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Canadian Spirit Voices

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On Spirit Lake the voices flew
across the coves where forests grew,
tossing the fragrance of the sun
over the pines where spirits run.

Where spirits ran, they run today,
ancestors' voices up the spruce,
where paddlers camp but never stay
where eagles eye the rummaging moose,

where wolves and bears are born again
only to see their spring cubs slain,
where we encamped and they stormed in
and killed the last of our last kin.

Can you imagine what a surprise
when they see clarity in our dark eyes?

A Son So Soon Departed

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Your first few falt'ring steps led to my breast,
There guided by my loving outstretched arms.
O how I held you close, and felt so blest
To love, protect, to keep you safe from harm.
Your last few falt'ring steps I was not there,
To wrap my arms around your trembling frame,
To hold you close and ply a mother's care,
When slowly was extinguished, your life's flame.
Into the darkness of that lonely night,
In bitter cold, alone you stumbled on,
Till as an arrow finished in its flight
You fell to earth before another dawn.
O Father, God above, I humbly pray,
Grant me the peace and strength I need this day.

"Could you choose a body, which would you choose?"

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Could you choose a body, which would you choose?
Of gleaming factions or lack beauty's gifts
The choice must be wise, something not to loose
So after time's sand, you do not throw fits
My final option: The Heavenly Sky
True gleaming suns for eyes; deep black void for hair
Destination where I would like to lie
And everlastingly, she would be fair
Never would she have me go out and find
Gazing, all her secrets would be unsolved
Mother, she would finally have us bind
And for good make all the world revolve
She, who crawled with us the primordial soups
For her, would I traverse the skies in loops


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If you were that sleekly silvered glass
Cut finely at each edge with bevel keen
Across whose path sun's rays should come to pass
To show bold hues in patterns rarely seen

Your body of turned wood or leaded gleam
A lens acutely ground to peer within
Heart and soul and innards focussed in the beam
To capture that rich source behind the scrim

Tiny morsels which sate your ravenous greed
So preciously defined within their cup
As though they each were nature's perfect seed
Grown into wild colored daisies and rainbowed buttercups

My only wish would be therein to dwell
Mirrored in your eyes; consummately beheld.

A Poem for the Wetware: R.A.M. Speed Love

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How do I love thee? Let me count the lines --
I love you to the For-Next statements in
binary code, as when the disk drive whines
uploading each arrayed & pokéd bin.

I love you to the mother board, & past,
as in auxiliary assignment jive;
I love you at a 32 bit fast
processing speed, with K's bagged in slot 5.

My love for you has looped, a BASIC need
unentered, transcendental interface
beyond the flow-charts where my logic's treed,
& networked at a co-processing pace.

What ROM-built chips are down in random love?
With you my upgrade, RAM files boot above.

So. . . It's a Sonnet That You Wish to Write?

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So. . . it's a sonnet that you wish to write?
First, learn to count ten syllables per line -
but count the accents, too, to get them right.
Iambics have two syllables. Align
them with the shorter first, the second long:
da dum, da dum, da dum, da dum, da dum!
Put fourteen such lines in your "little song,"
and make sure that they rhyme. You do have some
discretion as to how. Great Petrarch wove
a rhyme of eight, then six; while Shakespeare spun
out four, four, four, and two - the sacred grove
of poets is their rhyme. And thus it's done.
And if these rules you follow to the end
you'll have a sonnet dear as dearest friend.

The Unreliable Beauty of Spring

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The trees were filled with the colors of spring,
The children were in the yard, playing ball.
It must be springtime, for it is warming,
There is no way that this could be the fall.
I watch as the trees sway from front to back,
And now they are being blown left and right.
I can see nothing that has shades of black,
But it seems that in mid-day it is night.
This afternoon of children having fun,
And of me watching nature like a bird.
Has now changed and I can not see the sun,
For I see people running in a heard.
A great sensation has changed and now pain,
For I see that it has begun to rain.

Touch of Love

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This touch of love is sweet in the darkness
As we sleep in the night I bid my love
I thank the stars for this loss of envy-less
My love soars for you like a heaven sent dove.

Our memories yield a sense of season
Cold like the moon or warm like the blue stars
Time of togetherness gives a reason
Let the truth be told and no lies regard.

For I am the slave of your endless joy
From ashes to ashes and dust to dust
Two hearts and beauty have been known too coy
True love never yields weakness and loathes lust.

For you to know my love is always true
And I will be there for you through and through.


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When the hinges rust under vernal rains
vines twist around the gate of the garden
(a manacle with poison ivy chains)
locking children in a jaded Arden
a life sentence written for Dick and Jane
read between the lines of the ferric fence
as water bleeding from a weather vane
makes the green ghetto rather crimson, hence
the corrosion is indeed iron-ic
beyond the threat of tetanus in this jail
when double-crossed by the tempest's tonic
young Jack and Jill raise arms to fill their pail
standing silent among the shades of brown
until the bucket spills, and they too drown

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