Ode To Old Age Security

Not long now

The years fly by so fast I hardly have time

To notice the sabbats and the seasons

My limbs creak and my body aches

I never thought it would come to this.

By next September I will receive the cheque

The one that tells me that I am now… old!

Oh boy.  Security they tell us

Well by now of course, we know there is no such thing

Security in a world of turmoil and strife and fake news

We never expected that big joke south of us

He is Humpty Dumpty sitting on his imaginary wall

And he will undoubtedly take the big fall

When that happens we will clap for glee.

Most of the time I think that all the king’s horses

And all the king’s men, can never put Humpty Dumpty

Or anything else… together again.

But I still walk into my forest at times

Not so often as before, but the enchantment is still there

Always will be, and I hope now, that my ashes can be spread

In one of my favourite forest haunts.

Time goes on, my children and their children will go on

One day perhaps we can all rejoice in that place beyond

That elusive dream, … but when we arrive, reality!

Then we can see the why and the when and the where

We can understand the reasons for all of this

Down here below we only have the murky mirror

But in heaven it all becomes so clear.

Our vision is whole, our bodies are ethereal

And we finally find that there is no need to fear

Because love does go on… and on… and on.

cailin raine

Sunflower Chatter: Ode to Meditation

I heard them chattering to each other

All the sunflowers growing in fields upon fields

They waved and danced and swayed

As if to music, but it was each other they loved

They did not stop, the sweet chatter went on and on

It was a sound I wished would never stop.

The psychic had asked us to go to a setting

In our minds where healing takes place

I leaned back and relaxed and let my higher self

Take the reins and give my mind space.

A new picture emerged of a sunlit life

Where beauty abounded, and there was no strife

A peacefulness fell all about the huge fields

As the little faces smiled I felt my heart yield.

Each sunflower held a dear face in its light

With petals surrounding their wee smiles just right

Their countenance glowed with an essence so sweet

And my heart swelled with love with every heartbeat.

They asked if I would listen and so I answered slow

Well yes, of course I’d try very hard from my life down here below

But they shook their heads and they waved their leaves

Said, You don’t understand! that you can come up here and sing

And help your soul feel glad… see anytime, just open your heart

We all will be right here, hold our hands and make your peace

You have nothing child to fear!  Then I heard His voice,

Was truly clear, it felt like summer rain, it fell upon my ears

Then whispered, with a touch that took away my pain.

The sunflowers took up a chatter, like no other I ever heard!

They belted out their little songs, and their petals all unfurled

They laughed, they cried, they came to me with a Love I’d never known

And I knew that God had healed my soul, and one day I’d go Home.

cailin raine

Ode To The Fibro Life

My body slows from ache and angst
My limbs heavier and sullen
I snail towards the bed and
Lie in relief and exhaustion
This subtle change has crept its way
From slight to limiting to omnipresent
At first a slowing down of daily pace
And now an unrelenting murderous force
Stealing away my life.

I will not give up.
When I walk the beach shore now
I stop more often
I sit on more stones
And I gaze longer at the sun's shimmer
Upon the water's grace.

How much longer can I come to this place?
Now I can imagine walking
On past the horizon which is glowing red
Completing my languid path towards the Sun.

cailin raine

All My Life by James Kavanaugh

               Throughout this book of poetry you will find a few selected pieces from other authors whom I greatly admire.  Some are published and famous, some are not.  To me their talent is equal and tremendous.  Here is one:

All My Life

All my life

I thought love was earned

By how I looked

Or what I accomplished

How cleverly I spoke

Or how I could make people laugh

So all my life

I worried about my appearance

Or some new conquest

The force of my words

Or the jokes I could tell

Somehow I've discovered

In these latter days

That love is a gift

Given lavishly without recompense

Freely beyond bargaining or good sense

Totally without concern for expense

Only earning it is impossible

James Kavanaugh

Hold It Lightly

There was a time when curls blew brown about

A wee lassie’s face, shy, pug nose

Eyes brown and lit with an amber light

Not trying for much, just "to be" was enough

She grew, played free, then entered a different world

And chose not from her own depths, but

Those imposed by others, obligation, guilt

Simple ways of the forest lost for something phony

And not at all grand by any means.

She’d delighted in watching the tiny animals

Scurrying on the forest floor

Knew how to hold them lightly, just enough

To smell the sweet, sweet breath of life

And no more, no more was needed.

 Then a perceived lack invaded and

Happiness was a vapour from the past

Forgotten, unheeded, shoved aside for she

Made the mistake of worrying about what

Someone else thought of her.

Lost were things she held dear

The candlestick of Indian craft, the camera

Pictures that showed the best of her, a

Warm, dark rose, striped sweater,

Mary Jane slippers and someone else took

The old, worn, family pictures home.

She sat in meditation on top Old Baldy and

Let the warm, summer rain slide soundlessly down

Brown, smooth, tanned legs, curved in sensuous

Pleasure as the dear, old faces smiled down

Cherishing her, their great grand-daughter

She could see them in her inner mind, a faint drumming far off

And yet close, all at the same time… love was there.

 Lost were the kisses from her man, the love gone

The hurt big, then another and his mama made her

No one in his eyes, no one in his life, he was weak.

Would there ever be anything else but loss?

Then a flight across the ocean showed her

The old and famous lands, dear in her heart

For ancestors had roamed there, but again

His weakness took what was rightfully hers

And no amount of hiking in the German forest

No amount of lovemaking, nothing…could give her back

What she deserved.

And so I hold it lightly now, again striving

For that first inborn knowledge where a

Tiny hand holds more than all the purses in China.

The memories stay and the hope for the future

Comes again, and then again, renewal promised

In the shadows of her brown and tender eyes.

I walk along the wooden verandas and

Softly push the porch swing, but

 I hold it lightly now, I hold it lightly.

cailin raine

When There Were "Roars" in our Barn: A Glimpse From the Past

When I was a little girl on the farm, it seemed to me there were acres that went on forever.  A day was timeless, with many hours to fill with play and wonder.  My Mom was usually in the kitchen, preparing good things for us to eat.  Dad was always busy planting, or baling hay, cleaning pens, or mending fences.  The sound of him starting up the old Ford tractor was always a comfort, because he was just always “there”.  It was fun to watch the calves with their Mama cows, leaping and running around with the other calves, the grown up cattle grazing and content as they chewed their cuds.  I was never afraid to walk the fields and pet the ones that would let you come close.

I grew up counting “cow pies” and kicking the dry ones just for fun.  I took many “city” kids all over the farm, teaching them our country ways.  We spent countless hours in the barn jumping from the high beams into the soft, loose, sweet hay.  There were certain ideas about “farmers” that those kids had; it didn’t take much to figure out how or what they thought about country folk.  I won’t ever forget the surprised look on a couple of faces when I invited them into our house and Mom had it gleaming and spotless with a wonderful aroma coming from the oven.  Further inside, the dining room table had snow-white lace on it, and the biggest revelation of all was the beautiful, old piano in the corner of the living room.  We didn’t have a lot of money, but what we did have was certainly well-cared for.

We were taught right from wrong, and honesty was a way of life.  I wasn’t very impressed when a little girl from the city took home a pink, flowered top that I had sewn for my Barbie doll.  First of all, the blouse was missing, which was strange, this being after having the girls over to play.  Then it was my turn to go over to one of the chalets at Beaver Valley Ski Resort, and in the midst of our Barbie collection, was the very same pink, flowered top.  I knew my sewing of course.  The new owner explained how she had “found” the same material I had, in her Mom’s sewing box, and she had made the very same top!  Well, I knew better, but I kept quiet and let it go.  I had learned that most of the time it was better to just let things be; she would learn in time.  My Dad walked away from silly arguments, and just let on that the other person was “likely right”, when in fact he knew better.  What was inside yourself was way more important.

As the youngest in the family, and coming along fairly late as I did, I often felt pretty much on my own, with the busyness of the older ones taking centre stage.  I didn’t get much attention, and being quiet and shy from the beginning, I don’t think that I was demanding of any.  But one visit stands out, because “someone” actually “chose” to spend time with me!  That person was my cousin, Stu. 

Company was often unexpected, but my Mom always had her famous pies baked and ready for anyone who might drop in.  I was pretty little and actually do not remember who all was present during that visit.  What I do remember is that when I started to tell Stu about the Roars in the barn, he seemed really interested!  The more he paid attention, the more story I told.  When I asked him if he wanted to come out to the barn and see the Roars, he immediately said that he did!  Well, was I ever surprised.

So, donning boots and jackets, out we strode, all the way to the barn which loomed above me like a great mystery.  During our walk I continued to tell him all about these creatures that lived in the hay mows, never actually coming out so that you could see them!  But they were there!  Living, and eating, and growling, and liking the fact that they had the barn to themselves at night, when they could come out of the hay mows and Roar!!  The more I came up with something that they had done, the more Stu laughed.  I was astounded at him actually enjoying “just me”.   He asked me, “Are they really called “Roars”?”

“Oh, yes. They are Roars!  They really are called “Roars”!”

I spent a lot of time on the farm alone, the others getting married, moving away, and just me left at home.  Looking back now, I guess this was all part and parcel in making me the loner and the writer that I am today.  I don’t mind silence or solitude; in fact I thrive on it.  I won’t ever be a city or even a town girl.  Country is in my blood and I am proud of it.  Those days of rambling over acres, kicking up the cow pies, exploring the valley and the Beaver River will always sustain me.  I have many stories to tell, but I will always remember that first time that “someone”, my cousin Stu, was so enthralled with “just me”.  He chose to believe!, and he listened to all I had to say, about the Roars in the barn.

Today, when I park my car and ramble over to take a picture of an old-fashioned, bank barn, before they are all gone and just pictures in history, I can still sense them there, way up in the rafters, happy and content they are…my “Roars”.

                                                                                                            Copyright @  Colleen Weber 2015

The Pull of The Land

It runs in our veins I think

Some people aren’t even aware of the weather

Or whatever is happening outside.

For me there is a definite feeling when I first awake

I can sense the coverlet of snow on the ground

Before I even go to the window.

It feels like a blanket kindly bestowed upon nature

And I feel akin to Mother Earth wrapped in my own downy, soft wool.

In summer it is even stronger ~

This pull of the land

That takes me out to the pastures to sit perched on a rough, rail fence.

I watch the young colts prance

In the forest I listen for the soft cracking of tiny branches

As the mother deer leads her fawn through the woods.

The breeze moves through the limbs and leaves

I am drawn into the soft amber of the sun’s rays

That gently reach to touch the soil

I sift dark, loamy earth through my fingers

Just to feel its strength ~ then

Sink to my knees in gratitude for this gift

This utter blessing to be able to feel

The pull of the land.

cailin raine

Lost In The Not Fun House: Ode To Relationships With Men

At St. Helen’s

Too many rooms and not enough room for us

Too much disarray and not enough rays of light

Too much clutter and not enough puttering around home

Too much running around, not enough homeward bound.

So much tossing out the trash

But never ever cleaning it up

Too much hustle, and never a moment for joy

Not enough smelling of the roses, never the time to bend.

Our life, our lives are lost in the big, big house

Too much stifle and not enough breath for us

Too much that does not move, and always moving too much

Too little time for affection and not enough touch

Too much dismay and just not enough, enough.

If you could have touched me and put that first

If you could have loved me, if I had been your thirst

If you could have seen that I had all the love to give

If you could have let yourself and me live, live!

I was lost in the not fun house

And I could not get out

I was lost in the not fun house

And that’s what this poem is all about.

cailin raine

Tumble, Little Dance

They rolled together sweet in their fur,

Oblivious to the cement and sharp objects,

Too quick to feel any discomfort, abandoned and carefree

Tumbling over themselves in eager pursuit

Of each other, each other's little body, the best of friends

Little pals.

Over and over again...boredom is not in their minds

The sunbeams entertain and they watch in endless

Fascination

A little swat and they go again

Somersaulting in forever play

The wind and the rain and the shadows play along

Drinking in the wholesomeness of the woolly little fellows

Who pounce and play in their topple dance

Head over heels and rolling in kitten glee.

I creep away silently...tiptoeing backwards

To not disturb their frolicking

I am not a part of their freedom

But I am honored and cherished to glimpse

This little bit of magic!

They did not know I watched their world...

I move away awed by this rapture

Enchanted by

The kittens' tumble, little dance.

cailin raine

Ode to Mary Rutherford

Mary was it you? Was it you who reached through

To the place they laid your body?

We drove the rural way, and then we stayed….

Murky energy and light, stinging rain, cold fingers.

Mary was it you? Was it you who reached through…
Reached through the veil to rise and walk
Amidst the flower carpet on the tiny trails
At the top of the hill above your grave?

Isabella all alone, the real reasons never known
Mary was it you? Was it you who reached through
To cast angelic glow on the forest floor
And whisper a hush to all the trees growing there
So straight and tall, smooth, grey beech standing in a strength we could feel

For what is a witch, really?
But one who walks with nature close to the rain and wind
And knows the ways of herbs and plants and healing
Motherly love encased in soft soul, barefoot on sweet grass?
Faery paths, tiny basket left, do you return to carry it?

Mary was it you? Was it you who reached through
From your grave to listen there, in the shadows of the evening
Sad hill, broken stones, plots forgotten and in disarray
Unkempt in the lonely wind, this holy ground dishonored
Mary was it you? Or do you hide still? … the girl who needed to be hidden
For old reasons no longer valid, mired in vintage thought, useless shame
Mary, have you reclaimed your freedom, do you laugh and run and dance?

Did you learn to sing your own song?

Mary, was it you who touched me?

cailin raine