Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
A happy Father's Day to all of you
My Father whio was Hungarian died in a very dramatic way on Father's day many years ago.
I wrote some haiku and tanka for him during the years. Some are in my book, Vancouver Island poetry, one i just wrote this morning, a tanka with 5-7-5-7-7.
Father's Day morning
memory of him cutting
his yellow roses
the bush still growing anyway
His presence brings peace to me
A few others (free form)
This one was read in church last year:
You were my guide
My best Friend
Tears were shed with you
The first dance was with you
I place my poem
On your ashes
From my book:
The fire-coloured maple
Beckons the Magyar
She places haiku
upon his ashes
Red as a poppy
Maple leaves fall
On the memorial
Thursday, June 14, 2007
I was Confirmed into the church on June 6th, 2007
It was a wonderful and moving ceremony.
This is the tanka i wrote about it:
A coolish Spring night
the Bishop places his hands
on her lower'ed head
light of His Divine Presence
brings a warmth to the old church
Monday, June 4, 2007
It was Tyson's coming of age birthday and i wanted to be there to share it him. There is one thing that is a bit of a bother living on this island; one needs to either fly or take the ferry to leave it. Tyson was having trouble with his shiny, red convertible, so he and Maya could not come and meet the ferry. There are no flights to Chilliwack from here. So, i took the bus and actually enjoyed the trip. The bus had lots of room and i had a seat to myself. I plugged in my msic and it took 55 songs and i was there.
The legal age in B.C. is 19. Tyson, being a red-blooded thirsty Canadian teen-age headed to the local liquor store. He was asked for 2 pieces of id., he only had one...he was a bit upset. He was so happy to be able to be some German beer. He and Maya had just returned from a trip to Hamburg to see Opa Walter and he now really enjoyed the city's fine beer. So, we returned home to get his passport. He came out of the shop with a very large bag. We drove out to Cultus lake to cool off, it was clost to 35 degrees. i walked out to the pier to write some poetry. I looked at the water and saw about 50 bottles of empty bottles of beer bobbing in the water. I thought not only dangerous but very careless and thoughless. I tried to reach down and get a few, but my snense of balance was off, i fell in. What a start to my mini-holiday!!! A couple of hours later were home and all of us with a bit of heatstroke. In the car we did not realise how hot the sun really was. But, all was fine in the morning and we had a good bottle of bubble, smoked salmon and other goodies to celebrate Tyson's 19th birthday. Baroness Maya as usual was a wonderful hostess as only a young woman trained by a German housekeeper can be. Not a dust mote insight and wonderful Hungarian-German food.
Here is a poem by Rudyard Kipling that i find very suitable for any young man who has reached adult-hood.
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, not talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Diaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted ky knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave yur life to, broken
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And loose, start again at yur beginnings
And never breath a word about yur loss;
If you can force yur heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on where there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything thats in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
Yes, Dear Tyson you a Man now!!!!!!
My dear, sweet Tyson this is one for you. My dear, sweet Finnish cousin, do not feel left out, Kipling wrote a complete book with your name as a title.