracks my friend,

And maybe go along the sides of 

Boulevards by the light of

The moon,

The eternal moon 

Dawn’s Deer 

A group pauses as the

Sun tries to begin. Agile

And interesting. Go then to

Your job of life and try

And stick together 

There, by the forest 

Perimeter in the suburban

Sprawling worlds…

Look look look,–

God definitely made

The deer

The Blooming Branches

I see in just one week

You have really begun to 

Grow. I don’t think

Anybody noticed. There is

A

Cardinal around there,

And it is disturbed that I

Am present. It flies away. 

Sorry Cardinal

I didn’t even know you were there

At first

Fly fly in the spring summer

Sunday sky

Coffee, Stone, and Flower

I have a coffee, and there is 

A stone nearby, ancient looking.

What a juxtaposition between the

Rock and the flower bed beside made

Of wooden planks and 

See the flowers and the small metal

Sign

That says ‘BASIL’

I take a sip of the coffee,

Breathe. Stand and stretch,

The slow quiet life is better,

More observant and reflective,

Yes let us find words and pictures 

And the most soulful route to

The world and ourselves that

Is possible

That Old Statue

The one of the three watchers

of the world. It’s old but sturdy. A bit

Broken but that is what it is…

Grey countenance. Maybe a spirit 

Guards it. It seems somehow so. 

The grasses green and the berries red

Grow around it,- around the

Stone watchers of the world and

The possible garden phantom-ghost!

I declare it is protected through rain and

Wind, night and light,

By a great garden deva 

Sagacious and kind

Do You Remember When?

The old times when we met?- and the

The vibes and atmosphere? I can. Summer sun. White clouds. Me and you and

The wild birds that flew, some poems

And they were written in a blank paper

Book,- yes with a pen and some

Quick easy fun drawings of flowers

And people, of mountains

And even of you

Terra Cotta Days

A plant container is everything, no?

Different sizes and their matted finish 

Not glossy, perfect for the weather and the soil and the root systems. Nice. I like it. 

Gardeners everywhere have these, and

The bases; the stands. It’s like writing or photography in that you can put any flowers you want inside them – you are a creator or at least a guide, a curator of the artistic and creative spirit a medium for something good

The Tree of Life 

On a wall. Metal. Big. Symbolic of hope and organic cycle and beingness of existence. Love. Like. Look. The world outside the yard is quite quick and full of ambition, the worldly type. But the poets and artists understand the Magic of the gardens and the quiet meditative qualities of the yards in summer yes, the verdant and colourful gardens warm…