"Spin" in aviation training: a "stall" or loss of lift, a subsequent nose-down spin, the specific actions required for recovery, and the feeling, after recovery, that you could tackle absolutely anything!

Wednesday, 31 August 2011

More "Tati."

 Jacques Tati's movie "Playtime" is the featured DVD on the "New Yorker" website this week.  This is strange because I just watched it again, last week.  And last night, my older son and I were walking along the Danforth in Toronto.  My son is at a very cynical age where he really doesn't like people very much.  I described to him a comment that Tati had made in an interview about the "real entertainment being out on the street."  I explained that if you just watch people, without judging, you will see so much more.  There is sweetness and buffoonery right there, walking down the street.  Sure enough, I directed my son's attention to a man walking toward us with black shoes and socks, awkward shorts, with all of his attention on his Iphone.  We HAD to laugh.  I think the trick is to really "watch" people for more than a split second.  Give them some real time and you'll be surprised how much you can see!

Tuesday, 30 August 2011


Eyes close and the heft of the dawning of dark
Disputes the very "lightness" of light.
For now, without the Sun itself, there is even more
As much as you want,
Floating in chords and currents;
In front, or
Emanating from within as if a match, 
Lit deep inside, fills you with such a 
Perhaps you can see it; 
Granular, throughout a deepness, filled with the silkiest 
Hovering near each other but not touching;
Waiting for you to move through and to 
Caress your sweet body.
You turn, and turn, and turn;
The grains collecting and rolling off
Until a last wave of petals reveals you
Gently bathed in only light.
It is never-ending;
Without curbs, or
Cliffs, or
And yet it can take something as simple and
Soft as a 
And draw it forward into its parts;
Thought, and the glow and shimmer from the most
Precious desire,
Wrapped and cradled in satin rivulets from 
Deep inside.

And when the night, itself, fades into light,
It leaves you only to dream of the dark,
And to remember how fluid the progress of your 
Adventure out of gravity,
And the blinding reality of the starkness of the day,
With all it's demands and

So never assume light to be always, only, a
Welcome respite from the dark.
The dark, has it's own delicateness and 
Sensibility to offer, in just the way
It shines for you.

Monday, 29 August 2011

Runs and Rises.

Make use of the day,  and all its notes.
It's never completely new.
There are blooms and fallen feathers
Left over from yesterday,
Folded into the fresh flowers and new life,
And the new thoughts that are
Tumbling in your head while you
Bend, and
Through each single second.
The day takes shape;
Full of layers and footholds;
Atmospheres that you would swear move faster than others,
All set inside edges that
Undulate and curve softly between all of the harsh
Runs and rises that move the day to its
You can't help but launch tomorrow,
Upon which you can stand and peek at the day after, and
Change whatever you want.
It all
Shifts, and
At the least flutter in your

Saturday, 27 August 2011


The wind has abandoned me in the middle of this bay.
My sail, empty and pathetic without fuel; awkward.
My board, dead slow, fidgets with the
Tiny ripples sent out from shore;
Sorting through them like an old woman sorts change in her purse.

And there I am; held aloft on water, clear and satiny;
Not made of so much,
The destination for so many to get through, or over as 
Fast as they can.
But me?  I am happy to be here;
A guest,
Feeling the water turn and sigh softly;
The two of us, so quiet and still,
Watch the sun set along the city skyline,
While behind us, a curtain of stars sets up for the night.
The surface shows a trick by copying the display without flaw.

After a time,
I am loathe to interfere but step down through it
As the shore has come out to meet us.
I pull my board and sail up onto the soft sand
And turn to feel the cool kiss goodnight from the bay.

My heart is absolutely bursting with the beauty of the evening.

Wednesday, 24 August 2011

Sweep Low

Sweep low and careful to catch them in the grass.
Be daring in the tall corn and try to predict their route;
The evening is sprinkled with fire flies.

Follow the puffs of silk as they float in the wind.
Catch them along the fence lines and the cedars near the swamp;
The cat tails have burst and are sailing today.

Watch the trees, the door frames, and the 
Dew-soaked morning meadows.
There, the sun shines off the silk, and shows delicate,
Perfect webs;
The spiders have hatched and are riding the winds.

Wait by the streetlight and watch them fall.
In the dark quiet of a winter's night, the bleakness is broken;
Snowflakes, graceful, appear from nowhere.

Be, so wonderful; wrapped in beauty.
The most powerful sense comes direct to your heart.
This is not for breeze or fluttering wings;
I am sending you my love.

Tuesday, 23 August 2011

Try this.

Have you ever tried brushing your teeth with an electric toothbrush, and then looked at a digital display, like a clock, at the same time?

Go on.  Try it.
...unless you're chicken.

I call it, "Rumble Brain."

Monday, 22 August 2011

Tell me!

Tell me about your adventure,
And the winds and currents that moved against you in your fight.
Describe, if you can, just how imposing your fear;
How much space it took up inside of you,
And how long before you realized it.
What shape did it take in its effort to stay with you,
As it made you think that it was a necessary part of you;
That you needed it?
I want to know everything about how you made it go;
How you took all of that, so very much that you could not
Expand your lungs...and your heart, your poor heart did
Barely beat;
This fear that drove you only to become smaller, more 
And in the very doing so, fed it, nurtured it like a beast, and 
Gave it run.
Did it fight you?
Did you relent?  Or did you stay steady and hold its eye?
And as it went; as you broke its last hold on you;
That last troublesome thread it hoped you wouldn't notice,
How fast did you move?
How fast could you go with this new breath from lungs,
Drunk, absolutely giddy, at their new expanding?
And your heart!  I can hear it from here;
Calling...tell me.
I need to know everything.

Tuesday, 16 August 2011


There is a bloom I have seen,
In that garden on the way.
It sits back from the pickets and the 
Fancier groups,
And the sun sneaks down through the Blue Spruce;
All day...
Just for this bloom.
The sun says that,
"This one is special.
This is the one I can not ignore.
It shows,
In leaves and stem so perfect...
And petals...
A rhapsody of the perfect colours,
Exactly how beautiful,
Can be."

Sunday, 14 August 2011


"It was there, in the seed of a conversation that it started.
We cleared away the chaff, and the old stalks and leaves,
And we nurtured it over the winter;
Something intangible.
A root so deep,
Something so beautiful.
That when it took off toward the sky,
The new stalks and leaves could not contain themselves,
And now, here we are with blossoms, overwhelming and vibrant,

From just that moment; that seed.

Tuesday, 9 August 2011


"It is the perfect time of day;
Mid-august, late in the evening when the cool, cool, thick air
That was hiding from the day
Starts to creep out from all of the really great, secret places.
It replaces the sun's heat with silent effort, like a slow, easy current;
Like the shadows that tenderly reach out to roll and stretch 
Along with it;
Slightly more timid, but steady.
Then it beckons me and the low sun to come and 
Peek in and see where it spent the day.
There, under the boughs thick with green.
There, deep, deep inside the long grass along the fence line.
There beneath the forest canopy, and the cedars near the swamp.
This rested air is filled with the liquor of a successful summer,
Graced by blossoms, rains, and the essential richening of the earth
In the heat.
And even now, it brings news of the coming fall.

Thursday, 4 August 2011

Poetry Corner.

'Just a little something I wrote:

"Peel back the layers of fill and diligence;
The strict adherence to the "must" and "the way it's done,"
And uncover the green freshness of a new thought.

Pull the curtain that blends into above and below,
And reveal the edges and contrast
Of a possibility, fashioned from a pile of previously discounted ideas.

Undo the stitches that fixed the two sides,
And let the vision rise up and out,
To refresh, rekindle, and inspire.

And when you arrive, after all the undoing, at your
Pay homage to the roots that kept it there;
That held it fast.
They knew of your integrity and that you would return."