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