Buoyant blog of septuagenarian (77) Kanadian poet and haikuist Chris Faiers/cricket. People's Poetry in the tradition of Milton Acorn, haiku/haibun, progressive politikal rants, engaged Buddhism and meditation, revitalizing of Callaghan's Rapids Conservation Area, memories of ZenRiver Gardens and Purdy Country LitFests (PurdyFests), events literary and politikal, and pics, amid swirling currents of earth magick and shamanism. Read in 119 countries last week - 43,329 readers in September.
Pete Hoekstra may be the most hated guy in Canada.
That’s quite an achievement.
He continues to gaslight us while openly undermining the relationship with the United States’ number one trading partner. But his latest tweets promoting Donald Trump’s insult to Canada represent an egregious abuse of ambassadorial privilege. He has put our sovereignty on the table.
Think about that.
We have never before witnessed a situation in which a foreign ambassador openly undermines our right to be a nation. Diplomats are meant to build relationships between countries, not sabotage them.
When pressed, Hoekstra stated smugly that Canada giving up its right to be a nation would be a great topic in the upcoming CUSMA talks.
Canada needs to call this guy on the carpet.
We have launched investigations into foreign interference by powers such as China and Iran. And yet we have approached this ambassador with kid gloves when his is the only country to have openly ridiculed our right to be a nation.
But what Hoekstra doesn’t understand is that his behaviour only strengthens Canadians’ determination.
The impacts are being felt by the shutdown bourbon distilleries in Kentucky, the laid-off tourism operators in Nevada and Florida, and the huge impact on US jobs as Canada shifts its military spending to dependable democratic allies.
Way to go, Pete.
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spring patio at the hospital all the benches occupied --Murasaki Sagano (Tokyo)
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palliative care caring for this father who never cared for me --Louise Hopewell (Melbourne, Australia)
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May sky shining blue little kids run through the park I miss my childhood --Sarina Taniguchi (Kagoshima)
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aurorae in my eyes birthday opals --Christina Sng (Singapore)
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aquamarine a gift set in gold passed down twice --Mary L. Leopkey (Texada Island, British Columbia)
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keepsakes nice to have, but what matters is etched on your heart --Junko Saeki (Tokyo)
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nesting season-- magpie carries off my ear before I hear him --Morgan Ophir (Sydney, Australia)
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cockfighting-- a crescent moon on the gamefowl --Anthony Q. Rabang (Vigan, Philippines)
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twilight of dawn barn swallow hovering around dressed paparazzi --Bhawana Upadhyay (Bangkok, Thailand)
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in the temple garden blue hydrangeas are hiding Buddha from the sun --Ksenia Alessandra Petrova (Mexico City)
-------------------------------- FROM THE NOTEBOOK --------------------------------
kachine spirits dancing through the pueblo ancestral dolls --John Daleiden (Phoenix, Arizona)
The haikuist described a spiritual world of brightly garbed and masked humpbacked flute players, white cloud dancers and rain priests assisting villagers to burst dark clouds over the Sonoran Desert. Suffering knee pain while backpacking in the Nazca Desert, Peru, to see indigenous communities re-enact sun festival rituals, Jeremy Haworth “stopped in at a ramshackle roadside pharmacy” and took two “capsules with a glug of bottled water.”
sun tabs the tour bus drifting into technicolour
Today’s column is about dreamlike visions. As if awoken from a dream, Claire Ninham rubbed her unbelieving eyes. The haikuist described her usual sedentary lifestyle in North Yorkshire, England.
white winds… emerging from shadows of half sleep the traveler returns
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alone, hunched in the grey cloak of winter a heron fishing
Amelia Cotter recently published a haiku about where she lives in ”Lines of Communication: a poetry anthology.”
Chicago the delirium, ecstasy of gray on gray on gray
Cognitive dissonance can arise when perceptions are based on limited, subjective or flawed data. Teiichi Suzuki was shaking when he awoke at home in Osaka. The haikuist’s neck was being strangled by a woven rush grass pillow.
improbable dream spring haiku journey with Basho
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snow flurry straw coat on my shoulders fleeting illusion
Masumi Orihara felt extraordinarily warm while reading a deceased writer’s unpublished work.
warmth left behind the unfinished manuscript blooms in spring
Alan Summers kept a stiff upper lip during a brutal scorcher in Wiltshire, England. To describe such cruelly hot days, a new word in Japanese (kokushobi) was coined last month by the Japan Meteorological Agency.
best rictus grin the ticking of heat in forever wars
Mirages and heat shimmers are real optical illusions that appear in the late spring season when hazy air rises from a heated surface. Vasile Moldovan worried about getting sucked under quicksand. Suzuki didn’t foresee a waterborne disaster. Doc Sunday got down on his knees to peer into a sandpit in Hiroshima.
the caravan following Fata Morgana buried in sand
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heat haze unexpected tsunami from Persian Gulf
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old temple antlions dig soil bell tolling
Moldovan described the moment the haikuist realized that he saw something that contradicted with reality. John Daleiden’s haiku conjures up last month’s disrupted White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner.
paradoxically-- nobody is in a hurry at the fast-food restaurant
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from the stage the magician flies away awesome exit
Before our very eyes, Stephen J. DeGuire matter-of-factly described “a parent no longer in bodily form” in Los Angeles, California. To readers who find comfort, closure and a sense of continuity in keeping ashes at home, however, it might seem to erase a lifetime of memories. Alice Wanderer alluded to the importance of burials in Frankston, Australia.
memento current vessel just ash filled urn
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the bowl he gave me full of moss my father has no grave
Padraig O’Morain looked twice in Dublin, Ireland.
is that my father mowing hay down the street?
Alexander Groth nodded conspiratorially at a whodunnit show in Berlin, Germany.
mystery dinner the corpse winks at me
Horst Ludwig can’t watch television without mourning a beautiful young Siamese cat that got killed running under a car.
No thinking can fill the void in my memory cat food commercial
Discharged from hospital, Saeki had thought her calico had been permanently locked up in an animal shelter run by volunteers. The haikuist felt stiff, but wanted friends to know that she’s still “alive and kicking.”
the first day of spring-- emancipated and looking for me the black cat came back
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freshly washed plums on a bamboo basket tray draining away
Charlie Smith organized this year’s Mu Sigma Rho association’s haiku contest for statisticians. Over 100 haiku related to statistics and probability were entered, including this prize winner by Eduard Tara, a mathematician who resides in Iasi, Romania.
collecting data still counting the graves covered with forget-me-nots
Elena Naumova at Tufts University in Boston, Massachusetts, received a winner’s certificate for this haiku.
Lone spike on the chart-- truth or typo hides beneath silence holds its breath
Carol Keig at Sonoma State University in Rohnert Park, California, submitted this noteworthy homage to the classical random walk of probability.
The drunkard pauses. His next step will be random, his end predicted.
Tara also won for this haiku that was commended by contest judge Larry Lesser, a professor of mathematics at the University of Texas at El Paso, for its 5-7-5 syllables and nod to positive random variables that shape our natural environment.
the abandoned eaves lognormal distribution of the icicles
Writing this haiku with her left hand, Preeti Sharma swirled counterclockwise in Delhi, India.
asymmetrical snails coiling under symmetrical foliage
Guliz Mutlu believes that a small key can open big doors in Ankara, Turkey.
citrine sunrise the keyring jingles forgotten doors
Marshall Hryciuk, who lives “down the road a ways” from Pearson International airport in Toronto, Ontario, noted “when the wind’s strong from the west or north, the planes come in right over top of our rented home; often after 1 a.m. with all their air traffic problems.”
shadow of a jumbo a little too wide for our side-street
Sagano looked down a street in her Tokyo neighborhood with shock and disbelief at what was happening during the peak cherry blossom season.
the elderly watch sakura cut down on this street-- another sky
Tim Dwyer never reclaimed what he left behind in Bangor, Northern Ireland.
in my wallet a left luggage ticket ten years old
David Cox was “grateful for terra firma,” after being rerouted from Latvia to Beijing by way of Istanbul and Hong Kong; a surreal experience he “cannot yet fathom with words.”
transit lounge I am everywhere and nowhere
Imaginative haikuists believe in delulu, things that are not real. Dragons are mythical beasts, yet Alan Maley was sure he smelled something burning in Canterbury, England.
dragons are extinct, except the ones that visit us in our nightmares…
The square brackets in this concrete poem resemble the slot on the toaster where Barrie Levine lost bread crusts in Wenham, Massachusetts.
in the toaster [somewhere] burnt ends
Delulu haikuists choose to share personal beliefs they feel are more important than reality. Writing from Michigan, Dorna Hainds had “no idea if hydrangeas have any type of smell” but wanted to share “poetic ideas inspired by images or feelings.” Richard Bailly observed how the warming planet pushes plants to find more temperate places to live.
blue hydrangeas its scent with endless summer blues after closing hours
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hydrangeas north of safe zone endless summer
Nicoletta Ignatti couldn’t believe her eyes when confronted by a stunning visual display of cascading flower clusters in Castellana Grotte, Italy.
wisteria pergola… stepping into the shade of a trompe l’oeil
Suzuki thought he heard fiddlehead ferns unfurl.
hallucination the whisper of sprouting greens in the woods
Rabang followed a line of blossoming purple in Manila, Philippines.
early sunrise unfurling her orchid tattoos
As if offering a peach early in the morning, Morgan Ophir calmly held out his hand and took a step backward. T.D. Ginting extended his arm, closed one eye and raised a pencil in Medan, Indonesia.
before the yellow crane repulsing the monkey morning tai chi
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the sketcher’s thumb measuring the statu(r)e; sunny day
Paul Callus wore a stone reputed to keep its wearer clear-headed in Safi, Malta.
amethyst-- in a mountain hermitage a monk seeks clarity
Colors clashed in Zelyko Funda’s fanciful haiku in Varazdin, Croatia. Stoianka Boianova shared her perspective from Sofia, Bulgaria.
lush garden butterfly on a rose... far too much
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on my hand a white butterfly-- bigger than a cloud
In a Scrabble boardgame there is only one Z tile, but there are two blank tiles that Rosemarie Schuldes could use to interlock her two words with multiple Zs.
crossword puzzle year of the horse Lipizzaner
Springtime strawberry hunting is tapering off, but Kim Goldberg wore rose-colored sunglasses in hopes of buying a basket in Nanaimo, British Columbia. Raj K. Bose composed a homograph in Honolulu, Hawaii.
farmer’s market pink toenails in line for strawberries
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outdoor Sunday brunch preaching during jam and bread treetop cardinal
Before starting to read, Schuldes held her breath for a moment in Mattsee, Austria.
family chronicle mouldy smell of the weighty tome
Truth relies on objective facts or deeper, hidden logical structures. In the light of day, Rob Scott was well aware someone wasn’t telling the whole truth in Melbourne, Australia. Minko Tanev saw the future in Sofia, Bulgaria. Orihara gazed as far as she could from Atsugi, Kanagawa Prefecture.
day moon-- her first white lie
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crystal sphere-- gazing in surprise at the daytime moon
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a blue earth beyond the moon illusionary storm of blossoms
Ivan Georgiev plans to sally up to a bar this weekend to order his favorite drink in Gottingen, Germany.
not so blue moon a seasoned bartender shaking it gently
Shannon Wallace fluffed up goose down in Mississauga, Ontario.
smothering nudity moonlight on fluffed pillow
Marietta McGregor felt the moon’s pull in Canberra, Australia. Sheikha A. observed the moon overhead Dubai, United Arab Emirates. Joanna Ashwell took off her socks in Durham, England.
old farmer’s almanac forecasts by the moon for earth’s gardens
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moonscope-- the sky with all its stars a giant blue screen
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low waterline I dip my toes on the moon
Having observed two moons overhead Tokyo this month, Tim Chamberlain also shared this haiku on the Bluesky social media platform.
raking waves-- a monk moonwalking
Doc Sunday cut through Hiroshima Peace Park while listening on his earphones to Johnnie Ray’s 1956 hit song “Just Walking in the Rain.” Out for a morning jog in Takamatsu, Kagawa Prefecture, Ian Willey was struck by the thought of “how much beauty there is out there despite all the madness.” Running for cover, Bose looked back over his shoulder at “a surreal scene of ghosts playing to my handicap.”
soft spring rain pink petal carpet just walkin’
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despite everything-- cherry blossoms and the moon
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sudden hail bouncing all over the empty golf course
Out for a drive in Kuching, Borneo, Christina Chin looked back on her good luck and safety. In Zagreb, Croatia, Katica Badovinac might have chanted “mirror, mirror on the wall who’s the fairest of them all?” Mario Massimo Zontini admired an ephemeral beauty in Parma, Italy.
rearview mirror-- red thread tassels tied to a jade gourd
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mirror-- perfect beauty goes into imperfect old age
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what else, but Japanese magnolia a short-lived beauty
John Dewey (1859-1952) wrote leftist-leaning poetry and books that may have influenced Robin Rich in Brighton, England, to implore “the end of democracy will be the dressing of propaganda in education’s gowns.”
only right turns for the sheep broken spectacles
A.D. MacDonald’s office has been digitally transformed in New Brunswick, so he hopes to have more time to pick and boil wild haw berries with lemon and sugar to make a mouthwatering jelly.
The AI speaks From my cubicle. I dream Of hawthorn bushels
The next issues of the Asahi Haikuist Network will appear June 5 and 19. Readers are invited to compose haiku related to whether they think they bring the rain or the sunshine when traveling. Send haiku on a postcard to David McMurray at the International University of Kagoshima, Sakanoue 8-34-1, Kagoshima, 891-0197, Japan, or e-mail to (mcmurray@fka.att.ne.jp).
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David McMurray
David McMurray has been writing the Asahi Haikuist Network column since April 1995, first for the Asahi Evening News. He is on the editorial board of the Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku, columnist for the Haiku International Association, and is editor of Teaching Assistance, a column in The Language Teacher of the Japan Association for Language Teaching (JALT).
McMurray is professor of intercultural studies at The International University of Kagoshima where he lectures on international haiku. At the Graduate School he supervises students who research haiku. He is a correspondent school teacher of Haiku in English for the Asahi Culture Center in Tokyo.
McMurray judges haiku contests organized by The International University of Kagoshima, Ito En Oi Ocha, Asahi Culture Center, Matsuyama City, Polish Haiku Association, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Seinan Jo Gakuin University, and Only One Tree.
McMurray’s award-winning books include: “Teaching and Learning Haiku in English” (2022); “Only One Tree Haiku, Music & Metaphor” (2015); “Canada Project Collected Essays & Poems” Vols. 1-8 (2013); and “Haiku in English as a Japanese Language” (2003).
Canada is in uncharted territory. The threat to our border, our economy, and our democracy is as serious as it gets.
There is no road map for what comes next.
We are dealing with a predatory nation whose leader has stated his determination to break Canada and reduce us to a vassal state. To get through this, we’ll need a clear-eyed understanding of what we’re up against.
The threat is not simply a narcissistic president or unreasonable tariff demands. The threat is fascism.
What gives me hope is that ordinary Canadians understand the mission. Every day, I hear from people who are ready to do their part to defend democracy. It’s a message of solidarity from farm folk in New Brunswick, retirees in Quebec, urban dwellers in Toronto, energy workers in Calgary, and activists in British Columbia.
They are united in their determination to defend the bedrock values of Canada.
You would think this groundswell of patriotic democracy would be a focus of all major political parties. But that hasn’t happened. So many political leaders, media and pundits have missed the gravity of the moment. A few get it. Wab Kinew has been inspiring. Doug Ford used it to push an unnecessary election and then went off to his cottage.
But with fascism on the move, and I ask myself: where is the left?
Where are the labour leaders? Where are the progressive groups that should be embracing the flag as a symbol of our shared values?
Ed Broadbent and Tommy Douglas presented a vision of bold nationalism. Firebrands like Bob White of the UAW/CAW marched in the streets for an independent Canada.
I joined the NDP because I shared Jack Layton’s belief in the goodness of Canadians. He embraced the grandeur of the country in his politics and life.
People remember him for his deathbed call to embrace “love, hope and optimism.” But my favourite Jack expression was a little less inspiring.
“Bums in seats.”
It’s what he used to tell our caucus all the time — that in order to make our policies a reality, we had to get out and do the hard work of electing more NDP MPs.
Jack was a bridge builder, and he assembled an incredible team that turned a dream into reality with the extraordinary Orange Wave election of 2011.
But by the end of that summer, Jack had been taken by cancer.
Jack Layton and Charlie Angus
As the votes were being counted for Tom Mulcair’s leadership win, the key advisors who had made the Orange Wave a reality were packing their bags. They were seen as the old guard. Their knowledge and expertise were replaced by a new team loyal to the incoming leader.
In the next election, we dropped from 100 seats to 44.
And when Tom Mulcair was defeated, his team were put out the door as Jagmeet Singh brought in his crew.
I ran in the 2017 leadership. It gave me the opportunity to see this immense and beautiful country. In leadership races, people like to debate policy and the big ideas. My offer was simpler. To be a truly social democratic movement, we had to rebuild our relationship with working-class folk who had been the roots of our party.
I warned that we were losing touch with the grassroots.
I believed politics was about stripping away the jargon and coded language and sitting in a Legion Hall to hear what people actually thought about the issues. That’s how I ran my campaign and have great memories of meeting grassroots members from Vancouver Island to Nova Scotia.
I’ll admit, I didn’t do so well navigating the divisive internal party politics or convincing those who believe that policy and political purity should define our standing in the political order.
At one town hall, a woman came up to me and fired a hardball question.
“Are you a social democrat or are you a democratic socialist?”
For her, it was the defining question of whether to support me or not. I attempted a bit of humour.
“I dunno,” I replied, “I guess I am a democratic hoser.”
I failed the test. Big time.
I think Jack would have got the joke. More importantly, I think he would have found a way to bring that woman back into the fold.
I lacked the tools.
My run against Jagmeet Singh was friendly and respectful. I put together a great team from across the country. But few of my organizers or brain trust were invited into the fold after the votes came down.
The leader takes all.
My team dispersed and went on to other projects.
In the next election, we went from 44 seats to 24 seats. Then came the disaster of 2025 that reduced the NDP to a mere seven seats.
On the eve of that election, I tried to warn the party that we were headed into the rocks. We had long forgotten the “bums in seats” mantra. We were becoming disconnected from our working-class base, having become too focused on internal battles over identity and language.
The Trump election upended everything. The threat to Canada’s sovereignty was a clear and present danger. It was obvious that the election would be about articulating a vision for Canada.
Mark Carney wrapped himself in the flag and used the Elbows Up language.
The NDP bet the house on Jagmeet’s likability.
The disastrous result was so predictable.
But the numbers revealed a disturbing sign: key New Democrat constituencies voted for the Poilievre Conservatives’ Maple Maga pitch. Reclaiming those voters will be key to stabilizing Canada’s political landscape.
I wish the new leader, Avi Lewis, well in the task before him. He faces the same challenge every Social Democrat leader before him faced: building trust with ordinary Canadians so that they see the NDP as a viable alternative.
Some of his supporters have told me of their determination to clear house and establish a new vision. Perhaps it will work. But I am doubtful that a new Orange Wave will emerge simply from bolder language and a new team at the helm.
My advice to the new leader is to be a builder of bridges. There is a lot of goodwill and ideas out there.
I served a quarter-century in the trenches of partisan politics and learned some very positive and some very hard lessons. I believe that social democracy will succeed if it is rooted in the stories and experiences of people who live in places like Nickel Belt, Swift Current, Chicoutimi and St. John’s.
I don’t write that as a partisan. My focus these days is Canada. But I believe that, given the threats we face, Canada needs a social democratic vision now more than ever.
The Prime Minister has done extraordinarily well representing Canada on the global stage, but as a former Goldman Sachs banker, the tendency towards austerity on the home front will be strong.
The lessons from the global march of fascist ideology are clear — they fester in times of growing inequality and lost opportunities. Only the NDP can provide that credible voice for those suffering from increasing economic precarity and wage stagnation.
I encourage the progressive left to embrace the red-and-white Maple Leaf at this crucial time. It is a powerful symbol of our shared commitment to a democratic, inclusive and sovereign Canada.
As Jack used to say, “What binds us together as Canadians is so much stronger than the issues that divide us.”
What keeps my faith strong is the goodness of ordinary Canadians and their innate sense of fairness. We can survive the threat of fascism.
And where do I stand on the political spectrum? Consider me a democratic hoser.
Perhaps, now more than ever.
Election night 2021 after winning my 7th and last election battle.
If any photos or images on this site are under copyright, please let us know and we will provide appropriate credit. This content is used in accordance with applicable copyright laws, including “fair dealing” under Canadian law and “fair use” under Section 107 of the U.S. Copyright Act, for purposes such as criticism, comment, and news reporting.
Charlie Angus / The Resistance is a reader-supported publication — please consider becoming a paid subscriber.
Thank you for reading Charlie Angus / The Resistance.If you’d like to upgrade to a paid subscription your support will help keep this project independent and sustainable. I’m grateful to have you here - thank you for your support.
