Yukon Chatter Bug

The sound of your deep voice
Producing smiles everywhere around you
Your laughter…

We looked up to you
Didn’t you know?
The weight of your words
Didn’t you see?

Wisdom without flaunting it
Courage dismissed
Making people feel
Appreciated
Important
Respected
Valued

All along, YOU were these things to everyone who knew you.

And still are.

Don’t you know?

In memory of Charles “Chip” Roland Leutz
October 4, 1950 – October 16, 2006

Life in Colour

The colours are alive: vivid, bright, bold

My eyes look toward them and try to behold

Stretching my hand out to touch them, to feel them

I reach out with fingers, cooing and giggling.

Each has its own name: red, yellow, blue

I learn to mix them and draw pictures of you

With shapes and dots and lines and colour

I blend them together to see what I discover.

Beyond the canvas, the colours mature

The lines come alive until I am not sure

If it’s my imagination, if it’s all in my head

Or can I read a message the artist has said?

Now my eyes struggle; they squint and they strain

I try even harder, but the clouds just remain

The lines are all blurred, and the lights have been dimmed

The colours have faded………………

Colours flutter all around

And piles of leaves abound

Nothing heard except the sound

Of rustling leaves on ground

Yellow, orange, red, and brown

Multicolours draping down

On every face removes the frown

When Mother Nature sheds her gown

For years traditions have been blessed
With the oldest form of largesse
From a host a bequest
Rights and property to a guest

For West Coast Natives in B.C.
To sing and dance for company
One needs permission granted, you see
To perform someone else’s work for thee

Whenever I witness a First Nations dance
It is always mentioned, and not happenstance,
A thankful remark for having the chance
To perform another clan’s special dance

Copyright laws of this century
Spur lawsuits for people downloading free
We’d be rid of Mariahs, Justins, and Britneys
Oh the changes we’d see in that industry!

Only the Fitzgeralds, the Kings and the like
Those for whom music is not just a hype
Their bodies and souls require their type
To keep singing and playing, regardless of shite

Quand je pense à ma vie

Ici, souvent je m’ennuie

La fatigue et les affaires

D’école et du travail

De rien, maintenant, je raffole

Au manoir, je deviens folle

Les amis et les ennuis

J’ai seulement hâte qu’ça soit fini

Livre après livre

Les pages deviennent tordues

Lettres embrouillées

Mes pensées perdues

Tannée d’expliquer

Ce que je pense, ce que je sais

Je ne veux plus étudier

Ni parler, ni penser

Puis-je me reposer?

Prendre un somme et rêver?

Sans être obligée

D’utiliser ma pensée?

Est-ce presque fini

Ce martyre non béni?

Cette torture psychologique

Qui affecte mon physique

Maux de tête

La fatigue

Une tempête

Psychologique?

I once knew a man named Denis

So fit that he still could play tennis

Even now that he’s old

If truth be told

We’re careful ’cause he’s still a menace

Don’t fret if you’re looking for him

You’ll find him fiddling with somethin’

Under a car’s hood

Or in the neighbourhood

Of something in need of a fixin’

Avec amour,

xo

Voices can be heard
Like the rumble of the train -
Lively, loud, in conversation.
But with barely a word,
The sound subsides
Until only the hissing can be heard.
And finally, it, too, dies.

No more discourse.

Learning stays within the box,
That which is in the agenda
Or on the track
Of the one for whom
The taking of the post
Was in the hopes
Of making a difference.

Instead, it was a hindrance.

A hindrance to whom the voices belonged,
To discourse,
And to freedom of thought.