First Impressions

First Impressions

Between the
beginning and end
Of every moment

Someone – ought
to kiss that woman

I was sitting with a friend, enjoying a glass of wine, when an older gentleman reached over and passed me a light blue sticky note. This is what it read. How delightful!

Compare that with the other fellow.



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

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

Intellectual Property

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

Les pensées d’une étudiante

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



Uncle Denis

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,


Yukon Winter Day (Haiku)

Sun is shining bright

Cold, still air; blue skies above

Winter sundogs high


 Sundog Picture and information at ExploreNorth

The Sound of Discourse

Parrots at Sauble Beach

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.