90 Winters: A Poem
The Medicine Man Chief of the Blackfoot Nation smoked his pipe
and looked out across the distant prairies at the distant hills
He then began his tale,
90 winters ago
Gitche Manitou sent a wise soul into this world
The same month that talking motion pictures were born
Al Jolson had said, “Wait a minute… you ain’t heard nothing yet”
A few weeks later a baby uttered his first cries under the vast blue dome of an Alberta prairie sky
A child who learned to read when he was 3 years old
Reading the Bible and Shakespeare and Charles Dickens was his fare
When he was 4, his father went away from the farm to work,
that same winter his mother took ill with scarlet fever
And he was raised that winter by a Cree First Nations Medicine woman
She taught him the power of herbs and roots
and how to heal using them
He started his public schooling at the age of 5
in a one room schoolhouse
called Elba
a school built in 1914
on the 100th anniversary of Napoleon Bonaparte’s 1st exile
his exile to the island of Elba
In 1936 at the age of 9
George had determined that Adolf Hitler
was a bad person
so he was going to build himself an airplane
and fly over to Berlin Germany
and bump him off
like Saint George slaying the evil dragon
He built himself an airplane all right
a Wright Brothers style aircraft
much to his family’s and farm neighbours’ amazement
He wisely sat on the very back seat of the plane
as the plane’s navigator
while his elder brother sat in the front seat of the plane
as the pilot
That way if their lift-off was unsuccessful
as they took off the hill over the
Rosebud Creek valley
and the plane landed in the creek
it would be his elder brother who wound up first in the Creek
George wisely reasoned
while he George would have time to jump off the back seat
before the plane landed in the Creek
Well the plane never made it to Germany
not even to Newfoundland
not even as far as the Alberta-Saskatchewan border
but George’s elder brother Tom
certainly enjoyed a very close up look of Rosebud Creek
right in the creek
as George wisely determined after take-off that the plane
wouldn’t reach its destination
so George wisely jumped off the back seat
as the plane made it to the ground
heading straight for the creek
with pilot Tom in the front seat
cursing and swearing
and prophetically foretelling
the language and dialogue
on most TV programs in
the early 21st Century
The 4-Minute mile was not broken by Roger Bannister
at the 1954 British Empire Games in Vancouver
but by George on that day in 1936
as he sought to escape
his dripping wet and deeply agitated elder brother
who chased after him from the creek
George reached the safety of his parents’ house in time.
In the early 1940s as a teenager, George studied palaeontology under the great palaeontologist Dr. Charles Mortram Sternberg in the Red Deer River Badlands
In the mid-1940s, he studied Science and Engineering at Mount Royal College in Calgary
In the late ’40s and early ’50s,
he studied History and English Literature at the University of Alberta
He finally settled on becoming a teacher
passing on his knowledge and wisdom to future generations of children
In the 1960s at Sherwood Heights Junior High School
he and his students built small rockets
that went soaring high into the skies
above that place of Alberta suburbia known as Sherwood Park
A sight that startled many Sherwood Park residents
who thought they were under Soviet missile attack
The principal of the school instructed George not to build
rockets that soared so high
Among George’s students was future astronomer and physicist
Dr. Paul Hickson
who pioneered work in the reflecting mercury liquid telescope
Among George’s students in the ’70s was future palaeontologist Michael Caldwell
who discovered the world’s first fossil of a flying snake in Israel
In the late ’80s George retired from active teaching
and was hired by the Alberta Department of Education
to give training workshops
to beginning Science teachers
In the ’90s, George began painting pictures
and mastered that medium
In the early 21st Century, George
began research for a 3-volume history of Western Canada
that he was going to write
In June of 2010, he was half-way through the 2nd volume of his 3-volume history of Western Canada
when he died from cancer.
90 winters ago, this man was born.
-A poem written by Christopher
Friday October 27th 2017
on what would have been
his father George’s
90th birthday.
Permalink
15 Comments
Mountains Blue: A Poem
Mountains blue
lakes so green
a national park so clean
This is Banff
jewel of the Alberta Rockies
Not far Lake Louise
where British singer Vera Lynn
The songstress of World War II
longed to dance on its silvery banks
And not far from that
Castle Mountain
once called Eisenhower
after World War II
It stands a solid rock
much like that great general
There is Tunnel Mountain
and Mount Rundle
and Cascade Mountain
whose majestic beauty
cascades in view
down the street
of Banff Avenue
There is Banff Hot Springs
and gondola rides
In winter, Banff is
post card Christmas village
come alive
There is Lake Minnewanka
a glacial lake at park’s east end
There is Moraine Lake
and the Valley of the Ten Peaks
south of Lake Louise
whose beauty graces $20 bills
in this Land of the Maple Leaf
Mountains blue
lakes so green
Banff one of Mother Nature’s jewels
waiting to be seen
-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday June 5th 2016
Permalink
15 Comments
Haiku About Cold November Evenings
They chill to the bone
coats and scarves snug one tightly
seek warmth by fireside
Permalink
48 Comments
The Pumpkin Patch Chainsaw Massacre
Nighttime falls
your skin crawls
because you’re in the Halloween Pumpkin Patch
with the date you fancied quite a catch
This is the 13th year of the Trembleton Farms Big Scary Event
you were so excited your dad’s car now has a dent
but you’ll worry about that after midnight
when werewolves howl and vampires bite
but for now you’ll enjoy the scary fun
as you chew on your hamburger bun
Ghosts and ghouls and witches too
jump from behind these gourds shouting boo
you jump and scream
your girl holds you like a dream
and then you notice a little trodden path
so you say to your better half
“Let’s go down here!”
She says, “Really dear?”
so you grab her hand
and say, “It’ll be grand!”.
And down and down you go
What lurks there… friend or foe?
It’s pretty dark
this walk in the park
what’s that you hear?
A noise so queer
Sounds like a chainsaw
cutting pumpkins raw
your knees start to shake
and your belly turns to fear
you look to the ground
and see a severed ear
What the Hell is going on?
Body parts strewn across the lawn
you’re still holding your girlfriend’s hand
in this field of bloodied sand
but then you discover that is all
and then your skin really starts to crawl
where’s the rest of her?
then you see the best of her.
Her lovely head sits astride a pole
her eyes have that fiery glow
you open your mouth to scream
your own head comes apart at the seam
but look on the bright side
as your head rolls on the bloodied tide
your father won’t kill you for the dent when you get home
as your tortured spirit seeks a place to roam.
– A Halloween poem
written by Christopher
Saturday October 18th
2014.
Permalink
Leave a Comment
A horse with a horn
more pretty than foot with corn
this the Unicorn
Permalink
2 Comments
Bard Seamus Heaney
now joins Ireland’s great poets
in hills forever green
Permalink
Leave a Comment
Haiku I Wrote About Jesus
Lord Jesus on Cross
his arms nailed but outstretched
Love embraces in pain
Permalink
2 Comments
I first saw them a few nights ago
They were on the corner of Burrard and Alberni
as I rode by on the bus..
The dog lay with his head on the sidewalk
in peaceful contemplation
his eyes closed.
The old violinist was vigourously
playing his violin.
What melody he played I do not know
for the bus windows were closed.
An old hippy walked by
shaking his head
as if to say,
You can’t teach an old dog new tricks
or an old musician new music.
The music he played was obviously
pre-Woodstock
I figured.
Then last night as I walked up Robson Street
half-way up between Thurlow and Burrard
I saw them-
the old violinist
and the old dog.
The dog once again
his head on the sidewalk
in peaceful contemplation.
I approached
and the melody touched my ears
like the softest velvet.
Never have I heard
Vivaldi’s Four Seasons played
so beautifully.
As a child,
my parents often took me to numerous symphony concerts.
I have listened to Vivaldi on radio and TV
and Galaxy satellite
and never have the beautiful Four Seasons
sounded so beautiful.
Vancouverites may not know it
but the streets of Vancouver are truly blessed
as a master violinist sends his melodies
into the air
before the Festival of Lights Fireworks
light up the night sky.
-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday night
July 28th 2013
the night after the
1st round of fireworks
in the Vancouver Fireworks Festival
Honda Celebration of Light
Vancouver, British Columbia.
Permalink
Leave a Comment
Renfield found nothing wrong with his selection of lottery picks
but the combination caused Cerberus to cross the River Styx
and the result of Cerberus’ 3 heads abandoning their posts
would cause this planet Earth to be overrun with ghosts.
-A vampire novel poem
written by Christopher
during the Midnight Hour
early Wednesday morning
July 24th 2013
when ghosts are out
prowling about.
Permalink
Leave a Comment
Accordion player on the beach
The beach has a crowd
but no one listens
The music he plays is good
And has melody
but he plays to no one there.
No one stands in front or around him
like they do other buskers on the beach.
He plays the accordion like a master
But it seems this world no longer has a place for master accordionists.
He finishes his tune
and is greeted with the sounds of silence.
He puts away his accordion
and heads home.
No one notices.
No one cares.
In the trenches of World War I
the soldiers listened to the accordion player
offering a sweet melody and hope
amidst the rumble of big guns
and the sounds of Hell.
“Oh let every good fellow now join in a song,
viva le pompier
Viva la viva viva l’amour…”
Long live love
they sing in French
to the accompaniment of accordion.
Long live love
they sing against the background of war.
Here on the beach
is sand not mud.
Here they lie in the sun
instead of huddled down
in the rain.
Here they cling to their iPods
and not to their guns.
Here are the sound of waves pounding the shore
and not the sound of guns pounding human flesh.
To every thing there is a season
and a time for every purpose under Heaven.
The accordion was an instrument that brought melody and hope
to those trapped in the midst
of a great and terrible war.
No one listened to the accordionist
on the beach last night.
But at least they weren’t listening to the sound of guns.
Everything has its give and take.
The guns are silent.
The accordion is now silent.
And on the beach other buskers prosper.
The rapper who sings crap.
The crapper who can’t rap.
So still the white dove sails
wondering where to rest in the sand
and the voice of the turtle is yet to be heard in the land.
-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday July 21st 2013.
Permalink
2 Comments
Next page »
90 Winters: A Poem
October 27, 2017 at 5:12 pm (Biographical, Commentary, History, Life, Obituaries, Personal essays, Poetry) (Alberta, Alberta education, Alberta history, poetry)
90 Winters: A Poem
The Medicine Man Chief of the Blackfoot Nation smoked his pipe
and looked out across the distant prairies at the distant hills
He then began his tale,
90 winters ago
Gitche Manitou sent a wise soul into this world
The same month that talking motion pictures were born
Al Jolson had said, “Wait a minute… you ain’t heard nothing yet”
A few weeks later a baby uttered his first cries under the vast blue dome of an Alberta prairie sky
A child who learned to read when he was 3 years old
Reading the Bible and Shakespeare and Charles Dickens was his fare
When he was 4, his father went away from the farm to work,
that same winter his mother took ill with scarlet fever
And he was raised that winter by a Cree First Nations Medicine woman
She taught him the power of herbs and roots
and how to heal using them
He started his public schooling at the age of 5
in a one room schoolhouse
called Elba
a school built in 1914
on the 100th anniversary of Napoleon Bonaparte’s 1st exile
his exile to the island of Elba
In 1936 at the age of 9
George had determined that Adolf Hitler
was a bad person
so he was going to build himself an airplane
and fly over to Berlin Germany
and bump him off
like Saint George slaying the evil dragon
He built himself an airplane all right
a Wright Brothers style aircraft
much to his family’s and farm neighbours’ amazement
He wisely sat on the very back seat of the plane
as the plane’s navigator
while his elder brother sat in the front seat of the plane
as the pilot
That way if their lift-off was unsuccessful
as they took off the hill over the
Rosebud Creek valley
and the plane landed in the creek
it would be his elder brother who wound up first in the Creek
George wisely reasoned
while he George would have time to jump off the back seat
before the plane landed in the Creek
Well the plane never made it to Germany
not even to Newfoundland
not even as far as the Alberta-Saskatchewan border
but George’s elder brother Tom
certainly enjoyed a very close up look of Rosebud Creek
right in the creek
as George wisely determined after take-off that the plane
wouldn’t reach its destination
so George wisely jumped off the back seat
as the plane made it to the ground
heading straight for the creek
with pilot Tom in the front seat
cursing and swearing
and prophetically foretelling
the language and dialogue
on most TV programs in
the early 21st Century
The 4-Minute mile was not broken by Roger Bannister
at the 1954 British Empire Games in Vancouver
but by George on that day in 1936
as he sought to escape
his dripping wet and deeply agitated elder brother
who chased after him from the creek
George reached the safety of his parents’ house in time.
In the early 1940s as a teenager, George studied palaeontology under the great palaeontologist Dr. Charles Mortram Sternberg in the Red Deer River Badlands
In the mid-1940s, he studied Science and Engineering at Mount Royal College in Calgary
In the late ’40s and early ’50s,
he studied History and English Literature at the University of Alberta
He finally settled on becoming a teacher
passing on his knowledge and wisdom to future generations of children
In the 1960s at Sherwood Heights Junior High School
he and his students built small rockets
that went soaring high into the skies
above that place of Alberta suburbia known as Sherwood Park
A sight that startled many Sherwood Park residents
who thought they were under Soviet missile attack
The principal of the school instructed George not to build
rockets that soared so high
Among George’s students was future astronomer and physicist
Dr. Paul Hickson
who pioneered work in the reflecting mercury liquid telescope
Among George’s students in the ’70s was future palaeontologist Michael Caldwell
who discovered the world’s first fossil of a flying snake in Israel
In the late ’80s George retired from active teaching
and was hired by the Alberta Department of Education
to give training workshops
to beginning Science teachers
In the ’90s, George began painting pictures
and mastered that medium
In the early 21st Century, George
began research for a 3-volume history of Western Canada
that he was going to write
In June of 2010, he was half-way through the 2nd volume of his 3-volume history of Western Canada
when he died from cancer.
90 winters ago, this man was born.
-A poem written by Christopher
Friday October 27th 2017
on what would have been
his father George’s
90th birthday.
Permalink 15 Comments