WHAT KIND O’ SCOTCH

When I go astepping down
To see the grand ado
With the passing floats of flowers
And the pretty lassies too,
My heart s standing tiptoe
Before the fine array,
But it’s the bonnie Highlanders
That lilt my heart away.

My name was once McCallum,
It’s a plaidy thru’ and thru’ …
One grandpa’s name was Murdoch,
And the others name was Hugh;
And when I harken to the bagpipes
My blood just won’t forget
There’s a wee drop of Scotch
Left in me yet.

The Kilts are set to whirlin’
As the pipes go marching by,
And the sporrans bob in rythm
And the plaidies streamers fly….
My heart keeps dancing after
Till the piping fades and swoons,
And I go home asinging
Of all the Scottish tunes.

My name was once McCallum,
It’s a plaidy thru’ and thru’
One grandpa’s name was Murdoch,
And the others name was Hugh;
And when I harken to the bagpipes
My blood just won’t forget
There’s a wee drop of Scotch
Left in me yet.

SPRING

Clean, clean clothes are flapping
And dancing on the line,
The table cloth and bed sheets
Billow high,
There’s the creaking of the pulley
As the wire swings to and fro,
And the work shirts swooping, snapping
As they fly.

Small boys are playing marbles
In the middle of the road,
Their grubby fingers skillful
In their aim,
The blackbirds are a hopping
And cock a theiving eye
At the rolling colored jewels
Used in the game.

And little girls with pigtails
And lanky swinging hair,
Are singing singsong verses
As they skip,
The ropes are arched to heaven
And bliss is found within,
And they are garlanded with laughter
As they trip.

There’s a robin in my garden,
Who is tugging at a worm,
His slippery lunch rebounding
With a snap;
It is golden on my doorstep
With sunbeams in my eyes…..
And Spring has tossed her treasures
In my lap.

ON MY CHILDHOOD

Where is that lost, lost child
Whose feet long sought a road home;
Who hung back in the night
Looking at fathers and mothers
With the searching eyes of her heart;
Where is that lost, lost child
Who lived the lonely life?

Where is that child…the marriage sacrifice…
Whose laughter only touched her lips
And found no root in tears…
That shunted one…that homeless one,
Whose childhood fled before..
And left empty hands outstretched
Towards a vision…a fading dream?

She is here…imprisoned now,
Homebound in this woman’s heart of mine…
I suckle her loneliness…
I clasp her close..close…
My bosom’s wide enough
For child and woman
And they embrace and comfort one another.

The Joy Flower

I love the humble dandylion
The children’s token of esteem,
Picked with full hearts for Mother,
I want to other, no other,
‘Twould even seem….
No other could be so fine
For me, or so very rare….
My own childhood is here,
My own sweet babies’ joys,
My two dear boys,
Gift bearing appear…..
The gift so fair,
‘Twould make angels sing.

The free flower, dandylion,
Blessed by the innocent,
Beloved by me….
Beloved by me….
As the dearest love sign,
A precious moment spent
To bring me joy…
A thought too delicate
to oft repeat,
And oh, so sweet,
I scarce relate
The tale or toy
With memory without a tear.

The fast fleeing dandylion
A few short summers here,
And then in scorn!
(I only mourn).
The rose, the tulip shine,
(And bought so dear!)
Oh, shabby weed
You graced my breast,
And my sons’ babes will bear,
To my grey heart and hair,
To a Mother blessed,
A grand bouquet indeed,
A trice found joy in life.

TO KENNETH – The Lighthearted.

Bluebird, bluebird through my window,
Bright and light as sunny skies,
Fluttering laughter…echoed after,
Twinkled starlight in your eyes…
Born to sweet determination….
Peeking, seeking, bluest dove….
Entire teasing…..exit pleasing…
You are the honey of my love.

********************

The flowers in my garden have children’s faces,
And I the loving gardener working there
Tenderly have watched the blooms unfolding
And Nature never seemed half so fair
As now…when I the cultivator,
Have dug my fingers deep within the soil,
And seen the seedlings spring to beauty..
The satisfaction far outshines the toil.

TO JOHN – A Dreamer Born.

Little boy dreamer
What see you now…
In far away visions
That brush on your brow?
The craft of the dreamer
Is dipping her prow
Through adventuring waters
And unchartered seas
And hoisting the mainsail
To each calling breeze,
The wheel s now turning
To set course with ease.

Little boy skipper
Whipping your barque
Into future unknown,
To horizons still dark,
With the gift of a dreamer
And joy of a lark….
Soft eyes are trusting
The mind’s happy view
Of waves yet unruffled
And sparkling like dew……
May your ship sail on lightly
My dreamer, for you.

********************

TO MY SONS

Drink deep my sons, drink deep of life,
For naught but the thirsty soul tastes true,
I have no riches else to give
But a zest for life to you.
And Oh! For the call of her lusty voice…
And the sight of her swinging stride…
And her wild arms, and her wild charms,
And her keen sharp thrill inside.

And Oh! to catch the breath of lfe,
The phantom whiff of heady brew,
I have no greater hope
Than it be caught by you…..
And Oh! for the gleam of her loving eye,
That shines on her favored ones…..
And her curved thigh and her deep sigh,
And you’ll be men, my sons.

TO MARCE

You see nature through a deeper heart than mine,
Born of something wild and kindred
To her ways,
Your eyes find peace and comfort
In the distant hills….and stony crags
Are fire to your gaze.

You are filled with all the hidden yesterdays of man,
That leaping, longing, that has no memory
Of ancient forest shade,
This is your homecoming….your eternal rest
When you lie……………contently
In the grassy glade.

And I am lone…and tremble in my want,
Losing you to nature…..completely
For an hour………
I am lone, lone with my inheritance of pavements,
My soul sees nothing n a flower
But a flower.

There will come a day…a calm, sweet day
And wistfully I’ll watch you go
A kindly sage,
Leading our sons, whose soft soft eyes
Are filled with wonder……
To meet their heritage.

*****************
(ii)
In the depth of your eyes
I see my destiny,
And know I will be
With you always…..
And generations hence
We will fleck an iris
Of our own begetting,
And yield a pupil
Deeper still, with love.

*****************
(iii)

Were I a bird
Gifted with a song
So sweet, that only those
Who loved could hear
The tender melody
Winged from my soul…..
Wafted like vapor,
Essence of the mother-sea;
And each note
Was sure and pointed,
An arrow from my bow,
‘Twould be Beloved,
My best Beloved,
A song of thee.

RIVER OF BLOOD

And truly I cry unto you for all humanity
That we must change our politics,
For now a United Front is naught
But a River of Blood is carrying
H.M.S. Capitalist upstream
To golden waters:
And you reject Communism not through fear…..
But in hope that you may scramble aboard
The passing craft!
Dictatorship? We want no dictator…….
And must not wait until we rise up
In rebellion and need an iron fist………
But rather I commend to you, that we
Bring about an orderly government
That pays no homage to that ridiculous
Puppet across the sea…….but only
To that vast vast master it serves,
You, the People.

Godless? Is communism Godless?
Let men freely seek the true meaning of God
And they will rejoice the powerful force
Of brotherly love.
Oh, I cry to you from this wilderness,
Where babies crawl from their mothers’ wombs
To the sound of drums and into the face
Of the cannon;
And I cry to you lest the River of Blood
Become a sea.

THE CRIMSON MAPLE

On that quiet April dawn, four years ago,
When I opened my eyes and heart to ribbons of sun
And a new baby’s crying voice………
I tasted the nectar of my womanhood.
No mock Princess, I……delivered of a child!
But unto me a child was born
And I embraced my son.

No vain dishonest woman, I……to set my flesh
Above that of my fellow men,
But here is one who occupies an equal place
Among you and calls all men brothers:
And here is one who is happy to sit with you
And be lost in the sea of faces……
Knowing it to be the only true level.

And I will teach my son that all men are kin,
That not one of these should sit higher than the other;
That men who sweat are equal to those who think,
And man’s goodwill as deserving of food
As man’s superior ability;
That one man starved….one man exploited
Threatens all the fruit with rot.

If this is communism, them I am communist,
My son is communist, My home is communist:
And I will not move one jot from my belief
Lest I lose my place with man……….
No mock Royalty, we……To be served,
But living by that golden standard,
Loving one another.
-----------------------------------------
(ii)
As I have sad, I am a communist;
And have joyously declared the equality of man,
And damned by my own damns
All other systems, holding communism a true plan.

But I have not said I believe in Russia,
I have no proof of good and have heard much ill;
But against any tyranny, be it money or labor,
I have set my heart and pen with a will.

THE QUIVERING FEATHER

Came the Daughter of the Forest,
Quietly from out the woodland,
To the fire burning brightly,
To her father and her mother,
Old they were and full of wrinkles,
Old they were and full of sorrows,
Of the years they'd spent in living,
Living in the land of whitemen.....
Living side by side like brothers...
Watching from the burning fire
All the waste and rush of cities,
All the raping of the flatlands,
All the cutting down of forests;
Silent by their fire watching
While their tears ran down inside them,
While their faces agend and wrinkled,
While their hearts throbbed with sorrow,
Came the Daughter of the Forest
To her Father and her mother.

Came the Daughter of the Forest
With her hands spready out before her
Close unto the burning fire,
Close beside the man and woman
Squatting silent in the clearing,
Then she gave them loving greeting,
Hugging one and then the other;
Siting[sic] close beside her father,
Waiting for the moon in rising,
Thinking of her new made lover,
Dreaming of a pleasant future,
Dreaming there beside the fire
Was the Daughter of the Forest.

Then her father's voice so softly
Filled the dusk with gentle echoes,
As he spoke unto his daughter,
While the tears ran down inside him,
While they filled his heart and swelled it,
Till his chest was nigh to splitting,
Splitting there beside the fire....
That his tears might flow beside it......
Came his voice unto the twighlight
To the ear of his own daughter,
Changed her from a girl to woman,
Gave her eyes a look of saddness,
Shook her heart and made it tremble,
While she listened by the fire.

Once, O' Daughter of the Forest,
Redmen skimmed the great St. Lawrence,
Dwelt beside the running water,
Hunted Buffalo on the flatlands,
Stalked the moose upon the mountain,
Tanned the skins throughout the summer,
Bronzed their bodies in the sunshine,
Made canoes and fashioned arrows,
Stood in awe of natures wonders,
Knew their Gods and called them mighty,
Heard the birds that sing so sweetly,
Heard the wind in all his glory,
Saw the trees bow down before him,
Felt the rain and dew in morning,
Watched the stars that came at nightfall,
Place their blankets o'er the maiden,
Carved the cradles for their babies,
Called their council round the fire,
Donned the slender quivering feather,
Beat their drums and danced the war dance,
Wept their tears upon the warrior,
Long forgotten now, O' Daughter.

Then O Daughter of the Forest,
Whitemen sailed the great St. Lawrence,
Seized this land with wondrous beauty,
Brought with him the grime of cities,
Brought the sweat and filth of factories,
Killed the buffalo on the prairies,
Put us in the reservations,
Call us breeds and act unkindly,
Brought their God and swear he's holy,
Cal our blanket marriage evil,
Took away our bow and arrow,
Gave us then a gun and bayonette,
Made a great atomic weapon;
Weep, O Daughter of the forest,
Let your tears fall on the cradle,
Let them rain upon the grasses,
Let them cleanse polluted waters,
Weep your tears on stone and mosses,
Weep on Canada.....O Daughter,
Spilt blood, too soon, will lay forgotten.

Then wept the Daughter of the Forest,
There beside the burning fire....
There beside the man and woman,
Wept she tears there before them,
Let them fall there in the clearing,
Let them spread along the pathway,
Touching grass and stone and mosses,
Till her shoulders shook with sobbing,
Wept she tears that filled the country,
And whenever true men gather
Will her tears flow there among them,
They will know then of her sorrow,
They will listen to her weeping,
And their hearts will hang so heavy
Until they can say together......
Weep no more O saddened Daughter,
Canada has peace forever.

I AM THE WIND

I am the wind that whips the sails
Of the yawls on English Bay,
And I toss the waves from rocky caves
To catch the sun on a summer's day;
I am the wind that thrills the grass
On the lawns beside the sea,
And I nod the heads in the flower beds
Like a gossiping ladies tea.

I am the wind that sways the trees,
On the shores of Lost Lagoon,
And I fling the spray of the fountain's play
In the gelam of the evening moon,
I am the wind, the wind, the wind,
That carries the cry of the homing bark
Through the whispering trees and the misty lees,
And the shadows of Stanley Park.

STANLEY PARK

The spongy moss beneath the lingering foot,
On byways of the tangled fern and root,
O a dark damp smell the forest flings,
Avenued by creeping crawling things;
A lovers' paradise, Nature's pond,
An open road for the Sunday Vagabond,
A childhood wonderland of bears and slides,
A sportsman's club, the honeymoon for brides,
Youth's own garden, beauty's breast,
Beneath the evening paper an old man's rest.
*****************

COMMUNISM

I am the Vengeance,
That tattered hag of hate,
I am the cruel....I wait
To shred those who starve children,
Spear those who flign blood high,
Purge those who brought only sorrow,
I am the knife of revenge, my day is nigh.

I am in a state of revolution,
Having been revolted against all my days,
I am my own law, my own supreme emotion,
I have learned the cunning ways
Of the monsters............
Who gouged my fathers' eye
I am the lurking shadow in death,
I am the agony, I am the cry.

I will avenge myself and celebrate my victory!
I am near....I am near at last......
I have gathered my strength together
Under the watch of the guards, I am passed
The gates that were locked to me......
My enemy is snared....weak is his voice:
I am the throne of State,
The sword of the just, Rejoice! Rejoice!

ISRAEL

He turns his eyes to the East
And yea, even his blistered feet
Drag slowly home:
This travel-weary specimen of man;
My fathers' shame and mine
Condemned to roam
Through history's sins and blood dipped pen,
A jest for Kings, a middle-man for War;
And still he grew!
Still he grew! With a gifted hand,
A surgeon, a scientist, a bard.....
The wandering Jew.

He turns his eyes to the East
And yea, his heart propells him forth
To that small place,
That arrid strip of toil and miracle;
That well of Jewry between teeth of steel,
Birthplace of his race....
Israel....the bootmark of the world!
Israel....the saber-slashed and torn!
With entrails strew
From North to South...from East to West
And spattered on the Robe of Justice...
O Home of the Jew.

Her turneth his eyes to the East
From whence his soul cometh
And his religion drank.....
And he looketh for green valleys of peace,
And oil for his head and water for his feet...
He cometh in rank.
His women cry behind him in their poverty,
And his children hunger after friendship....
And at their tryst
They turneth their eyes to heaven..........
And I, evenI[sic], call unto God,
"Bring forth their Christ!"

He turns his eyes to the East
To a teeming strip of land,
And we of the West
Are girdled with soil...fattened with soil!
He travels shunned and weary
And we have rest.
We are the homeless for our lack of heart;
We are the shunned for our narrow souls;
Hating is bitter brew,
And I am shamed...................I am shamed
That he is weary, the he is worn O Jew, Jew
My brother Jew.

Untitled

[This page was loose amongst her poems, so it is possible that it is the last two verses to another poem]

Each man makes his own God,
Or if his brain is slow,
He borrows one from all the Gods
Created years ago.
For minds are smal and so are Gods
And heaven is a dream...........
It is the cruelest tyranny
That one should be supreme.

Yea, men are fools creating Gods
As small and weak as thought,
While brotherhood and commonsense
Are left lying here to rot.
For the forces that began the whole
Are not for men to style,
But we have the power in our hearts
To make the whole worth while.

The Launchings.

I saw the frigates plunge away
From the bondage in the slips...
And the launchers cheered
As the stout prows reared
And the waves leaped to the ships.

And the men who sweated out the day,
Yelled loud when the ships were free,
Their young sons died,
And their women cried,
To keep the ships at sea.

I saw them from where I sat aloft,
Ordering nails and drills and steel,
They flung caps high
And arose to cry
When the captain took the wheel.

And men who starved a few years back,
Yelled loud when the ships were free,
Their young sons died,
And their women cried,
To keep the ships at sea.

And men who ate when others starved,
Hastened to end their day
With a banquet fine,
Their fill of wine,
And to salt their gold away.

And men who had no gold to salt....
Yelled loud when the ships were free,
Their young sons died,
And their women cried,
To keep the ships at sea.

WANDERLUST

From our weary daily grind
Let us run away and hide,
Seek a spot where non will find us,
Leaving care and debts behind us,
And the duties now assigned us,
And the trials by which we're tried.

Let us fill our lungs with freedom
As we flee the nest this morn,
Take the first road nortward turning,
To the Yukon's icy churning,
Take my careless rover's yearning,
These five years sadly worn.

There find Nature's blazing beauty,
Spartan grandeur yet untamed,
There let northwind rant and scold me,
And the wilderness enfold me,
With wild wild bonds to hold me
With a love that's unashamed.

In Spring let us be in Yukon
For the quickening of her earth,
And the many waters flushing
Fetus after fetus rushing.......
Crying, heaving, gushing......
And the bursting forth in birth.

O take this slumbering rover
By the weeds of duty lain....
Set her sleepy heart in motion,
Fill her mind with hope and notion,
Let adventure be her potion,
Then she will live again.

Let us see the northern heavens
Shot with daggers of the sun,
Crimson daggers of the dawning,
Spreading outward, ever spawning,
Till the sky's a crimson awning
And the Yukon's day's begun.

Let us drink our fill of sunshine,
Quench our thirst for virgin ground,
Till our very souls are racing
WIth the Yukon's vivid tracing,
And our hearts are windward facing,
Grown young from sight and sound.

Take me far....but let me travel
With a wandering foot and free....
Resting sometimes, stopping never,
Going on and on forever....
Till death knives rudely sever
The wander lust and me.

Take me quickly when I ask it,
For I'm bound and rooted here,
One light tug now will take me
From the home where children stake [...]
But tomorrow none will shake me
From a duty grown dear.

Murmurs

[This is the second of two poems with the same title]

I am weary, weary and despaired of man,
Tired of his many groans,
Sick deep in my heart and aching,
Grief is gnawing at my bones:
I am tempted to lay me down
Lazily beside the human sea,
Close my discouraged eyes
And live for me, just for me.

***************************

MURMURS

[This is number one of two different poems of the same title]

Speak not of heroes,
Nor heap me with honor
Nor plac the gold star
On the ground where I lie;
But weep for me,
Weep for me, weep for me ever,
War is a useless
And vain way to die.

Speak not of courage,
Nor yet dream of glory,
Nor fill all the children
With War's dreadful lie;
But week for me,
Weep for me, weep for me ever,
War is useless
And vain way to die.

Speak not of freedom
Where the negro is beaten,
Nor high standards of living
Where starved babies cry;
But weep for me,
Weep for me, weep for me ever,
War is a useless
And vain way to die.

Gather my children
All there about you,
Make of them worldlings
With no flag to fly;
And weep for me,
Weep for me, weep for me ever,
War is a wasteful
And sad way to die.

****************

They opened soup kitchens this year,
And hungry men shivered in the snow
Waiting for charity.............
And Industry wallowed in her profits ........
Yet they talk of War!.
But do not hear the murmurs
Rising in the wind.