The Ovens Campground NS
Our cabin is
a secluded white
splash of colour within the green
shelter of tall firs on one side
raspberry bushes and alders on the
other
a sheltered haven.
Windows look out over Rose Bay
ocean's roar calling us to play.
Our picnic table awaits further memories
used by young and old over
many years
aged stain matching
heat-raised roof shingles.
The path is a winding journey to
spent gold mining caves
our cheerful melodies alerted by an
anxious squirrel
red tail flicking
agitated
not used to adults and their noisy times.
The sun is warm
shadows a cool serenade.
Ocean woods
trees and cabin
a camouflage of afternoon breeze.
© Richard L. Provencher 2009
Season Opener
Salmon fishermen
hurry to choicest spots
along the shore
of River Margaree
fishing hats faded from
veteran seasons
their home-made flies
in fancy colours
sons and fathers ignoring
rain and morning mist
bites coming
at a feverish pace.
© Richard L. Provencher 2009
Movement
Waves share the
shoreline
whitecaps surfing
feet in-sand
sinking
I dance
with evening's
rush.
Seagulls pirouette
above
Northumberland Strait
high tide
reclaiming empty
ocean space.
© Richard L. Provencher 2009
Little Rock Arkansas
Car exhausts provide
downtown trails
through
crowded passageways
connecting old
and new.
Heritage buildings
mixed in with skyscrapers
and parking garages.
People-filled taxis
provide a
bridge
on water's
photographed edge.
© Richard L. Provencher 2009
Life is a Knuckle
My eyes follow a
young lady
as she meanders
through aisles
her smile a lure for
my worldly ways
cares not for the
crinkle of packaging
nor hand-reach
for all wants.
I am a voyeur that
risks everything
my career
community standing
so I may study
her secret.
At times grocery-laden
carts block my
view
seeking is a journey
knowing she is
homeless
said so as we chatted
on the street
one day.
Her trademark
no cares it seems
how does she do it
stacks against
my brain.
She’s coy
knows I watch
sees my groceries
she has none
just a grin
on her no-need-to
worry face.
© Richard L. Provencher 2008
A Long Line
of geese stampede through November
clouds, arising from an early
Alberta morning
their V-formations a Royal wedding
scudding south, leaving
memories of green pastures, salient
lakes and a
wilderness of plenty.
An ancient path leads across borders,
states and hidden sloughs
where a fury of sound awaits, hunters
in suits of deceit
planning new rules of engagement.
Within the confusion, tired wings
flee rest, losing leaders
in quick succession
and soon, too many vagabond
warriors lay face to face in stillness.
And somewhere beyond the voice
of shotgun thunder, goblets of
exclamation begin toasting someone’s
misplaced manhood.
October Journey
is a wind of festivity, maple
leaves clinging
desperately
during Autumn’s ritual
countless curlicues
descending as
a flotilla
of curled-up edges.
Orange, reddish-hue
and yellow tinges tumble
from lofty spires
to historic journeys
below, a
leafy dance, in one last
trembling fling.
The Last Day in September
when leaves parade before an Autumn
wind sheep shuffling hooves to pens
baaing for grain trees dressed
in Poplar and Fir surrounding us
a kaleidoscope of feathers scuffling
from one feeder to another
woodcutter’s birch in scattered
heaps dogs slumbering
within familiar sounds and I marvel at
the stillness now llamas are
trotting to a new patch of grass
Dexter cattle mooing happily as they
bend and chew a donkey’s harsh
braying my lady and I watching
and listening on an afternoon
of one sunny Alberta day.
Wildlife Sanctuary
Canada geese are
fat and poopy on this game preserve.
Step right up and see for yourself
folks, and give a donation.
Down from James Bay not so long ago.
Then they were wild beauties
untrusting
firm of muscle from long flights,
wings as strong as the wind
carrying them a thousand miles south.
Now they shuffle to your handout
the promise of an easy guzzle
these tamed web-foots,
scrounging off an old enemy.
All Poems © Richard L. Provencher. All Rights Reserved.
|
|
