At The Airport

Canadian cities
are remote and scattered
islands
on a shipless sea
of empty land

There is room in Canada
to stretch legs
arms to limitless sky

a place to stand and sit
or walk away
from crowds
a place to be at peace
from prying eyes

a place where beauty
is tossed
scattered
in profligate
abandon

A place where individuals
encircled each within
a private forrest
of contented solitude
walk unhindered
even among crowds
in arboreal peace
within themselves

When visiting a forrest
speak no louder
than a tree


by c van gorkom

THE PRACTICE

“You are a kind man”
she says
“you are kind,
and kindness goes a long way
with me.”

why would I not be kind
I am a gardener

why would I not be kind
I make shoes
for hurting feet

why would I not be kind
I take words and weave them
into ropes
to drop down wells
where men have fallen

why would I not be kind
I practice to die
for an innocent man.


by c van gorkom

The Concert Never Ends

Rain drips and drops
from my eaves
to Baroque violin and guitar

Fire crackles in my stove,
its chimney smoke
blends and folds
above my roof,
trims autumn’s ragged
low-hanging mists
in Rococo designs.

My lawn is littered
with wet leaves,
summer’s golden tones,
sounded and fading away.

Berry canes
along my garden fence
now stand stripped,
skeletal and shivering,
like unemployed musicians,
whose concert season
is done.

In musty cellars
of an ancient book,
I savor the notes,
sipping sweet
oak-seasoned
wine of their bearing.


by c van gorkom

Looming

Summer is broken,
scattered ankle deep
in golden and scarlet shards
across autumn-green grass
under naked trees.

Shivering in nakedness of my own,
I walk among the wreckage
of memories,
dreams that could not fly,
small hopes actually fulfilled,
prayers answered and forgotten,
fallen leaves whose time
has come to replenish soil.

Fall is the time of repentance,
gathering those nourishing words
with my food and fuel,
filling my pantry,
replenishing my soul.

I must seal my nest
against the looming
pure white darkness.

Lady Winter

If one were to pour
a handful of diamonds,
sun-glinting,
from one hand into another,
so is my river
this cold October noon;

It carries small cargo
of golden leaves;
steel-head trout
silver-flash
in its crystal depths;

there are announcements
of ice upon its banks,
Snow sends emissaries
in royal purple clouds,

Lady Winter soon arrives
with flurries of dancing courtiers,
comes to take
the healing waters
of my river.




by c van gorkom