In Trust  
Waters shedding shifting
stretching from Five Island Lake
to Seabright offering emptying

into the Bay
the marshes
bogs below barrens

thick and wet with life
brackish dreams

as a child I remember
the roar of the Woodens

the stumps, blackest
scat piles

signs of eyes
of tracks

small followed by
bigger followed by
bigger still

tracks of fishers,
and hunters
of forests past

two old friends
trading tales
sharing bannock

like the
two first roads
mingling overlapping
awhile before
bursting into their own

Granite & root, root & rock
rock & river

Trails inspiring silence

but wait
I hear the yearís first insect buzz

The warblerís
wind chimes

the Kinglets & Juncos

I see a Broad-winged Hawk
its slow circled trance

In the wild
we hear with our eyes,
green and rust,
a still lake.

we hear with our feet,
swoosh and glop
What's a little mud?

The forest is full of compensations

Moss cascades
canopies shade
and death nestles

under a
trembling
aspen

an elderly oak
or knobby-kneed beech

Specks of green
nub along branches of
slim tamaracks

The air so clear
you can see right through the rocks
breathe the granite in

Woods, youíre a
languid, lichen-draped
beguiling old man.

There are small creatures
clamouring at your ankles.

still some fern-flirting left in you.

Sunlight danced on the Bluff &
I felt the heartbeat of a birch

Roots, rocks carry me
Back to my sleeping self
Preverbal

Take me to the erratics
Remind me that this is life
We are residuals of history
and forces wild and errant
here in our bodies.

how I love the frog songs
the larch buds breaking
autumn blush of crowberry
spring velvet of the lady-slipper

dragonflies mating tale to neck

Black Felt Lichen sticks to granite
like bits of burned maps

tree roots muscle over muddy paths

Everything in proportion
and a space for us

On behalf of all the wild things that make this
land their home and with reverence for the First Peoples
who preserved this land before us, we dedicate
The Bluff Wilderness Hiking Trail to preservation.

We can do this
we will work together to
protect this sacred heritage
we

passionate volunteers
we trail runners who come weekly
we old friends making the four loop pilgrimage
we family of four plus two dogs
we Crew from England who will definitely be back
we friends from Quebec and BC and Spain and Minnesota
We 10 hiking babes
Troops of scouts and girl guides
We 2 fat guys doing our best

We couple reminding ourselves
what love looks like
outside of the city

we can camp, fish, hike
run, mess around,
collect wild edibles

we can do this

skinny dip in a lake
run the river
paddle full moons

we can take the kids
from screen to green
occupy the forest
keep her secrets

We can do this in trust
we can learn her deep beauty
delight in the wildness
in ourselves
that we share
with the earth and the water,
the spirits that inhabit us

We do this for all
that is teeming and wild
We do this forever
We do this in trust


This found poem was generated from
the monitoring books on the Bluff
Wilderness Trail and two poetry workshops
held on the trail. It is dedicated to Rich Campbell
whose vision and passion led the way.



Dear citizen 
If economic security

I mean agency I mean

justice is not bred to

move in political realms

is it because the path is simply

one of snakes and ladders, spirals

because we donít find the right

balance of love and power,

between growing trees and

navigating jungles or we chickegg

the poor thing into parts until

itís stuck or dying

failed to watch

how it moved. Is it

because we miss in it

the moral power, the

imagination, intoxication,

the trust, the critical

intangible of the

townhouse, the gathering,

the dialogue, this dialogue,

our kite and our stars.



This found poem was generated from a forum that I participated in at the Coady Institute on the links between economic and political citizenship. For me, as I describe in my bio, the two have always been tied though political (in the broadest sense) agency cannot be assumed.


Moonwort 
Black folds into fog into forest.
An arm shot bare. On her knees

in the sphagnum humming,
plunging knuckles numb.

One day as any other
you find youíre carrying death.

Lilith came long before Eve.
She led her.

Sheís back breathing
night with the sleepless

plucking ferns
by the moon

before they unfurl
unshoe the coming horses.








78 poets in 78 hours against Bill 78 
Alessandra Naccarato started a great initiative against Bill 78 in Quebec around poetry. Restricting the right to organize in Canada??!! Where is the Canada we used to be proud of. To go to the poetry website click on related link below. This is one of the two poems that I contributed:

He ordered the trees
and the flowers,
lined up all of the
creatures in
rows, hushed
the forest but
a group of
diaphanous
butterflies began
to emerge. Dozens
then tens of
thousands danced
a red fury,
wings clanging.

  |  related link
Stars 
There were only two poems left
One was a word
The other a hand
The hand could not hold the word
The word could not read the hand
But a star chattered to them one night
They considered what they had heard
If you are right, then one of us is not needed
What if both of us are simultaneously true?
Then we donít need to be two different poems
What if there arenít really two of us?
Then one of us is dead
What if both of us are dead?
Then there is no need for stars


Published in THIS Magazine, January 2012.

  |  related link

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