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