The Music on the Corner

Yesterday 

He played his happy trumpet

By the gray curb;

Warm notes ascended 

To my blue-sky view

With Mellow Yellow

Drowning out the whirr

Of the duo of elevators

Plunging people down

From dizzying heights

Into the onslaught 

Of upwardly mobiles,

With cell phones in hand,

And panhandlers and their dogs

Strewn roughshod

By the bank's ATM

Today it's just the street

Playing its discordant song -

The buzz and belch of traffic

And construction

As clouds,

Much denser 

Than breath

Puffed through chilled lips,

Camp out upon the foothills

While the wind is mute 

I muse he sits slippered,

Humming golden oldies,

His coffee-ed breath warm

Upon his lacquered horn

As he rubs it,

Like Aladdin's lamp -

Holding magic in his hands

---

January 30, 2020

Oh...Canada

 

O Canada, our home on native land  

Truly we have sinned against our fellow man   

With mourning hearts, we see them rise  

The numbers to increase    

Of children killed and more abused   

We stand with them and weep  

  

God, make our land glorious and free  

For every child, First Nation and Metis  

O Canada, we stand with them and weep  

 

O Canada, beneath thy shining skies  

Help us to find ways to be reconciled  

Bring hope to those who have been wronged  

From East to Western sea  

Bring healing, seeking better days   

And live in harmony   

 

O Canada, our home, and native land 

May we grow in love, with all our fellow man 

With growing hearts, we’ll see thee rise 

The True North, strong and free 

And stand on guard, O Canada 

Against our shameful history 

The Willow Tree

More than a dozen years have passed  

Since I wrote about a certain willow 

I was the sole audience when a velvet breeze 

Through her languid leaves did billow 

 

I sat upon a blanket on the lawn   

Mesmerized by her sashaying moves 

Imagining dancers of all styles  

Through her theatrical grooves  

 

Today I passed her way again 

My heart jolted by the effect  

Of her contorted body on the ground 

Like a museum piece to inspect 

 

Uprooted from her repertoire,  

She’s adapted to circumstance    

Branching in different directions 

With the ability, still, to dance