Transporting Music and Agile Excellence

Sister, go wherever

you wish with that licorice stick

you sit in N’awleans

atmosphere so thick

past wars didn’t whip it

or hurricanes that blew

and found below sea level

a wash out or two.

the visitors relish the tastes

of the past

the music impromptu

good times that will last

if only in memories

if only in song

oh dear sidewalk prophet

who cures many a wrong.

you honour sweet members

of your special race

united in music

that purged all disgrace

that brightened the hearts

of chance passers by

reactions so varied

to laugh, weep or sigh.

Mary Weeps

(just a young girl in sincere thought and determination)

The little Hebrew girl

Who took the Angel’s news

And praised so beautifully

That great Hope of the Jews

Would take the charge by faith

Travailing for a Son

Not born by ways of men

No seed from Adam run.

She looks upon a church

Insisting she is god

And shakes her head and sighs

Traditions oh so odd

She found a Saviour too

As child took on His quest.

She steps aside that you

Might praise the very Best.

(Oh dear Roman Catholics please realize that Mariolatry and exclusive Mother Church with her wafer came out of a Pope’s poor sleep and indigestion.)

Chainsaw Sculpture

He took the chainsaw

Lopped off the inappropriate.

Sad to lose the tree

From the front yard.

Years as the green retreat

For birds, their antics and song.

But with the aging and decay

It was now the woodpile

Or something strangely beautiful.

Unusually small buzzing implement

Big strokes first

For the required dimensions, shape.

Neighbours wondered at the event.

Odd spacing at the trunk

Became a bent leg

As if resting.

Upward right angled limb

Becoming arm cocked

And wiping off brow’s sweat.

Features of the trunk converted

Into jack shirt, jeans, wide belt

And face of chiseled features.

With a gentle smile

Precise detail in that face.

Man of work, taking needed rest.

Reminder of former times and ways.

A real shovel held upright

In the other hand.

All this in a three day transformation.

Sort of like Easter Hope.

And destined to last.

image shows one of the many carvings in Orangeville ON

Consider another poem:


Different kinds of wood
Small blocks only
Fractional inches thick
Some light, some dark
Some harder than others
Glued together
Under clamp pressure
And a glued base plate
Time passes…
Cometh the lathe
And the clamping
The spinning
The varieties of chisel
Cutting rough
And cutting fine
Making noise
Or hardly heard
First the outside contours
For general appearance
But eventually face on
For the inner, working
Part of the vessel
Craftsman knows His job
Wood submits
But strangely all working
Together for good
A beautiful piece created
Every step necessary
In the delightful
Age-old process
Of shaping a saint.
Every cut with love.
And Sovereign vision.