A Poem – A

such savagery diminishes upon that street. the wars the horrors the weeping the loss and wasted beauty. with content it shreds with letters not read and lies to their soul. When will the lessons be learned. due, far, far overdue is the renaissance of shadows. these streams of conscious thought, delight, they awake a hunger for more. More than a hundred forgotten faces, and names … Continue reading A Poem – A

Village Sketches: The Divine One And His Servant

What is it, exactly, that makes a place charming? What orchestrates those that inhabit these environs of grace. For, tis these idiosyncratic sorts that truly give a place its splendid character. Such as the vignette I came upon yesterday at the end of our (Irish and I) hike along the Thames. As we were strolling down the main thoroughfare, Irish has at this point scrapped … Continue reading Village Sketches: The Divine One And His Servant

Poets on Sunday: D.H. Lawrence

The Enkindled Spring by D. H. Lawrence This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green, Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes, Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes. I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze Of growing, and … Continue reading Poets on Sunday: D.H. Lawrence


The Well Of Joy And Fate

Have wondered of late why exactly it was that my little digital Weather Station had been over estimating (under estimating?) the temperature outside. Certainly I knew it was in the shade, but it was WAY off – therefore, instigating me to dress like I’m storming the Sahara at night. Turns out the outdoor base unit fell into the basement window well. Well, of course it’s … Continue reading The Well Of Joy And Fate

Hockey Arena

Growing Up With A Stick In Her Hand

Hockey in Canada is BIG (case ya didn’t know). This week THE HOMESTEAD was all abuzz as my oldest niece on Sunday won Gold at the Women’s Hockey Association Provincials’. Dang, it’s for me beyond words and I’m so incredibly proud. With stick in hand, this young girl defends the line for her team. Watchful, patient and determined, she is a true team player. For … Continue reading Growing Up With A Stick In Her Hand

A Bit Of Kunitz

from ‘THE TESTING-TREE’ In the recurring dream my mother stands in her bridal gown under the burning lilac, with Bernard Shaw and Bertie Russell kissing her hands, the house behind her is in ruins; she is wearing an owl’s face and makes barking noises. Her minatory finger points. I pass through the cardboard doorway askew in the field and peer down a well where an … Continue reading A Bit Of Kunitz