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Author Archive: merlinspielen

Ramble: Stench

Ewww

whatever is that smell?

poetry gone rancid
in the summer swelter
old moldering musty reek
of words in decay…

ah such grand ideals,
and look at it fade
away

like Detroit

All things human are born to die
C’est ça.

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Ramble: Let In; Let Be; Let Out.

Down we forgot as up we grew.

But babies know. They really do.

Babies have it all figured out. Life is simple.

Life at its most basic life is this:
Eat; Rest; Excrete.
Take in; Ponder; Release.
Let in; Let be; Let go.

It is just that simple.
Now breathe! Inhale; Hold; Exhale

Of course the more we grow, the more able we become.
And the more we are distracted by the wonders of living and being alive. Squirrel. And in our distracted mix of emotional turmoil we forget the essence of being:

Let in;
Let be;
Let go.

Ramble: Canada Day 2018 (Dominion Day)

Here in the Great White North it is the celebration of creating a nation. The official launch of the experiment called Canada was launched: July 1st, 1867.

Now the reality is nations don’t just arise from spontaneous birth. One day nothing – and the next day BOOM – “look honey it’s a baby country. She will be awesome when she grows up!”

No. Political unions arise out of planned negotiations and random choices. This land was here before it was called the “Dominion of Canada’. This land was here before human’s even existed. This land has a history that begins before those of us who are living ever breathed the air of planet earth; before humans battled each other to lay down a set of values, laws, and government.

This land does not belong to any human, first and foremost it belongs to itself as part of Mother Earth.

I ended up here by accident. My parents fleeing the turmoil of 1956 Hungary, where refugees seeking shelter. Refugees looking for a place where they could top looking over their shoulders. A new home where they could stop worrying that the wrong sentence would get them arrested, imprisoned. Killed.

They had no idea where they were headed when they bundled up their two young children – a daughter about to have her 5th birthday, and their son not even 6-months old. They packed one small suitcase and walked across a frozen river into what was Yugoslavia (now Croatia). They became homeless.

The next 6 months they lived in refugee camps, while other governments made offers for a permanent home. My parents had talked about Belgium, and then the Canadian government offered them a home in Canada. They arrived by ship, landing in Quebec City, Canada in July 1957.

They became sharecroppers on tobacco farms near Barrie, Ontario. Investing in the planting, working the fields, maintaining the buildings and equipment. Learning English from the other immigrants and refugees around them. The promise of an autumn reward making them work hard in the summer heat. Eventually my parents realized there was no pot of gold at the end of the tobacco crop rainbow.

Somewhere in there another son was born. Then I was born on Canadian soil.

My father had always been handy with tools  and fixing things. He began working as a handyman, and then as a carpenter. Eventually, in 1964, my parents saved enough to buy a small run-down farm from a local farmer and landowner – Mr. Smalley. He held the mortgage because no bank would give my parents a mortgage back in those days.

My father had a love for the land and tried to be a farmer – raising pigs, chickens, and geese. And it never really worked out. There would a good few years, followed by a horrible year. He had to keep working as a carpenter. He was a good carpenter, and so he became a site foreman for a small construction company. He earned a good wage, but ne was never wealthy.  He never had a new car, and our clothes were mostly bought from thrift shops.

My mother stayed home with her 5 children, running the household. Keeping the livestock thriving. Planting massive vegetable gardens that feed us well through the summer, and throughout the winter. She canned the bounty, so that the pantry was always filled with pickles, relish, and canned fruit.  I loved her pickled beets, and I have never been able to duplicate the flavour of the ones she made from the beets she grew.

So what is my point? Nothing really. Just a reflection on what it means for me to be here in Canada. This is a nation built on compromise and acceptance. It is a vast and complex thriving community of distinct cultures. This is a country based on a ideal of “peace, order, and good government.”

Mostly that basic vision has been maintained. Yet nothing is ever made; and no lives are ever lived without making some stupid choices. Along the way there were some horrible choices made. There is nothing that can remove the past; it is our choice to be bound by that past. We are here now and we must do better. And we will do better. It just takes time.

This nation is an experiment that is always being refined. What we value today may not be valued tomorrow.

My father taught me that you always do your best with what you have on hand to make things better. My mother taught me that you can only make choices based on what you know today. If you didn’t know something yesterday that you now know today – then admit it. You cannot change yesterday. You cannot guarantee tomorrow. All you can do is be the best you for today.

Happy Dominion Day Canada. You are not a perfect country by any measure.  Yet the only truth I know is the world could use more Canada in it.  Today was good. Tomorrow can be even better.

 

 

 

Poem: Evaporation

glass tumbler
fully coolly
overly brimming
perceptively placed
for nocturnal
sip missions
I rest
restlessly
wrestling
tiresome
daemons

tossing turning
tousled
in yearning
wry morpheus
still spurning
till burning
parched morning
enters my room
yells
“DAMMIT ARISE!”
— I comply

glass tumbled
empty of life
I Lazarus shamble
seeking cold
porcelain relief

fully flushed
I am now
less than I was
and no more
than a drop
in the ocean that is…

Poem: Hard Edges

late breakfast
on her porch
we prattle
enjoying June breeze
meandering memories
of who we once were
and might have been

we wander her garden
geraniums growing green
pausing to pluck
pink peonies
into a paper
coffee cup
scooping water from
the crumbling koi pond
trailing muffin crumbs
and fresh wishes
in the fading dew.