My Morning Smile - Poetree is Back!

Action Stations

 [November - "I help install a cool Poetree in London"]

In early November, 2014, I helped install a 'Poetree' on a front yard tree in Old South. Not too much time passed, however, before the property owner was asked to remove said item from the tree. Ouch. Perhaps we should have checked The Corporation of the City of London's bylaws before sinking a few screws into the sturdy Red Maple.

["First attempt looks good but Ms. M. wasn't smiling for long"]

Well, though Ms. Montgomery initially had to take a step back and deal with putting a claim forward for an "exception to the bylaw", she did so gallantly and recently a "thumbs up" arrived in the mail.

["Stand back. She is armed w a drill and knows how to use it"]

Yesterday the Poetree was successfully re-installed. (I actually still had the same screws in my workshop jacket). Ms. M. replaced the first screw with enthusiasm, I checked that it was level and replaced a few more.

I say, A1.

Link to My Morning Smile

Photos by CM and GH

I Wood Be A Tree

If I Could

'A wee poem' inspired by events concerning a Poet-tree box recently

attached to, then removed from (by City decree), a tree in Old South

(second draft)

If I could I wood be a tree
Perhaps a giant red wood
Like General Sherman maybe.

I'd live 2,000 years, good chance even older
Head in the clouds, taller than fifty humans
Each standing atop another's shoulder.

If not an ancient red wood
Then something even rarer

Like a conifer-iduous or decidu-onifer.

How could I be two kinds of tree? How?

Be green year round, laden with chestnuts
With needles and leaves on every bough?

All I can say...
Oh, I'd find a way.

And I would welcome young climbers

Boys and girls on a swing

Friends seeking some shade

Pretty birds on the wing.

I'd rustle with the wind, always in tune

Sing with the sun and howl with the moon.

I would act as a signpost, point east and west

Be a home for wee birds and squirrels in a nest.

I would offer my arms for many a box,

Take a nail for a poem, hold a line for wet socks.

No one that I know will likely agree

But if I could I wood be a tree.

gah

Link to I Wood be a Tree - first draft

Shilly Shketches (or drorings) by GH

Zoom w a View

Favourite Photo

What sa Hali Fax? Good question.

This wee character plays a big role in a recent poem.

Link to I Wood be a Tree

Phooto GH

I Wood be a Tree

If I Could

'A wee poem' inspired by events concerning a Poet-Tree box recently

attached to, then removed from (by City decree), a tree in Old South 

If I could I wood be a tree, perhaps a giant red wood

And live 1,000 years, with my head in the clouds.

If not a red wood then something rarer still

Like a coniferiduous or deciduonifer,

With both leaves and needles side by each,

Be green year round and laden with chestnuts.

I would welcome adventurous climbers,

Boys and girls on a swing,

Friends seeking shelter

And birds on the wing.

I would sing with the wind, always in tune,

Reach to the sun and howl with the moon.

I would act as a signpost, point east and west

Lend a hand to a gardener and squirrels in a nest.

I would act as a home for birds in a box,

Take a nail for a poem, hold a line for wet socks.

Really, if I could I wood be a tree,

Perhaps a giant red wood

Or something rarer still.

gah

Link to more Poetry and Prose

Photos by GH

Ice on the Pond

First Ice

I watch for it every year. Ice on the pond.

Link to Prose - "First ice is on the pond"

Link to Prose - "Snow is on the spruce boughs"

Photos GH

Prose: chickens of ordinary stature

I like chickens. I bet you do too.

I wrote the following bit on January 5, 1974. (Yes, I was such a creative young man.) So, tomorrow marks the poem’s 38th anniversary.


Check your freezer. If you find any chicken from 1974, say, stuck inside a block of ice at the bottom (and I know that kind of thing can happen), tomorrow would be a good day for a fry up. Raise a drumstick with me.


chickens of ordinary stature

mildly,
chickens
smell like the dickens.
usually,
they lay eggs
between their legs.

from chicken coop
to chicken soup,
nothing left
but chicken poop.

gah

[Photo and cartoon by G.Harrison]

***

You’re welcome.

Please click here for more prose, something a bit more recent.

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Prose: good defensive hockey

[The following was inspired by the excellent display of defensive hockey by Tyler Ferry of the London Knights (OHL) when he shadowed Nail Yakupov of Sarnia Sting on Oct. 30, 2011. A fellow I regularly play hockey against said the game was less enjoyable to watch. I heartily disagreed. gah]

good defensive hockey

stay on him
like dirt on an old dog
like the sticky on warm tape
stay on him


["Hockey equipment from the mid-1960s": photo GH]

coached repeated his plan to me
stick to him, that number 10
like spit on the sidewalk
like smell on your old man’s shirt
and I stuck to 10 that night

near the end of the first
he hacked my ankle and was sent
to the penalty box - I guess so!
but my team failed to capitalize
and my ankle tightened up
while I shook my head

period one ended, score one each

***

Please click here to read about periods two and three and the breath-taking conclusion of ‘good defensive hockey’ by G. Harrison.

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Prose: slow ride quick death

[“I don’t usually sleep very well when I’m away from home. One morning, during a recent trip to visit my son and his family in Fenelon Falls, I awoke with a start.” gah]

slow ride quick death


in a flash I was awake
in a dark room - still alive
I felt a warm bed cover
on my shoulder
but a hot question
on my startled mind
what happened? I said
perhaps aloud

I closed my eyes
thought backward cautiously
to the scene of the explosive crash
to the sound of my heart
beating in my ears

only seconds earlier I’d been dreaming
driving my car up a small hill
and the only other passenger,
my wife, was making small talk
as we neared the crest
a car appeared
full speed ahead
in our lane, a wide chrome grill
aimed at my eyes


one second left of life
one thought - this is it
one scream - oh no
one impression - surprise absolute
the surprise of arriving
at an unexpected destination unannounced

I opened my eyes
stared at the wall -
still alive

gah

***

I hope this won’t be a recurring dream whenever I visit Fenelon Falls.

Please click here for wee prose more cheerful.

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Favourite Things: A Case of You by Joni Mitchell

[“If Shania Twain is devoid of ideas to guarantee private time in her life... I have a few suggestions. She could pencil in downtime at her healthy-sized chunk of real estate in Switzerland... she could go down to the basement and sit in a comfortable chair, slap on some headphones and listen to her favourite Joni Mitchell CD.” G. Harrison, Sept. 2, 2004]

Christmas is coming and I’m busy putting a small book together for friends and family of some of my favourite columns. In my opinion, nothing says Merry Christmas like my story about Shania Twain or another about the high price of eggs or that brilliant piece - you remember, don't you - about one of my thousands of personal opinions.

While organizing the book I listened to Joni Mitchell songs but had to stop typing when ‘A Case of You’ began to play. For the hundredth time the lyrics and orchestral arrangement knocked me off my chair.

“Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid.”

Joni knocks me off my chair.

Below is the album cover for Both Sides Now, one home for ‘A Case of You.’ Joni’s painting skills rival her song-writing and guitar-playing skills and though I’ve looked at the cover many, many times, I only recently noticed the coaster beside her elbow.


“On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice...”

When love goes wrong it can go wrong in crushing ways. When a song goes right it can go right forever.

‘A Case of You’ first appeared in 1970 but it still stings, bleeds and soars at the same time.

And it’s one of my favourite things.

***

Please click here for ‘Remembering my father’, my most recent column.

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nature's solace: alone time

7 a.m.
this morning one duck sails south
past the dock, so quietly


last night
a group of seven
a tight-knit band
plied the same waters
and earlier
eleven braved the channel
alive with motored crafts at the time
all shapes and sizes
but none as at home
as this lone duck

7:02 a.m.
it's time for quiet thoughts
time to listen to a line
or verse of nature's prose
writ upon a breeze


["It's time for quiet thoughts... writ upon a breeze": photos GH]

more fishermen will start
their engines soon and rattle by
then the daily din
of more human enterprise
will hold sway and chase
the wary ducks away

but now, with one duck
disappearing from view
it's time for nature's breath
to tell another tale.

gah

***

Please click here for a closer look at a few trees.

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Hit Singles: Your Shadow’s at My Side

Backgrounder: “Marriages and relationships certainly go through hard times, don’t they? Hopefully, bad times are followed by good times and a couple doesn’t reach the kicking stage in verse 3.” gaharrison

Your Shadow’s at My Side

Chorus:

Late at night I think of you.
Late at night I dream of you.
Late at night I yearn for you,
Your shadow’s at my side.


["Sail through troubled waters": photo GH]

1. Hard times from the start,
Hard times broke your heart.
Hard times tore us apart.
You have left my side.

2. Good times will come again,
Good times will ease your pain,
Good times will be our last refrain.
But I need you at my side.

Verse 3 is optional: Depends on the mood around the campfire!

3. Last chance came and went,
Last chance you got to vent,
Last chance you said, “Get bent.”
You kicked me in my side.

gah

***

More Hit Singles - click here.

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My Tree: I've got sunshine on a cloudy day

I’m tempted to sing that I have the nicest soft-needled pine tree on the entire block. (I may have the only soft-needled pine tree on the entire block, but that’s beside the point).

In fact, I think I will sing. Recognize this one?

My Tree

I've got sunshine
On a cloudy day.
When it's cold outside,
I've got the month of May.

Well, I guess you'll say
What can make me feel this way?
My tree. (My tree, my tree)
Talkin' 'bout my tree. (My tree)


["This tree has the loveliest smell. Bees like it, too": photo GAH]

I've got so much honey
The bees envy me.
I've got a sweeter song
Than the birds in the trees.

Well, I guess you'll say
What can make me feel this way?
My tree. (My tree, my tree)
Talkin' 'bout my tree. (My tree)

Though the temptation is still there to sing, I need some coffee. See you at The Red Roaster.

***

Please click here to read the poem TREES by Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918).

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Trees: Did you use ‘Adventure Awaits,’ an old school reader?

Though it was a bit cool and wet this morning I stopped for a moment on my way to The Red Roaster to enjoy the appearance of a soft-needled pine tree on my front lawn.

The tree seemed perfect to my eyes, nose and touch, and it reminded me of a poem from a classroom reader I used back in the 1970s and ‘80s as a teacher.

TREES

by: Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree. 
 


A tree whose hungry mouth is prest 

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; 
  



A tree that looks at God all day, 

And lifts her leafy arms to pray; 
 


A tree that may in Summer wear 

A nest of robins in her hair; 
  


Upon whose bosom snow has lain; 

Who intimately lives with rain. 
  


Poems are made by fools like me, 

But only God can make a tree.

***

Do you remember Trees?

I’m grateful the poem, though it may be 100 years old or more, is still alive and well.

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Hit Singles: You Got Away

Backgrounder: “This song was written about ten years ago and was inspired only by my imagination. My wife likely wondered at the time why I would ever go to a laundromat because we had a perfectly good washer and dryer in the basement. I think it’s the kind of song Roy Orbison would have enjoyed singing.” gaharrison

You Got Away

Verse 1. I saw you first time at the laundromat,
I was a bit too nervous to start to chat.
But our eyes held while you folded sheets,
My shirt got damp from my body heat.

2. I spoke to you first at the corner store,
You’re arms were full so I held the door.
I asked if you’d like a coffee one day.
You said, it’s hard, then you walked away.


Chorus:

I was trying real hard but you got away,
I’ll try again soon some other day.
It’s so hard to act cool when my hands get hot,
You’re tougher to forget than I ever thought.

3. When I saw you next you were with a guy.
You said, it’s still hard, if I read your eye.
At the laundromat I saw you fold his shirts,
Don’t know why but that still hurts.

4. I can’t help but keep watching you,
You’re everywhere, on my mind it’s true.
I keep rehearsing romantic scenes,
And you’re the main star in my nightly dreams.

gah

Please click here to read other lyrics or see other songs that have nothing to do with laundromats.

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Hit Singles: How Are You Still in Love with Me?

Backgrounder: “After listing two songs in a row that were pretty darn sad (click here and pass the tissues), I thought I’d better dust off an old love song from my ‘singing around the campfire’ days. I hope you feel better now.” gaharrison

How Are You Still in Love with Me?

Verse 1. I know some about the rivers, how they flow out to the sea.
Because I’ve seen them rushing by in the morning.
I kinda get to wondering, what I’d see from way out there.
There’s mysteries that are deeper than the sea, than the sea.

I wonder, yes I wonder,
About some mysteries of life,
But I wonder more how you’re still in love with me.


2. I know some about the prairies, how they stretch out to the sky.
Because I’ve seen them reaching out in the morning.
I kinda get to wondering, what I’d see from way out there.
There’s mysteries that are wider than a mile, than a mile.

I wonder, yes I wonder,
About some mysteries of life,
But I wonder more how you’re still in love with me.

3. I know some about the eagle, how they fly up in the sky.
Because I’ve seen them circling round in the morning.
I kinda get to wondering, what I’d see from way up there.
There’s mysteries that are higher than the sky.

I wonder, yes I wonder,
About some mysteries of life,
But I wonder more how you’re still in love with me.

4. I know some about the mountains, how they’re too bright for my eye.
When I seen them flashing white in the morning.
I kinda get to wondering, could I see from way up there?
There’s mysteries that will blind you for awhile.

I wonder, yes I wonder,
About some sweet mysteries of life,
But I wonder more how you’re still in love with me.

gah

***

Please click here to read more hit singles and a bit of brilliant prose.

Brilliant?

Hey, it could happen.

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Winter Wonderland in Bracebridge

After taking pictures of her freshly plowed driveway and rooftop snow-cover this morning, my sister stepped onto her back deck, camera in hand.


Her picture reminded me of a poem that mentioned snow caps on fence posts, one I used to read to Gr. 4 - 6 students whenever we had the opportunity to watch the year’s first snowfall through classroom windows.

If I can find the poem I’ll share it with you.

***

Do you remember other poems about winter or snowfalls?

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From the Workshop: Prose by a rank amateur

she and me

the whine of the bandsaw
the smell of fresh-cut cedar
and fine sawdust in his hair,
I notice them all
when I step into my
old husband’s workshop.
check under your hood, lady?
he says after he looks my way.


he always says that
he always says that
he always says that and
means the same thing
as when he first said it
forty years ago.
he smiles and trips
a familiar switch
inside my chest -
he and me.

***

she always knocks
on the screen door of my shop
before she steps inside.
she always knocks and
sometimes I jump - startled -
lost in thought.


check under your hood
seems the right thing to say
before she smiles and asks
if I’d like to stop for tea.
my throat is dusty,
tea would be fine,
I nod.

***

later, we spend time together.
we sit in comfortable chairs
inside my workshop,
we talk almost a perfect shorthand
and with rhyming tones.
we almost breathe as one
we almost breathe as one
she and me.

gah

***

Click here for more prose and brilliant hit singles.

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Another Hit Single: Life in the Great Big City

Backgrounder: “I wrote this one so long ago I can’t recall if there was an incident I was witness to (or involved in) that prompted me to write this brilliant piece. However, after listening to a CBC Radio program yesterday re behaviours that occur on Toronto’s mass transit system I thought I’d dust it off.” gaharrison

Life in the Great Big City

1. My first trip to the city, got off the train,
Two guys said, “Can you spare a dime?”
I bent right down to open my pack,
Woke up next day flat on my back.
A policeman said, “Don’t look for pity!
Welcome to life in the great big city.”

Chorus:

Well, I lost my pants and my underwears,
I got roughed up, thrown down some stairs.
I lost my watch, some hard-earned money,
I’m almost naked, it ain’t even funny.
Policeman said, “Don’t look for pity!
Welcome to life in the great big city.”

Three more verses and more brilliant lyrics at this location.

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Prose: backpack canoe: conclusion - ‘North Tea reflections’

Backgrounder: “Three days and nights on North Tea gave birth to countless memories. When our group gets together to talk about past trips the stories spill out of us in handfuls, like beans from a burlap sack.” gaharrison

North Tea reflections

coffee in the morning
has a heightened taste
brought to boil
over an open flame.

after a sound sleep
on a pine needle mattress
cold clean water cuts
short the morning dip.

tarp water is turned aside
by a hastily dug
shallow trench
around my tent.

adult loons
patient and protective
are wise diving instructors
for their eager young.


wooden box crappers
havens for hardy mosquitoes
open to the elements
and passing paddlers.

crows as big as barns
chatter loudly for hours
to pass the time
in the treetops.

chicken noodle soup
four for a dollar
a satisfying noon meal
on a cool rock bench.

fajitas, steaks, salads,
store-bought lasagna
catch jealous eyes
and take the culinary prize.

on warm evenings
we scout for moose we tip canoes
and lanterns left in trees
guide stragglers home.




Catch more prose at Hit Singles by G. Harrison

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Prose: backpack canoe, more than a trilogy part 3 - ‘moose at Manitou’

Backgrounder: “While camping near North Tea Lake in Algonquin Park several years ago I saw my first moose. Don tried to shoot it (with his camera) but lost his balance and camera equipment during the process. I wrote about the event and still describe moose as very agile for their size.” gaharrison

moose at Manitou


first lone moose
spotted near a cedar shore
head visible above water
leisurely tearing leaves
from a fallen branch.
the canoes drifted too close
and the moose soon bolted
on long black legs
into safe scrub brush.

second sighting, on Manitou Lake
huge muscular unassuming beasts
perhaps near-sighted
but so alert -
twitching ears caught every sound.
two stood knee deep
in long marsh grass
five canoes, silent, still,
approach cautiously
‘til the spell is broken
we exchange stares
with odd silent creatures.
did they hear us breathe?
only a few agile strides needed -
the two disappeared.

gah

More prose and song lyrics at Hit Singles by G. Harrison

***

My last moose encounter occured in 2007 while motorcycling on the Trans-Canada highway between Wawa and White River. A lone moose seemed to be the only inhabitant of that lonely stretch of highway.

Have you enjoyed a moose sighting lately? Where?

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