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