Milt taught me to listen to birds (Faiers poem)

Another poem in fond memory of Canada's People's Poet

Milt taught me to listen to birds

(for a green eyed Tara Goddess)



That summer day, fated and fateful
Milt visiting, joking we were Rhodes scholars
at my Rhodes Ave house.
In the afternoon bake
I took Milt to my favourite big city haunt
Ashbridges Bay
and on a small crest Milt 
showed me the shaman way 

listen to the Ravens, Chris
 
ignoring (temporarily) blonde bikinis
spread below on wet sand blankets
Milt pushed our gazes further:
sea captains of paradises
horizon scan of Lake Ontario, an inland sea to
Island Milt
 
Testosterone makes us show-offs for our Goddesses.
Poets, I told Christy once
poets, we are mad men - running naked
across rainswept fields
hoping for the lightning strike - 
the best are hit more than once
crazed and crazier with each visitation
of white heat/white light/White Goddess inspiration

but I have digressed from Milt's lesson
the blondes to blame, no doubt
(or dreams of a Green-eyed Tara Goddess incarnate)
Can't say I heard the birds clearly
that gorgeous summer day
but I knew then to be a true poet
I had to follow the shaman way
Milt had softly shown me 

listen to the birds, Chris
 
Thank you Milt, your advice
sings true to me this summer morning
doves cooing and crows cawing
dawn chorus keeping me awake,
encouraging this poem
for you, and the gifts of a Green-eyed Goddess

Chris Faiers

summer 2012

comments from 2012 when posting comments on my blog actually worked:

Milt is Milton Acorn, Canada's People's Poet, and the poet
many believe to be our most important national poet.
Milt received our highest literary honour, the Governor General's Award
for poetry, and an honourary doctorate from his home university on 
Prince Edward Island. Milt was a comrade, a friend, and a mentor.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Conrad DiDiodato has left a new comment on your post "Milt taught me to listen to birds": 

"Listen to the birds"--
never wanted to run so badly 



Posted by Conrad DiDiodato to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 24 July 2012 09:55 


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Conrad DiDiodato has left a new comment on your post "Milt taught me to listen to birds": 

"Listen to the birds"--
wild grass under a cloudless sky 

 

Coywolf is . . . poem by Honey Novick

 

Coywolf is...

You, me, Canadian, hybrid,

underrated, a real thing, google it

one hot, dark night appearing before me

alone, on the road of a Toronto street

a coywolf

larger than a coyote, smaller than a grey wolf

staring at each other, in surprise and wonder

me, protected in a car, it, fearless

sauntered off into the bushes

coywolf, to me, is a mystical emissary

reminding me to stop,

become aware of other living forces like

hybrids

in this world there are many adaptable, cunning creatures

survivors, smart and beautiful, not aggressive

like me and like me, from mid-eastern Canada

my ancestry is North African, European, Palestinian, Israeli,

and now Canadian, Torontonian – Toronton-I-AM

I, too, am a hybrid

we are adaptable survivors,

bringing one culture and melding it to another

I had never seen, heard nor been aware of these canid dogs

until one stopped me on the road

this one was beautiful, sleek,

emerging when needed, reminding me of all my relations

adaptable

non-threatening

in a world of rapid change

almost invisible, mystical signs appear

reminding me

people see what we want to see

and be who we want to be

A FRIEND

but not being too friendly with a coywolf

Honey Novick

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Captive-bred F₁ gray wolf × coyote hybrids, Wildlife Science Center in Forest Lake, Minnesota

A coywolf is a canid hybrid descended from coyotes (Canis latrans), eastern wolves (Canis lycaon), gray wolves (Canis lupus)

Enjoyed your latest and Honey's description as a coywolf; she sounds like Honey!
best, Henry Marinuk

Kent Bowman: Unlicensed Poem Catcher

In 2022 prolific poet and publisher Allan Briesmaster published Kent's final collection, Looking into the Fish Tank, with his Aeolus House Press. Kent was the most generous person I've ever met, and when Jim Christy and I had a double book launch in the village of Marmora, Kent showed up with his close friend Mick Burrs. Kent then treated the ragtag group of local poetry buffs to chef presented dinners at the Marmora Inn. I've lost count of just how many special dinners he hosted. After the readings, he entertained us with his music.   

Here are three of Kent's unadorned prose poems from the first section. I hope to post more of Kent's work as I slowly enjoy his "variety show" collection.   

 Unlicensed Poem Catcher

In this highly specialized age, I remain an unlicensed poem

catcher, leaving incomplete writings on scraps of paper that

will eventually morph into something resembling an interior

landscape of my mind.

Unlike the unlicensed dog catcher with a truck containing separate 

cages, I have no vehicle to collect my random thoughts or anything

tangible in which to contain them -  only virtual clouds to imagine

these offerings that come on special nights, interrupting my 

sleep and crying out for completion. Perhaps a night’s sleep may

provide me with some perspective, and chase away the nagging

demands of these unwritten, incomplete poems. 

Inspiration upon Rereading Al Purdy

The woof and warp of a life stitched together by a mind knowing

no boundaries - refusing to draw within conventional lines,

while immortalizing what it senses, which may seem trivial to

others, yet touches and connects us with everyday humanity,

refreshing our awareness as if we were newborn again.

His gift is in discovering connections between the seemingly

unrelated and distilling truths  that were always present, if

unnoticed. Such ability may be the true genius of thePeople’s

Poet. Beyond form or fashion, the poet shines a light on these

precious gems hidden within the ordinary fabric of life, thus

becoming a genuine seer of the unseen.

Watching Kite Surfing at the Beach

On a sunny fall day in a rising wind, my wife and I carried beach

chairs to the edge of Lake Ontario. Because a recent illness

forced me to walk and sit slowly, I discovered how unobservant

we are when in a hurry and how much we all miss. As the winds

became stronger, I saw more kite surfers appear. The lake was

soon accented by brightly brightly coloured kites of green & white, blue &

red, brown & yellow. Suddenly the water came alive with dozens

of surfers maneuvering boards while flying kites, jumping high,

executing somersaults, stopping effortlessly when surfing to

shore. Through the fall, we became avid fans of these unknown

athletes, awaiting their windy arrival.            

LAST DRONE ATTACK: Morley Ellis (3 'poems with a bullet')

 
LAST DRONE ATTACK

Locked behind a wall of computers at Central Command
Hidden behind concrete walled bunkers
You bravely fly your drone attacks on terrorists
Run! Run! Count the dead of your victory!
Wait! Wait! These are not the bodies of the enemy ...
but of human shields
Some Jews, some Christians living in other countries
... but we had Intelligence on our side ...
HOW CAN THIS BE?
But a soldier can look his opponent in the eye
before he pulls the trigger
But a drone needs no soul.
A drone HAS no soul.  

Morley Ellis
Feb. 19, 2013



ASSASSIN'S BULLET

A firewall so thick
it can only be overcome by a concussion event -
was your pain so deep
you blocked it away forever?
Never to resurface
was this God's gift to you
to protect you from the past
of profit extermination?
A country not worth fighting for
Who is to judge that?
No! Too hot a topic
to actually charge and convict
anyone of a crime
or find anyone accountable
The Justice League says just an enquiry, please.
But we are the good old boys club
We only convict the poor
Never one of our own
Strong minds prevail
Lincoln did not run from the assassin's bullet
a soldier must know his cause is just.

Morley Ellis
Feb. 19, 2013


WHERE DO I BELONG?

No scores here are settled
Just tally sheets accumulated
No healing accomplished
just photos of the wounds
Insincere apologies given
make the innocent pay for our mistakes
All the good jobs have been taken
now walk away with your head up
and try to pretend that all is fair
What goes on in ivory towers?
Stay away from the 49th floor ...
can the curious walk in undetected?
Push a button and step out
on the 27th floor!
If you pay you'll see the view
from the CN Tower
yet restricted are most other views
Each like a warped pyramid
rising high above the ground
each with a pharaoh in a hidden burial chamber
I've walked ten blocks now
even the trees wear a frown
as if they know this is not harmony
Yet the songbirds dance on branches where they can
Food grows in garbage cans
I heard a bum say
If you don't belong here
stay away ...

Morley Ellis
Feb. 18, 2013


                               ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Morley Ellis has shone a light into the dark recesses of political evil.
We can channel this exposed horror into a communion of action: we see it, name it,
and banish it.  We need more of this eye of truth so that together we can make a difference.
Knowing is only half-way there,  our wave of informed reaction will change the event horizon.
There is a surge of longing in the world,  time to shred that face of evil and make us whole again,
see hope and promise when the people of peace and love rule with us.
Thanks Morley, grateful for your courageous and impactful words.
 
Katherine L. Gordon.

                               ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ 

from an email:
Dear Chris:  Morley's poetry is just great.  I'm organizing a poetry event on July 1 at McCrae House in Guelph.  If there is an open mic component (which I hope), I hope Morley will come and share.  I know it's a long way but I'll keep you posted.
Honey

                                ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~
from an email:
Hey Morley - Great stuff! Keep on writing! Hey Chris - Are you coming to Toronto any time soon. Please let me know. Thanks, Kent

                               ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~