I Know Old Now

I am only beginning now to understand me
Who I am and what makes me tick
Five decades and more now, almost sixty
Am I not supposed to be a woman anymore?
Inside I am a girl
I brush my long hair and like its softness
I still crave the body of a man
I still need his touch at the deepest place in me
My eyes still look the same in the mirror
And I notice more now than I ever did.

I love more now the gentleness of the rain
I see more in its raindrops and feel more with its touch
I look into the snow crystal and see a world beyond
Mirrored and mirrored again in multiple slant and colour
I feel the depth of the fawn’s life as he lies stilled at the road’s edge
And sense the mother just beyond the grove of trees, waiting there…
I imagine more now in each glimpse of another’s life
And I understand her perception like never before.

Why then am I ousted to another spot,
Away from real life and importance and matter?
Am I now too outdated?
Because my life borders on another level that younger people avoid?
Because I do not walk the usual path?
Because the grey in my hair shows?
Because the lines in my face make younger people guilty?
Makes them wonder how they will cope when it happens to them.

But I live more now than I ever did
Even though my movements are slower and my thoughts might seem fuzzy...
There is a razor edge just beyond touch
And I often journey there.

When I walk I am glad for the body I live in
When I am still I find rest in peaceful awareness
As I breathe I am grateful for the air I take in
I feel my lungs, my breath, my life.

Cast me away then, no longer needed really
Ideas from the past redundant
Ways gone by only written now in poetry
Words and phrases lost to time
But so rich and you don’t know what you are missing!
Watch my step and even though I falter, I am
More aware now of the earth beneath my step and the mistiness of the air
I see the bird pause to watch me from the branch and I see into her soul.

Like never before now, like never before.

wishing for all of you, love and laughter always

cailin raine

Red-Light Night Of the Prairie People

The room above the bar was the cheapest we could find
We could see the filthy alley from the window, hear the grind
Of heaving, dirty bodies midst the rubbish down below,
We could see them in the moonlight, red-light ladies in the glow.

The men were darkened figures, grunting pig-like on the earth,
We closed the grime-stained window, cast our eyes towards the hearth
Where our fire made soft shadows on the multi-colored wall
And we pretended we were safe, unlike the low-life down below.

I had one clean, white-lace nightie left, the armpit carefully sewn
And I washed in the basin which had edges very worn
I glanced at the man whom I had wed, sprawled on the bed
And felt the life inside me move, like the tumult in my head.

Then the raucous laughter crept its way, up the barren stairs
And I opened the old door a crack, and brushed my golden hair
Our room was such a far cry from my girlhood fancy home…
And I turned to see the man I loved, stretch and softly moan.

How far we’d brought the wagon from the prairie’s dried dust fields!
Where no crop was left to feed us, no wheat or flour or yield
The grass was brittle underfoot, the cattle thin and starved,
We had to leave the home we’d loved, the life which we had carved.

Now these dreadful streets did mock us, where could we start anew?
I chained the door, looked out the glass, watched a black bird as it flew
She flew up to the rooftop of the highest house in town
She soared up to the chimney, and never once looked down.
　　
And then a Peace did settle, and it felt like Grandma’s lap
Where I’d rocked as a little girl, and she’d tell me, “Don’t look back!”
“Forge ahead and pray my girl, He’ll never let you down!”
Words spoken from her wrinkled face, I’ll ne’er forget the sound.

Her tender words with Irish lilt, sank deep into my bones
And I knew then with a certainty, we’d make a brand new home
The wee one there snug in my loins, shifted in her sleep
As did my man on his weary bed, lost in dreams so deep.

I blew the dripping candle out, and laid down by his side
Tomorrow we would pack and plan, continue with our ride
Towards the promised pasture where the sun and rain would give
Our future and our livelihood, our love would last, we’d live!

“Onward Christian soldiers!”, my Grandma softly sang
And as our wagon trundled on, I felt the warm, sweet rain!
My husband turned to smile at me, the drops fell from his face
And here I knew beside this man, there was no better place.

We left the red-light ladies in the dreary, dingy bar
And the day we found our homestead, we knew we’d come so far!
From the saddened prairie dust bowls, to that evil alley strife…
To these fields of grass and splendour, our new God-given life.

cailin raine

Rag River

　

　

“Rags to riches”! I always heard…and knew it was vintage talk

Never paid a lot of attention to it, but the sayings sat in my mind,

At the back somewhere and occasionally nudged,

Dusted off from a corner

And brought forth with a bit of humour and a cough

Like,"Well that's a humdinger ain't it?"

Or, "Do ya have any notion of it?"

"Skinnymerdink " was my Mom's nickname for Dad

And she would sing, "Roll a bowl, a ball, a penny a pitch!"

And my little girl refrain, "Out about the cow's tail!"

Whatever it all meant who knows, but it was a lot of fun.

Never knew a place could be called a thing like, "Rag River"

But there it was, “as plain as the nose on your face“!

A weathered, beaten sign, hanging “as crooked as a dog's hind leg“!

Swaying a bit like a drunkard headed homeward,

But readable still perched high above the bridge.

"Rag River", and I paused to take a "look-see".

The river swerved and curved and crashed,

And all along the sides were tousled reeds and weeds and rocks

Somehow it gave the impression of rags strewn all along…

Like someone had been on an immense cleaning mission

Frantic at trying to clean up a big mess.

And so the river lived out its name

Wildly mimicking the idea of rags upon rags,

And I muttered the name to myself until it became

Not an idea of trash or refuse or mess,

But of industry and admiral toil, men going “down under”

Like the song so eloquently sung by Rita MacNeil

“I never again will go down underground”!

But here was Rag River above ground and dashingly visible

Here was a river like an entity itself!

Struggle and hardship, honour and perseverance

All wrapped up in this glorious display

Mother Nature had outdone Herself! and I watched mesmerized

As her waters crashed and the rapids roared.

　　

In my mind's eye I could see Meryl Streep in "The River Wild",

Paddling ferociously against the strength of the current,

Strong brown arms sure and precise and brave

The spray casting a dewy essence all over her body

And I became the woman on the river!

And I felt the stinging cold spray on my flesh

The pulse of the current live under my canoe!

Rag River pushed against my slim wooden craft

And I soared with her essence, our souls locked

In a glorious, furious rush of life and chance and wit.

The sunlight shone equally in the glint of the river water,

And in the innermost depths of my eyes bright with daring.

We were one!, and then I felt the ease of the river…

As it slowed about the bend, and we began to drift

Together into a place of rest and refuge,

Coasting easily towards a warm, cozy eddy tucked

Behind the rocks there on the other side.

I looked up into the tenderness of the sunbeams

And knew I had gone from rags to riches.

Pure golden sunlight had seeped into my being

As Rag River had carried me along her tumultuous journey

She had shown me how to win the battle.

I had fought and I had won.

Now I could stay, on the other side.

cailin raine

Hats Off To Rita MacNeil

I wrote this piece of poetry for Rita after seeing her perform at Blyth in 1994, and I mailed it to her at Big Pond, Nova Scotia. That is all the address it took, just her name and Big Pond. I received a handsome letter back from her, thanking me for my gift of beautiful words! And she is just a beautiful woman. Nova Scotia will never be the same now. But her soul rides out along the black rock, and the Men Of The Deep will sing along with her spirit, for all eternity.

Hats Off To Rita MacNeil

Porch songs, and music from her soul
Poetry set to a mood of notes, combination of love and sadness,
And life itself, she sets us free.
Most beautiful lady!
You can laugh at yourself and find the deep, ethereal joy
In the sunrise and the waves and the black rock on the shore.
The world’s judgment does not matter, for you have learned to overcome.

I love the candid way you kick off your shoes and make no apology
Your enjoyment is a tangible thing that reaches out to me
Touches my soul
And I let you, dear, sweet woman ~ your smile is sunshine in a sad, lost world
You are not afraid to rock and roll, what surprise! What a difference you make!
I weep and I smile and I rejoice at what you give from your heart
My tears fall as I write; what could I give you in return?

I, in my tiny way, write my thoughts, and would like to someday leave my mark
To share with somebody, somewhere, somehow I might help to lessen
Somebody’s pain.
I am awed by your simple, honest beauty, so genuinely given
So valuable and tremendous, and yet so unpretentious
It restores my hope for mankind, that we may still learn to love, share, and forgive
And strive to be better.

I bow in gratitude to you and I will keep the melody
Part of the creative and loving artistry of music that you weave
Within my mind and my heart
To remind me of your humble soul that gives with no restraint
But with courage and with love.

In memory of Rita MacNeil

with utter admiration, cailin raine

Trails

When I was a very little girl my family went on a picnic at a huge park
There were magical, winding trails that led you by tiny cabins and fairies
It was a charmed and make-believe world and I was totally captivated
There were places where the signs said to tiptoe and I found it easy to obey
My parents must have let me go off alone, which meant it was not far from them
But I felt all alone in the universe and enthralled beyond words, I needed none.

At a bend I was tiptoeing, having read the sign, and then glanced up at a house
The lady who lived there was looking out the window and smiling at me
Years later I had to think that I was likely a cute little sight, brown ringlets
Elated grin, eyes alight with enjoyment, unfettered glee in just “being”
I was surprised to find someone actually living in this enchanted forest
But it did not spoil my fascination with the fairies and the imps and squirrels.

Years later, I realize that I was born with this utter love for trails, forests
Any pathway, for me is and forever will be irresistible, enticing, necessary
I must ramble along it and find where it goes, what surprise is beyond…
Around the next curve there may be a bubbling spring or a tiny bridge
A doe or a buck or a fawn perched and ready to run, hesitating then
Because they feel no danger from me, only my utter love and delight
With the ways of the forest and of the animals who make their home
Amongst the kind, leaning trees that seem to whisper of magic.

cailin raine

Angels Holding Hands

　

I look across my pillow and see angels holding hands

Their wings are interlocking and their light shines down in bands

Their faces smile and joined as such they form a lovely circle

And I supported in their arms enjoy them in the middle.

I feel so very cherished to be at their holy centre

And vow to live my life renewed and do a whole lot better

I know that I have slipped and fell, been lifted up on wings

But when my heart is heavy, my angel stoops and sings.

The music then is sweet and pure and rings within my ear

I no longer have the weight of this world's strife to fear

For my angel's voice is mighty, yet soothing, full of light

He sings of love and happiness, of all things good and right.

He sings until my heart is full of purity and love

And I can face the world again and remember Him above

The road is long and many times I've wanted to give up

But angels come and minister, they stay with me and sup.

We drink until my body rests, my soul again set free

And I can soar above the clouds with angels helping me

I rest upon their lovely wings, nestled in downy white

And when I must, come back to earth and try to do what's right.

Every now and then I know I'll see them at my bed

And know they've come again to wipe away my fear and dread

I bathe in His own glory as their light shines down in bands

When I look across my pillow and see angels holding hands.

cailin raine

Valentine Hearts

Forever hearts wrapped in Valentine paper

Clumsy attempts at love ~ we were so young

Then… hearts joined with white organdy and flimsy lace

Red roses to represent the true love we shared.

Years later, hearts still together ~ but a little weary

Around the edges, blurred a bit by time

And holding hands.

Now a few gray hairs, but worn hearts still joined

In gratitude for all the years spent as one

And we are not so far from the young lovers

Of yesterday.

Tomorrow

One heart may have to go and one might stay

But still they will be joined by some unfathomable Force

Still wrapped in Valentine paper… which has grown

So very strong.

One heart will leave for a time… then the other will follow

Reach for me across the veil, as you lifted the veil years ago

And I will be there with you.

cailin raine

The Sisterhood Of The Traveling Bag

for my sister, Carol

Remember the “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants”? just a silly movie
Well what about the “Sisterhood of the Traveling Bag”? it has
Already traveled from Alaska after all, back to our country
And who knows where one of us may end up yet?
The traveling bag may tell a story, as it collects the thoughts
Of either one of us….or both….as it sits on a shelf at our place
Who knows what the traveling bag is thinking? “Boy she needs
A kick in the pants to get her going with that publishing!”
Or “She needs a solid voice to tell her it is ok to have her very own world!”

The Traveling Bag might be a catalyst to contain
All kinds of little wisdoms passed back and forth, oh at
Birthdays, the odd one, not them all, or at Christmas
When one almost expects to unpack the Christ child
Because right now He seems to be so near.
Or when one of us falls ill, or gets hurt, Heaven forbid
But none of us ever knows what is around the next bend.
Or it could be at a wedding, imagine even at this late date!
I think that I may have already earned a pattern of surprise
Good or bad, like jumping on the plane for Tennessee to meet a stranger
And you were there too, a part of the absurdity, a part of the experience
And making sure I had James Redfield along for company!

Maybe the Traveling Bag, will write its own story in the words
Written on cards, on letters, in our smiles or frowns, or just in our hearts
Maybe the Traveling Bag can be a kind of bridge, with ropes
That reach out and remind us of the continuity of family, the realness
That cannot ever hide, because there is a blood tie stronger than life itself!

And so the Traveling Bag sits for now with you, at this Christmas time
And hopefully there will be many, many more,
Because as the same blood courses in our veins, the same as the parents
Who moved on and left us behind for now, like them, our lives might
Be long and the journey fruitful, happy, sad, but most assuredly
The lesson we were meant to realize.

love from your little sister,

cailin raine

Magic In The Valley

for my Mom
　
A special voice had called me to the valley for awhile
I had driven with the laundry for my Dad with a sad smile
Mom had gone on over with the angels sweet you see
And all that there was left that day was the quilt she’d given me.

I’d hung it on the line for the wind was gently strong
I stood there on the lawn with my Dad as it hung
Then I looked to see the rainbows in the sky placed there for us
And we marveled at the two of them, they brought a sacred hush.

I looked at the quilt pattern of red and pink and white
And I saw her face then shining, as in a special light
Her smile was in the centre, it gave a tender glow
And I knew then she was watching us, way down here below.

How could I repay her for all she’d done for me
How could I let her know, how could she ever see?
But then I saw the tear which down the quilt had left a trace
And I wept for the the magic in that Beaver Valley place.

Her tears had brought a happiness, ‘twas in that sacred glow
The rainbows stayed there in the sky, ‘til the sun had slipped low
The autumn leaves were lit with a blaze that burned in me
And I drove away with certainty, and I knew that she could see.

cailin raine

One More Step Towards Myself

for J.　
　
Gently sinking into the comfortable haze of living day to day
Without demands, without having to even get out of bed!
Softly waking with no hurry, no real commitments, no rules
Maybe you did me a favour after all, firing me, our time was up!
I had come to the end of a stage in my life, I was eager to move on!
Looking back, I realize you were yet another control figure,
And I needed to grow up enough to put you behind me with relief.
The links are like chinks in a fence, built one upon another, joined.
There was a fence around me, self-made really, although I blamed
Everyone else.
It was me that allowed the feet to tramp on my being, the dirt to sully My soul.

I can spot them now, without lying to myself, I can pick out the words
I know the gestures and the silly lies, I will never again let someone
Take my place.
Or control me.
My Dad always said that the pendulum swings, one way and then the
Next, and it does not stay in the middle!
It is the centre part that is hard to keep, it is the balance that is difficult
To reach.
But now I see that the reaching needs to be done, it needs to be
Completed.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life,
And I finally choose to make my journey count, really count, not just
For me.
But for those who may be watching, and maybe it will help them
Find their way. 　

cailin raine

Dark October Night

Cats calling in the night
Cries loud and eerie and sad.
They stalk and prance as they choose
No one tells them to claw or snake away,
Or toss a baleful glance to anyone who dares to walk the alley.
They jump to the heights of the tall fence,
So that they can sit and rake their tails in swaying motion
And cast an evil eye on the pitied and mere mortals.
Feline hearts pump as one with those of the witches.
Together they are joined by the task of the night watch,
For blackness is as familiar as their own foul breath.
Jagged teeth edge fetid lips as they yawn unconcerned,
Breathing the stinking air with satisfaction.
No fear mounts in their stealthy souls for the hags
Who chant and sing in uncanny mantras,
At the edge of the woods where the moonlight lies strong.
Cats are of their breed, molded of furtiveness and craft, of sly and sleek
Black as the hard core of night,
Hard as the calloused soles of work-worn feet,
Souls carried by bloodied mangled paws
Down a lone, black, alley street.
They stop to watch the witch at the garbage bin,
Envying her catch, watching her lick the scrap of meat,
Longing for the slimy taste again upon their roughened tongue,
Bloodied with mangled rats and the dark red blood of the moon.
At the midnight hour they soar together in magical suspense.
If you are very careful you may see
The flash of ebony,
Carline and cat outlined in silhouette
Swiftly pass the sharp silver of hard moon,
And disappear into the bottomless depths of hell.
Then, one night again soon
You will see the kitten new,
Slinking in ancient rhythm,
Black, black as the dark coal of the bin.
And just for a moment she will turn,
Watching you with the evil eye of the witch
Who rides and returns to claim her own.

cailin raine

The Perfect Dance

for my daughter, Tanis S. L. Ireland

　
A stride that speaks of fitness
Not just a truly healthy air
But each muscle speaking for itself
Comfortable in its frame of reference
Swimmer, athlete, every muscle toned
Easy movement, unaware of effortless pace
A ramble born of countless hours, breathing in puff mode
Work born of determination, pushing on
Leaving comfort zone for another higher one
The mother observes with maternal pride
The silhouette in black is perfect, swimmer’s shoulders
Top the ideal body profile, angles sloping downward
Dark slimness outlined by the white, chalky gravel
Hard background to match the hardness of arriving
Laps and laps and run upon run have shaped a newness
This painless gait now at home in itself
Possessing a marathon strength
Acceptance shows in subtle space…faultless form a choice
Mother heart bursts in lioness smugness…but also a sadness
Because this feline spirit from her womb does not need her
She has become this strong woman all on her own
She treads down the rocky slope of laneway
Unaware that she performs the perfect dance.

Love forever, Mom

cailin raine

Forest Romp

I’ve made it out to the forest in spite of the frosty cold, air that points fingers
Into warm creases and spaces filled with body heat, to steal comfort and make
Me work harder, walk faster, quick short steps that keep the cold at bay
I tramp through the trees, the path worn here and there by snowshoes and skis
Deep, sharp footprints of deer hooves, some big and strong, some tiny, dainty
Prancing or scampering tracks, mottled by shuffling or trudging boot marks
Long streamers of sun-shined ski dents showing the way over the glossy trail
I enjoy this solitude, the icy breeze sends little shivers, the blue sky sits still.

I stop high on the trail above the river, near a wooden bench, listening to the flow
Of the polar water running beneath ice, encased in long, thin, possessive sheets
Along the edges of the river are more deer tracks, evidence of their frolicking
Happy, romping marks reminding me of poetry, and “where angels dare to trod.”

I always feel the spirits resting in the trees, I stop to put my hands on bark, rough
Satisfying, it feels strong and durable, the essence in my life I miss most of the time
The big hands I long to have caressing me at night are missing in my life, the stolid
Tree trunks remind me of male muscle, strong arms holding me, I am secure, stilled
And as I lift my gaze to the tree tops that have reached high to heaven with trust
My face is caressed with a soft, smattering of tiny cooling drops, my skin is flushed
Then chilled, soothed, touched. It feels like a blessing from the gods of the forest.

Awed, I ramble down to the river and sit so close to the rushing current, that I can
Feel its body moving near mine, alive, rushing, churning, flipping up twigs and logs
Limbs parting in her streams and flowing within her grasp, she moves even the
Massive bits, and her strength is a never-ending torrent of meaning and measure
A river always feels like an entity to me, her heartbeat strikes mine with depth
Resonates in a part of me few people know or understand, I trail my fingers along
The icy sides of her near the muck of the banks and I let her essence fill me like sex
We merge as one in female need and I envy her catch of rough bark and branch.
　
Ambling back up towards the higher trail, I ascend the sloping hill in sturdy boots
Across the mounds of the forest bottom I glimpse the flashing white tails of does
A few of them darting away and over the wooden rail fence, nervous of my presence
A tiny spotted fawn stops to glance back at me, big, brown, glazed eyes curious
I smile and traipse along, the crisp crunch of boot smacking hard-packed gritty snow.

At the edge of the forest I stop to feel my goodbye, a last, long lingering look
Longing to stay and merge with them, longing to take their heartbeat home.

cailin raine

Coffee Jaws

This piece of poetry is a tribute to my Dad, Merle Weber, who passed away when he was nearly 91 years old. He told us many amusing stories about the “old” days, and one of these stories was about Welly Fawcett, an old fellow who was nick-named “Coffee Jaws”. Many of the folk around Beaver Valley had similar nicknames, but this one seemed to stick with me. The particulars of Welly’s life were not really what I have portrayed in my poetry, but this is what the connotations of the name “coffee jaws” produced in my mind. Whenever I see a lone crow flying, I am reminded of my Dad and his friend Welly, and I pray they both have peace.

　

　

COFFEE JAWS

　

"I'll tell you about "Old Coffee Jaws",

Said the old man to his son.

"Them was the days when there were no laws

That's how the West was won!"

Well there was some laws and the sheriff tried,

But you know ya jest cain't tame

Them strappin' lads that came to drink

The brew that "Coffee Jaws" made!

"Old Coffee Jaws", well he swore a lot!

And his wife, well she cussed too!

No other folk did pay them mind,

Jest came to buy their brew.

Yep, "Coffee Jaws", he done distilled

One heck of a crop a’ beer.

The whole town could count on his supply

Heck, any time a’ year!

"Old Coffee Jaws" would sit and rock

In a chair worn mighty thin.

When locals came he'd wink one good eye,

And give his toothless grin.

He'd say, "Come here lad, let me look atcha!

Do ya think yer old enough?

To handle this brew that kicks like a mule,

Do ya think that yer that tough?"

　

Well, the young lads laughed and they joked a lot

And they'd leave with their bellies full.

They'd stagger into town to track the lassies down,

And they'd shoot a whole lot of bull.

"Old Coffee Jaws" would spit and wink

And he'd walk that extra mile,

To deliver a keg on one good leg,

Then he'd give his toothless smile.

With jest one leg and jest one eye,

You'll wonder why, "Coffee Jaws?"

But the old man once had lost enough

To make him think and pause.

There was a night when the moon was bright

When "Coffee Jaws" was young,

And he could see, had both good knees,

When his best friend done got hung.

He was hung for a crime that for a time,

They all believed he'd done,

But "Coffee Jaws" knew, it was jest the brew!

As for reason, there was none.

So "Coffee Jaws", he made a pact

With his dead friend gone to heaven,

That he'd drink no brew even though he grew

The best crop under heaven.

"Coffee Jaws" grew old drinkin' nothin' cold

No, jest his coffee cup

Graced his old hands for he had plans,

Of joining his pal yonder up.

So he rocked and he winked and he smiled and he thinked

As he drank that blasted stuff....

His choice that night and his coffee life

Had sure bin gol-darn rough.

In the end they amazed at the way he'd grazed

On only his coffee brew,

And alone at night they'd smell coffee light

As past the sky, …a lone crow flew.

cailin raine

Drumming

There was a drumming in my heart, even way back then
Just a tiny mite trudging about the farm in my wee rubber boots
But always a drumming and I knew I marched to a different one
That was alright with me because I never could see the sense in phony
I could always see the pretense and I despised it in my wee girl way
They wondered why I shied away, why I didn’t even want to belong
Because to “belong” meant to compromise in a silly, counterfeit way
That never did make any sense to me, still doesn’t and I am glad!

To be me has been a different path to walk, but I glory in the difference
I march to that distant beat, and sometimes it is very near and I love it
It is in the gentle falling of the rain, it lurks behind the clouds, in sunbeams
It drums itself into the ways of the squirrels, birds, cattle, and all beasts
It grows in the leafy branches of the trees and in the gentle flower petals
I cherish this rhythm in my heart, I love the cadence of my drum
Djembes, ancient, native, but real and kin to me, I bask in awareness
I am content within the wondrous beat of my spirit-filled, mahogany drum
Keeping time, I feel the heart beat of the earth and melt into the sky itself.

cailin raine

Camilla

Ode To Jessica Tandy

'Tis twain I've passed your way and learned an older wisdom

Immense treasure of seasoned mind and soul

Extraordinary woman more beautiful now with age.

She would have bathed in oils!

She would have come dressed in a silken robe!

He would have waited for her in the bed,

Smoking black cigarettes from Bohemia.

She would have stood at the foot of the bed

He would have stared!…puffing on his black cigarette from Bohemia.

He never really smoked!

Turn down the lamp to crawl naked into bed

And openly caress small breasts with nipples translucent and light

He would have left the lamp on, he wanted to look at her!

The lamp stays on so that we might see.

We go back to before

We all go back to before

And know that we should have come

Ah! We should have come!

I go back to before

And walk merrily down a gravel country road

With Mexican hat perched on my head in jaunty flirting manner

And I take the hand of the love-stricken boy

And I never, ever let go.

"She goes down to the seas again

To the vagrant Gypsy life

To the gull's way and the whale's way

And the wind's like a whetted knife

And all we ask is a merry yarn

From a laughing fellow rover

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream

When the long trick's over"

(quote from the movie)

For life is but a trick

And we are here on stage

To play our part and learn our lines…

Grow more talented with age!

And age is the best gift

For with time we master all

And in the last closing scene

We're the fairest at the ball!

So dance Camilla in the clouds

And wear your silken robe

Feel golden with your pretty breasts

And play your violin old

For old is where the beauty is

And where we all must stray

Finally the last chord is struck

Forever, in Wisdom's arms we stay.

cailin raine

Poem For Shirley

You were angel hair on Christmas lights
Bright smiles and a hearty laugh!
You were “By Golly” and gifts from the heart.
You were life-packed letters from afar
And voice tapes from Europe filled with fun.

“Shirley” meant excitement and magic
And a special air about the farm.
When you were coming home
It meant “exceptional” and extra little touches,
Exquisite taste and impeccable décor.

My biggest regret is that you lived so far away
Too far for a daily chat or a routine drop-in
That is why my Sister candle gift to you
Sat in my closet waiting for the next visit
Why do we take so much for granted?

In lighting the Sister candle for you at your service
It represented all the gifts I wish I could have given
All the time I wish we’d had
All the miles that kept us apart
And all the love we shared in spite of everything.

Now that Sister candle sits in my living room
Beside my favourite picture of you, and behind
The dried, white rose that I kept from your celebration.
It still doesn’t seem right that you aren’t here with us.
I can still hear your magical voice, or catch a whiff
Of fragrance in the air, and glimpse a gossamer spirit
Dancing ‘round the Christmas lights with angel hair.

I hope you are happy, dancing in heaven with Gord.

You are lovingly missed on your birthday Shirley

Colleen

Good Girls Holdin' On

( alias ~ ode to the women of divorce )

　

Girls, women, ladies graze like cows in the field chewin’ their cuds

Waitin’, watchin’, holdin’ on to what they have been taught

Told where to go and what to do….

Movin’ heavy bodies to the beat of the current music or the farmer’s whip.

Inside they’re plannin’ their escape

Through the fence and over the pasture to where the grass is greener

On the other side

Anything would be better than this!

Honey tits to suck on

Givin’ milk and sustenance to everyone else

Good girls roped in and corralled

Put in place for breedin’ and feedin’.

Some special fate is calling

But it has to be loud enough to be heard

Over the spittin’ and the fightin’ of the men in charge

The females trot to the time of the man clock

Their hands move around in the circle of shame

Goin’ round and round and there never is an end!

The time machine all wound up

Knowin’ there are unlived lives in its veins.

The men strive for great chemical reaction

Results that show in size and gain

Dense heads frying new lard into their brains again and again…

Is it any wonder we are bored?

Daily hate kills kind of like forever

Some of us brave enough to smoke little doobies to forget

A defense from the shitful world of men in control

Punchin’ knobs, clocks, buttons…all wound up for more of the same.

　

We sit at our kitchen counter smokin’

Where home has become hell

Holdin’ on, needin’ to glimpse the light or a hint of fragrance in the dung

Suckin’ tums to combat the acid

Growling deep within.

cailin raine

Going Home Again

It has always been said, that you can’t go home again
But those people who said that, forgot all about the heart.

When I think of home, it is the valley and the river
Which housed me as a child in Beaver Valley.
The hills enveloped me with wonder
The rocks beckoned to me, to come and explore
The river called its song across the fields
And I would always follow.

Alone, I trudged, just a little girl, along the banks
Up the grassy slopes, way, way up to the rocks
Where caverns and caves whispered of excitement.
I learned to trust myself enough to crawl along the ledges
And sit with legs dangling over the valley.
To drink in the fresh air and feel the kind sun on Old Baldy
Was home for me, and for the golden eagles who soared above me.

The old farm house perches still, on a knoll with new owners
Familiar and dear, but with a fresh classy look, bright paint
New windows and roof, verandahs adding opulence
It blurs in my mind, and I am again the little girl on the lawn
With dolls and bears and cats, each one named, each one happy at home.

At night when the stars twinkle, I know it is the same sky
That looms over my real home in the valley
I am kin with the moonbeams and I sparkle with the dew.
As I think of Beaver Valley, I know I will always be able
To go home again.

cailin raine

November Days

The sky looms overhead in heavy slate grey
Bordering autumn with a blanket of calm
Lines drawn now, separating light, azure days of summer
From grave and serious moments inherit in the dying of the leaves.

Groups of geese fly in roundups overhead, practicing
Perfecting their formations for the journey ahead
Their excitement feeds the air with expectation…
There is a waiting mood blowing in the breeze.

I wait as well, with a wintry acceptance while my car
Has her yearly oiling, an oil change and smooth tires
Replaced with big, gripping, safe ones, prepared
For the snow gusts, the ice storms, and winds to come.

The garage sits in a matching grey décor, melding
With the sky, quiet in its reflective stance, molding
Itself into landscape, cold, dreary, but necessary
“Must get the job done; it is time; let’s be ready.”

The geese are shifting, ever moving, rising to the heavens
Tonight they are out in droves, all the leaves are gone
The big birds land in the freshly plowed fields, dive-bombing
Showing off, loving their prowess, eager to be on their way.

I always feel kind of left behind… I am left to weather the storms
Figuratively and in reality, my car gears up like the geese on hefty tires
The geese rise once more from the fields, forming their military lines
Each gets on their way, functioning as they must, they are gettin’ ready!

My car engine hums, the tires crunch on frosty gravel, my fingers are cold on the wheel
The hind geese honk with encouragement to their forerunners, calling “All aboard!”

cailin raine

Love Stained Page

In Loving Memory of My Mother

Reta Mae Genoe (Weber)

1913 - 1996

　

　

‘Tis the weeping blood of Christ that is pressed upon this page

Brought by my departed Mother’s love, just beyond the grave

The weeping light, white lily brought this crimson blood to life

And stained these pages with its blood, to help lessen my strife

Stained here to remind me that the Son died on the Cross

That there was great Atonement , to help me conquer loss

For daily struggle in each life, stress and pain and more

Moves us to be stronger and to walk towards that Shore

Lord knows I’ve walked some wrong paths, swayed from following Him

The rainbows, sun were hidden and my thoughts of God were dim

There were Changes ever straining me, pushing me to grow

What lies ahead is God’s will, and He watches me below

　

As I turn these red, stained pages, I see the beauty there

And am moved to look to Heaven, then bow my head in Prayer

I knew there was a Reason that I chose the lily white…

She is there blooming in my garden to remind me what is right

I thank the Lord for Mother, who still gives beyond the grave

The rainbow, cardinal, lily, rose, with love to me she gave

And so I pressed the lily white against this Holy page,

Watched her bleed her Message and grow more beautiful with age.

with love

cailin raine



There Is A Place

　

There is a place where I sometimes go

I think we converge there in symmetry

At a vortex in time where it is easy to connect

We float suspended in a cosmic ether of love particles

To discuss in clarity and understanding,…our growth

Maintaining a supportive and necessary connection.

How many times have you awakened and felt

You had been on a journey and had seen an old friend

But your body had never left your bed?

An ethereal touch remains, and a new found wisdom lingers

Something of another is left in your soul

A nameless quality of change that is welcome

Familiar and new all at the same time.

Rebirth happens all about us

Each morning as the sun peeks its smile just above the horizon

Its spirit calls out a “good morning! its a new day!”

Petals, crops, leaves, buds pull toward her

Opening in new growth and embracing the warmed air.

We too can choose the new dawn, and write upon the clean slate

Wiped fresh by the dew and the night.

Choose your letters carefully, for they spell out today

Your next step in becoming who you are.

cailin raine

Summer Song

　
Out here on the rocks, indented with fossils, are scratched initials and memories
Echoes of voices past, linger and toss, then sit in the stone shadows
Reminding me of brown, sturdy, sandy feet, straw hats, and strong bones
They stay my heart with their summer song, playing its magic in the long afternoon.

Out here on the rocks, the outermost shouts of innocence reverberate
Running and tiny toes clamp themselves beside me in ghostly print
An elder’s guiding hand clasps the little one, dear, beside the slower soul
In my mind’s eye, I see the clear gaze of the child, trained on the horizon
Watching the sun blaze its way into regretful descent, leaving behind one more day.

Out here on the rocks, the smashing water wings the air with puffs of soft wind
Treading time with the higher tendrils of breeze floating against my arms
Higher still, the upper air currents carry the gulls along happy trails
They scream their joy, call out their life, their sturdy wings sky-scraping the evening.

Out here on the rocks I watch the golden pathway paved upon pewter liquid
Shimmering in bronze towards the sun-god of the sky, now cast in blue shadow
Against the robin’s egg hue just above the horizon, its centre burning bullion.

Out here on the rocks, strands of peaceful thought drift like sand in the air
Caressing my temples with cotton-gloved fingers, stroking my mind in languid rhythm.

Out here on the rocks, I have come to sit alone, to drink in one more September night
Before air chills cold, rocks sleep under ice, and frost creeps over the last memories.

cailin raine

　

Dad's Last Stand

 In memory of my father, Frances Merle Weber 1908 - 1999　


I got up that morning same as always
Kind of surprised I was still around
Well, breakfast for one more day anyways
Cereal and evaporated milk and pearl tea, half a banana…
When I think back now I’d been talkin’ ‘bout dyin’ for quite some time
My brother, Bill, dropped dead of a heart attack at forty-six, so
I kind of thought the same thing might happen to me.
　
I was always talkin’ ‘bout my heart givin’ out so that
No one would be too surprised, kind of warning them you see
I never thought I’d be livin’ yet at almost ninety-one
Oh, I could be ornery, I know that and most of the time
I kind of liked to just be alone, no one to bother me
But I did like it when the kids would come home to visit
And I tried to put on a cheerful face most of the time when they did come ‘round.
　
　
I‘d had a dream one night ‘bout a big house with all kinds of room
Thought it was Maw had come to get me and was showin’ me around
The ceilings were awful high, and I wondered why you’d waste all that space!
Guess it was a dream, thought it was, but it seemed different than that
Kind of like I was really there.
　
Later there was a lady came in the laneway and she was the one
Found me lyin’ on my face next to the tree at the back
Where I used to wash up after hayin’
Just fell down and stayed there, that was it then.
Saved Glenn findin’ me, was better that way.
I stayed around ‘til they called Gun and Carol, they had to
Get the police to come and make all that fuss,
Hardly seemed worth all that bother.
What else did they expect to happen when it was
An old bugger like me?

Ninety-one, imagine that.
Well I finally got to go see Maw.
They done ‘er up right, nice funeral like Maw’s was…
I always told them not to feel bad, made me feel bad
To see them all standin’ round cryin’.
　
Well I sure had enough time.
　
Nice up here in this here mansion with the tall walls…
Awful nice seein’ Maw again 'a course
Still don’t see why they wasted all this space.

with love

cailin raine

Like Creeping Charlie

She had lived her life tidily
Never shifting from the parental molding
Careful not to stretch too far beyond the brink.
Slowly the stiffening had entered somewhere
Inwardly she had shifted into pain and then
Found a constant companion in grief
When had the happiness melted away?
Like the ice on the old pond up over the back pasture.

One day she sat by a stream and let the cold water
Sift against her toes, cool and clean and new
And realized that she had stopped feeling
Had butted the flow of life inside of herself
Until she no longer knew who she was.

Why had she let the mold lie in her chest like stone
Encased in a hardness that did not allow tears?
Why had she let their opinions matter when her own heart
Had words beyond description and rays stronger than the sun?

She took the hand of her tiny boy and walked home
With a new awareness, a new hope
She would not let them stifle her any more
It was her life and her heart and she gave her spirit
Back to herself.
　　
Inside the house the sun entered through the rear kitchen window
She peered out at the lawn rippled in tufts of incessant weed
It was like looking into the window of her soul
She saw the Creeping Charlie that had spread all the way to the fence.

She walked out to the tool shed and took the hoe from the rack
With renewed strength she hoed all that Creeping Charlie
Pulled and hacked and ripped and cut until there was not a shred of it
Left behind.

cailin raine

The Earthen Way

Above me the herb-scented ceiling reeks

Of sage and scent and I suck and breathe in

Heavenly earthen aroma

Rafter-dry hanging bundles dangle with dust

Wood begetting arid plants of healing, health, and sustenance

And I breathe.

On the slanted cool of wooden chair supported and snug I sit

Comfort arms stroke me and I lean back on the straightness

Heady with the wood and the scent and the earth

I revel in its firmness and inhale the silence

And I breathe.

Pots and pots

Pile upon pile

They line up the walls

Pottery soldiers holding high, strutting in procession

Stacked according to size

They frame and fill the wooden wallboards

With smooth crockery sienna warmth

Hinting of a pregnant promise of growth

And better things to come!

Wicker bushel basket bursting

With the dryness of bundled fennel, savory, and thyme

Rosemary, lavender, parsley, peppermint

My tongue and senses are sharpened

I ache with the love of it!

And I breathe.

　

Wooden slats of floor beneath my feet

Bare-pressed against the coolness

Yet another earthen promise there to feel

In my toes and in my soul!

I worship the silence

I succumb to the dizzy scent

And I breathe.

pen name ~ cailin raine

Colleen Weber

To My Man

When you love me

Savour each moment and taste

The sweetness, let it linger

On your lips, feel the softness

Silky and sweet, my hair against your skin

Don't waste an instant of the ecstasy

But feel our closeness, reaching

Straining towards the joy of living

One another's heartbeat, and crying

Inside one another's tears, smile

At me when the pulsing is over and

Still hold me close.

Don't turn away, don't be afraid of me

But search my soul in the softness of

Our after love and trace my face

My life before you, I am open to

Your touch, and want your love

To rise again and possess me with

Wanted force and sweet possession

And yet I am free within your embrace

To soar the heights which our love

Makes possible, take me again

And again to that place where joy is full

And immense, how I yearn for your arms

Around me in earnest desire and mad yearning

Come to me with animal passion and tender, sweet

Giving touches, exquisite because you want me

As much as I want you.

cailin raine

If I Walk

If I walk the man-made dikes atop the grass grown wild

And wander along those pathways worn by hunters, men

I trod on the soil of labour and I reach into their souls

Excitement burning in me because I stroke their world.

The wind tosses my darkened curls about my face

My eyes turned skyward trace the clouds and the hawks

As one they soar sky high and daring, elevated beyond

The daily endurance and drudgery of day by day routine.

I am caught in the magic and I do not want to leave

This land of sacred heron and proud, white crane

The geese honk and chatter, the ducks fake a startle

A parade of sound and performance as I watch spellbound.

How I wish to be a part and not a spectator

To take the wind in my hands and hold it

To take the long, wild grasses and clasp them

To feel the languid waters against my soul and…keep it all for me!

I walk on and on and I never want to go

I want to keep these minutes, I want to climb into

The heart of them and stay to watch the maple leaves

Turn crimson and then fall softly to the carpet beneath.

I do not want to miss a single breath of it

I lean to touch the bark and caress the roughness

Against my cheek - I can feel the spirit stirring within

And does he wish to hold me just the same?

The golden rod and nannyberry, the dogwood and sumac

The wild apple smell in my nostrils makes me dizzy

The kind of buzz I could crave forever

I walk and walk and I do not miss a beat.

Dragonflies flit and land, dart and dash about me

Big, striped bees land on my shoulder and I gently push them on

Hawks bravely dip and hover, waiting for their mates

Nature itself is clapping aloud.

The sky is still blue and it is hours since I rested

I know my body commands me to take it home

The sun shimmers still even though the afternoon is dying

Ending, always ending, the things that I love all seem to leave.

One last long, sweeping gaze and I must depart

Back to a world where busy is the order of the day

I long for the disarray of tumbling weed and grass

The surprise of hidden bridge and concealed creeks.

If I walk in this Hullett place I remember the best

Of all the places that I have ever been

If I walk in this marshland space I am cleansed

And I go freely back to where I came from.

cailin raine

Winter Icing

　
Frosting glimmering on icy limbs light with shimmer,
Branches heavy under ice coats of milky white
Shiny in the dancing, glancing early morning sun rays,
Each twig encased in precious layers of nature’s icing sugar.

Matching stone-like snow banks sit like
Hardened, shellacked meringue,
Frozen into delightful curves as if
Nature’s knife has designed and then suspended its work.

The sound of silence echoes softly across
The still fields sparkling, rimmed with statue fences
Locked in the glossy embrace of cold, watery fingers
Sprinkled with sun-dappled frothiness.

Patterns and designs frozen in snowflake precision
Scattered across the surfaces of wood and water,
A masterpiece complete as if chiseled with effort,
Instead, sprung upon us sweetly in effortless surprise.

Nature smartly grinning in stunning performance
Smiling in supreme satisfaction and smirking, a little,
But then, slowly her artistry gives way to another timeless luster,
The slow, gradual melting nod as Nature sighs, “Adieu!”

cailin raine

Blood-Story In The Snow

The animals dreamed of us
Near the mouth of the den at the end of acres
Fur-scattered rug of snow
Doored the entrance to the blood-stinking lair
The kill had been plain.
Snowshoes stopped in tandem, our breath hot on the air
They were still there, spirit-sneaking near us with hot-kill energy, Sparking crystal-lights of fire in the fine, blood-misted snow.

We read the story, slowly tracking the deep-dots of
Prints struck hard against the ice
Deep-melted in the dark-rooted soil
Marks of shiny-struggle and the deer’s last day.
She slowly going down like the final sun
Loathe to give up her last beating-breath
Heart in her mouth, eyes shedding fear
Other eyes lacing hers from across the creek
Glitter of life within, tenderly walking towards her closing cry.

The pack had taken her in bits and in pieces, yipping and yowling
A bone-chilling-kill in the soft-falling night, dusk-settling
Daring to pierce her flesh, rip her sweet, mottled hide
Red-blood drip-spotting first the blaring whiteness of snow
Misting the glitter-prints of coyote paw, desperate heaving-hoofs
Patterning the killing-field with her last effort to cling
Where life had given dawn, and frolic, and saucy dance.
The going down was long… her struggle brave and valiant
She did not give her life freely, but death was her gift in the end.

The slayers slumber with shiny, blood-glistened tongues
Hot blood-breath against the darkness, now deep and black
The pack lies silent in succulence, bellies full
Beside the carcass left alone in bone-brittle defiance
She, passed on to a better dream, whole and full and finished.
Killers seamed in survival-flesh beneath blood-smeared fur
Living inside the wolf-wisdom of ancestors lurking in the past
Cunning and clever, each pup full-tummied against fertile female
Alpha-dreams dance in the hot-bellied den, dawn seeking another day.
The animals dream of us.

Menesetung

The Sign said “Laughing Water” and I stopped to listen…
Indeed there was a chattering far down below the bridge
Where the water danced its way along the rocky bottom,
Babbling this and prattling that, it bounced a path of life.

It’s at the Piper’s Dam they say there is a deep, Black Hole…
“Bottomless” says the legend, unknown, immeasurable.
Just think, a fathomless crater-like cavity filled with inky
Water, sightless molecules smothered in blind irrigation.

The Maitland water is pretty and calm where the dam used to be…
Once there was a busy mill and people bustled, came and went,
Work continuing in normalcy while a deep, dark cavernous hole
Sat hidden beneath the water, like a limp secret sitting in solitude.

Now a slab of flat stone sits reminding us of where the mill once stood
And weeds, tall grass, erosion work at obliterating even those remains
But the memories lurk and you can almost see the men in trousers, boots
Buzzing like bees, resembling Mennonites, knowing how to get it done.

On a back road on the way home to where I live, there is a house…
Tiny, tumbling into disarray, sad in countenance and lopsided.
Its windows are piled high with mumble jumble, relics, refuse,
Clutter crammed into cracks and holes, a carnival of rubbish.

I muse about the way our lives are like the aging of old buildings
Like the tumble-down shanty, no longer able to stand without leaning
Or like the river, where buried in its unreachable depths there
Is a spot of darkness where no light can enter and mystery remains.

cailin raine

Moon Belly Dancing

Shadows of children dancing beneath my belly

In ethereal moonlight

Full moon shining on my pillow

Making me dream of young days

When my stomach was in rhythm

With the moon and the prowling world of men.

My heart is wistful because the moon no longer moves

My body into fertile response

The cycle is gently winding down

To another pathway of shadowy lane

Where the ghosts of children who might have been

Dance one more time to my heartbeat

Before they must leave and move on

Past this life chance to another.

Some other woman body will hold

Some other female cup will mold and mother

But not me, not mine, not my breast.

We have done this belly dance for so long

These ghosts and I, they, spirits on

The other side, dancing, dancing ‘round

My mother soul, waiting, wanting to be born.

Now they see the slowing and the tender sadness

Now they see me stoop, a little

Mother soul calls out in ancient longing

A rhythm never to be forgotten

A rhyming and a singing always in my heart!

There were more you see

More babies to cuddle and hold.

My belly groans with goodbye.

cailin raine

The Ink Bottle

It's been a long, dry spell, sometimes I think
The well has all dried up
Ink, cracked, stuck to the insides of the blue bottle
Crusted with age and lack of use
It sits at the edge of the desk, brushed aside like cobwebs
The blue glass worn and brown in spots
No pen in it, for the pens have strewn themselves about the house
For other uses, like scribbling on calendars or scraps of paper.

No place holds the honour of the writer's desk
Dust sits by the stacks of papers and books
Items tossed in disarray, no care given to order and polish
Clutter and muss mimic the fuzzy thoughts in my head
Translated to paper now, they would be mushy and old
Leaden in their delivery, my limbs feel the same
My hands move to type, but the letters are heavy
Too heavy for form, too leaden to live, weary from hoping
For the change that lurks somewhere just outside my grasp.

Through the window at the back of my den I can see fall
Sitting in a shroud behind its sister summer
The scene is framed in navy cotton, curtains that are still
Closed to the breezes because of the chill outside.

But I will walk the beaches yet in sweet September air
Letting the coolness penetrate from sand through the soles of my feet
I will sit and watch the waves in their endless laps against the shore
Forests will call my name and I will go to feel the sanctuary there
Once again my pen will move, the bottle will shine with polish
The keys will move in rhythm, the books lined up in order
And again, the magic of words will flow into rhyme, line after line.

cailin raine

Distance

Distance sat in the room like an entity
She had disguised herself as belonging
Pretending to know what she belonged to
Tiny, soft-in-dust rays slid through the high window
In a feathery , soothing mockery of her trying
Trying yet again to feel like she fit in.
Ineptness sat heavily like sodden oatmeal
Clinging to the sides of her, filling her middle
Making it doughy like fresh bread, but there was
A hard, impermeable crust perched on the outer edge.

She had worn this shell in turtle-like fashion for so long
It seemed like she had been born with a covering
Perhaps had been a changeling after all, this substitute
Which sat in typical appearance was really a faery child
Trying to be normal, trying hard to span the distance
Between herself and the others who all spoke with a sameness
A casualness, a “rightness” which she had never been able to mimic.

She sat wondering what it was that made the difference
What had created the forever distance, the detachment…
Inside were pools of warm and bubbling waters, love-drenched
Inside there was a joy-spring of caring and wanting to share
Inside welled the urge to merge and trust and be a part
But humanity loomed like a stranger in the distance.

Maybe it was just too late, too hard to take that step and creep up the stairway
Her heart pounded as she stood on faery toes to look out the upper pane
The paths wound gently from this stone room, down, down towards a pretty river
It flowed into the distance in a dancing, merry gesture that beckoned!
Her heart beat fast, her feet felt slippery, her breath came in tiny gusts
She steadied herself and then she took the stairs... one at a time.

cailin raine

Barrels and Broomsticks

There is a world that I know, beyond the everyday grind of busy and bustle
It is the real life that I live in my head, sometimes hidden and sometimes
Celebrated, that is when I dare to let the curtain rise and I enter unannounced
The me that lets the wind blow and filter through my cotton, white nightgown
When the moon rises high and full and I gather my witches’ spirits together
We drift in the clouds and lie in the sweet, warm grass of herb, stone, and sages
The lot of us…drifting in and out of the wind, stopping to see and listen.

By day I sweep the porch and savor the wood smell, the pine, and broomstick
The smell of straw pricks my nose with its raw texture of grainy wheat, heat
That sends the earthy messages of scents in the breeze and fairies in the rain
I watch my dusty bare toes and relish the brownness of my skin, I am akin
To the Mother of the earth and to the Father of the sky, both shining within me
Alive in the glimmer of my eyes, breathing in the breath of my soul, loving me…
I dance when the chores are done, and think of rabbits in the moonlight.

Soup stews on the stove, old relic of polished, blackened iron, sturdy and solid
I am strong, my bones are mine and the bones of my children grow in vigorous
Worship of the night and of the gods and of healing and life, laughter and love
Sunlight drifts across my kitchen, spirits dance in the beams above the floor
Bread rises to bronzed perfection and I taste the melting butter on crust
He comes from the loft, to share this supper, I watch his blond curls, his throat
Later, his brown hands are strong on my skin, darkness creeps across the bed.

The rain begins softly, tapping lightly the tin of the roof at the back verandah
Its song caught in a torrent that flails itself, sweet water brimming the barrels
Giant drops splatter and bounce on my swept, old-wood boards of the porch
I lean against his length in catlike content, his body smells warm, musky like mine
We watch this rain dance together, lost in the enchantment of the night
He gathers me close in his manly-scented embrace, his lips against my hair
I feel again the passion that we bring to our love, we are lost in life itself.

cailin raine

November 17th, 2009

Some days the clock ticks faster,
Thoughts and deeds and errands and phone calls all pile on top of each other
You end up somewhere later than you would have liked.

The trail stretched enticingly before me laid out in a packed brown dirt ribbon
Boots smacked snow, gravel gritted against the leather grain
Afternoon sun gleamed lower and lower in a late sky
Old railroad ties mark a gate beneath my stride, one by one
On and on I hurry-trudge… marking time because time has hurried so
Hardwood leans over me, topping the trail in a canopy of late November green
I span the concessions in no-time, thoughts leaking from jumble to fresh clarity
Night is falling-fast, all around me, and I have turned to backtrack
Loping the path, car waiting low in its bronze and autumn sheen
The quiet lulling me into content, …silent enjoyment that could not last.

Shrill yelps pierced the air like fresh knives, cutting my thoughts to ribbon shreds
Cries in unison, the pack was out for the early evening hunt, bent on kill
Killing spoke itself into their voices, overlapping, layers shrill in the night air
Squeezing into my heart and my breath and sitting at the edge of my soul
Fresh Cape Breton tragedy news reeling in my mind, freezing my calmness into panic!

I ran
I ran fast and hard, boots smacking strong now, casting all carefulness into survival
Thoughts operated above my head on another level
The coyotes would be out for their evening meal, trained, bent on winning the prize
Swift and lean and strong determination cut the air in energy strands, electric
I could feel them…
The beat of my boots kept time to their never-wavering cries, they would eat
I just hoped it would not be me.

Suddenly their yelps stopped in time to my never-stopping quick steps, on, on
I fervently prayed and hoped in my heart that their prey had been some poor rabbit
And that they were not quietly stalking me, now, getting closer to my heels
In a silence stealthy, cunning, ... my mind told me they would have gotten their kill
But I could not quit until my hand wrenched open my car door and my body sat
Stinging and tired and played out against the welcome softness of the seat
Sighing, the steel ness of the car around me a comfort, cold, protective
The engine purred to life, and the wheels turned around and around
The headlights shone the way through normal traffic,

I was going home.

cailin raine

The Angels' Song

So long I stood in darkness ‘til the Lord lit up my sight
I looked and saw the angels - stand in ethereal light
Again I looked and then perceived the angels ‘round His throne
Thousands, millions sang His songs and no one stood alone
‘Round His throne they stayed and sang with all their heavenly might
All living beings were singing, what a glorious, wondrous sight!

In the end all fell to worship and the bells of heaven rang
Every knee was bent in gratitude, still the angels sang and sang
The Light had shed all darkness and every heart was pure
I knelt in utter love for Him, as the angels' songs rang sure
I melted into gladness as His arms surrounded me
And walked across the streets of gold, right into Eternity.

Colleen Weber

pen name ~ cailin raine

Alkaso City

I was drawn into that place with dust in my face
Kinda haggard and worn out by then
Quite a sight on that old mule, sorry for him
But sorrier for myself.
Oh I knew I was selfish, but that didn’t bother me none
Just wanted to lay my head down on a pillow
With the company of a woman who was willin’.

First bar I seen was like dishes piled up in a stained sink
Stinkin’ and dirty, the noise was like static on an old radio
But it felt like home to me!
Couldn’t wait to tie up Norton, and settle myself on a bar stool
I ordered my first drink in miles, and belted back a cold snort.

How did I end up like this?
Once I had a kinda decent life
Never mind that now, got past wishin’ a long time ago
Got my face in the perfume of a woman’s neck
So my head doesn’t have to think no more, not right now anyways
I’ll wake up in the morning with the slimy grime of cheap lovin’
But some of the ache will be gone, and maybe then I can clear up my head a bit.
Told the old kitchen hand to throw the slop to Norton
Maybe the stable boy bedded him down out of mercy
Like this whore beside me, everyone has some kind of purpose.

Lookin’ out now at the sun shining hard on the porch out back
First time I noticed the sky in ages
Kind of surprised that the woman stayed around
Even brought me taters and grits for breakfast
And hot, strong coffee that stayed in my guts.
She’s sweepin’ out the cabin by the shed, for me, she said.

Maybe I’ll hang around here for a bit, Alkaso might grow on me
Same way her eyes locked onto my face is kinda growin’ on me
Didn’t think I had anything in myself left to give.

Could be wrong again.
　

Colleen Weber

pen name ~ cailin raine

　
　

Driving Alone At Night

Motor humming like my mind…my body buzzing in its seat

Everything moving and yet, everything is still.

Even my heartbeat is indiscernible

The road blends into the landscape and the grasses at the edge

Blur into the centre line…all is one, purring, being joined together

It is the only oneness that I have.

My mind escapes this bond…jumps out over the fences and beyond

Where I have then to look! I have to look at all the yellow lights

Within the cozy homes I pass. The lights beckon me to a another life

With family, time, and togetherness. But I am so alone.

It is those lights that cut me quick

They cut into a part of my soul

That I do not want touched

The part that still quivers

Because my family is gone…that bond is broken and there is no way to fix it.

The lights tell me that there are still those who live that homely life

Behind their snug, curtained windows…curtains that can never hide

The cozy, yellow lights all lined up one after another

In a kind of order that my life now lacks.

I do not want to be reminded of the lack

I do not want to have to look at all those pretty, yellow lights.

Colleen Weber

Pen name ~ cailin raine (1990)

　

Eight Sister Willow Trees

Eight, willow sisters lean in grandness, wispy branches sweeping low
Backed by marsh and mirrors and geese, ducks quacking with content
I stand in awe, there is nothing like a new trail
One I have never been on before…and all the sights
Are fresh and filled with wonder, airy and full of the soft-falling
Night, …the day is darkening, barely perceptible, but evening
Comes softly in shadows and quiet and a calmness that is sweet.

The gravel trail has a loud crunch beneath my hiking boots
The sky is feathered in sprays of white against the soft, pale blue
I sit on the one wooden bench, perched high above the marsh
And watch the silver shooting star, the jet climbing straight up
Its double streak is white and etched with blank spots, tufts now
Below it, black birds glide against the backdrop of dewy night ness
I lean back and smell the cider fragrance of rotting apples fallen.

I trudge on, and watch the blond corn standing still, waiting, all done growing,
Knowing inside the dried-out cobs and the light-stained, yellow leaves
That harvest time will again change the landscape to barren and brown.
Sumacs sit empty of their crimson last stand, bare, furry branches stilled
The backdrop of soft, yielding, white pine trees offer an oasis of green
Verdant abundance amongst the grey and brown, bare, deciduous branches.
High above, the half-moon caps the tranquility with its own stillness.

I stop, staggered, when I spot the doe, she standing like a statue
Trying to outsmart the hunter in orange, hidden way back in the bush.
The contrast is harsh, and I call to her, warning her of her vivid enemy
I am bold, I yell at him loudly, “ I hope you don’t get her!” I scream
It fits the night air, like it knows my meaning, I am sticking up for
One of her own, and the doe runs then to the thicket, and soon I see
The bobcat crouched in the tall grass, she too avoids the strangeness…
Something invades the privacy of nature-filled creation, an oddity now
That lurks in the air, the suggestion of gunpowder, and the stark, orange glare.
Invaders intruding in this artistry softly framed by the graceful, bowing
Branches of the eight, willow, sister trees, trying vainly to stand guard.

Colleen Weber

Pen name ~ cailin raine

AppleWood Fire

The apple wood fire is different

I’ve coaxed a fire in late fall,

Slender sticks cut from Dad’s dead apple tree.

Surprising sweet scent accosts the nostrils

Worms its way inside your nose,

Fills you with sugary warmth

Akin to maple syrup on warm pancakes,

Aroma wafting towards your face

A subtle caressing of skin and sharpened senses,

…blossoms in your mind.

The wood stove crackles and snaps

Like the branches on the summer, apple tree.

Warmth penetrates and permeates

Inching its way into corners and cracks and closets.

I fetch a plaid throw blanket from the cold spare room

And find the apple coziness there too.

Apple wood burns and gives a sweetness which

Hangs snugly in cinnamon air.

The room is bathed in applesauce gold

I am curled in slumber on the grey, fur rug, toes content

Soft warmed hands like dough

Hair coiled like leaves about baby apples,

I am caught in apple wood magic flames.

Sleep comes easily in front of the hearth

I dream of other gifts

Like the magic of sea grass turned silver

And waves that lap beneath the moon rising high

On a summer night when beach sand holds the warmth of the sun.

My brown, bare toes quivering, kissed by the night dew as

I dance beside the shimmering, blazing waves.

Outside the frost burns white

On orange, shrunken pumpkins.

pen name ~ cailin raine