yule poems

i)

ragged notebook on garage floor

inches from melted snow puddle

front cover loose and torn

taped back on

new poems today

ii)

the night before

the night before Christmas

promise of snow...

just slashing white sleet

iii)

twin orphan fauns

walk the fence line

up the frozen hill

into the cedars

two scenes

"news" thick with doom

algorithms of  filthy lucre...death

"social" media swipes

skits on a tiny screen

pulling your gaze deep

woodland walk

a rugged trail between 

icy cornfields and a rocky ridge

out deep with the deer, 

the pheasants, the quails

early winter

crimson flurry

a whirling flapping burst of red

two male cardinals

scattering the grey chickadees

and pretty slate juncos

seeds fly 

fall from the feeder

squirrel bounds

over fresh snow

to feast 

Milton Road Poem

attention drifts to a barren tree

...that's a big bird

an owl, a hawk, a  raven?

no

the head is blended invisible

into the grey November sky

a bald eagle

scanning for rabbits

along the cold creek banks

the season

macabre pumpkins melt

rotten orange goo 

between deck cracks

snow skiffs swirl

blowing a pinless poppy

into the ditch

newly unboxed lights

LED brightness beams

sparkle over new snow

fragments from the road

rearview make-up applied

gas pedal pressed to make up last time

stop signs rolled and full out blown

Lexus bumper suspended

with shredding duct tape

bent plastic fenders line the ditch

"kids" laying rubber out by the lake

Coors can rolling on the shoulder

beside the new black stripes

El Día de Muertos

a little wall hung shrine

golden framed photo

of a tiny one

born with a broken heart

ceramic knick-knack 

kept on display

for 45 years

cross stitched art

dates of birth and death

not a mote of dust

today - this 

el Día de Muertos

a new candle is lit

forest edge poem

bits of wood flying

from a dead tree hole

woodpecker

red squirrel

a porcupine?

masked face looks out

surveys the forest edge

yawns

curls back inside 

a long ringed tales

blows in the breeze

the fence

a few holes

here and there

rotted out cross beam

about to fall

whole section sagging

posts leaning

into the yard

tired monk approaches

tool belt over robes

boxes of nails, and deck screws

sawdust in sunlight

fresh new wood

(donated at that!)

fixed straight and true

lastly

the gate is rehung

latched up tight

and that's right

 

When you've got so much to say it's called gratitude
And that's right...

gratitude 

collected compiled

in a new leather journal

pondered

before one drifts to sleep

thinking back 

over precious moments

a smile

a laugh

a minute of peace, 

quiet solitude

or

spotted and appreciated

right in real time

constant

consistent

beautiful

gratitude

and that's right

deers and beers

one fawn deer eating

her brother approaches

little sheepish bleats

as he comes through the hedge

the don’t see me 

and munch a few more 

fallen crab apples

I crack another cold can

of German pilsner

they leap up

and white tail away

bounding over lawn chairs

and fallen trees

into the forest deep

accident

accident up on the new highway

crumpled metal, tire in the ditch

smoke in the sky

glass over three lanes

cars, trucks, delivery vans

drive down onto old country roads

avoiding gridlock grief

most speed past

rolling stop signs

blasting gravel road dust

a few stop...then more

at the farmer's stand

they purchase crisp apples

huge field pumpkins, and 

big bunches of beets

then slow and easy

back to the city

Culture

culture?

I didn't think you had a culture...

...hmm?

well we did

fires and flat top guitars

and beers passed around

a dozen, or so,  people singing

just belting out

Thorn in my Pride

Wheat Kings

Rockin' in the Free World

Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town

 - and so many more

bonding over our Columbia House CDs 

cassette tape libraries

shared, copied, and copied again

townies soaking up the sounds

in a warm beer buzz

campfire whisky

fire light through

Glencairn glass

amber whisky swirls

intense smoky peat

figs, dates, vanilla,

a touch of sea air

   wafting 

in the evening breeze

Sentinel

4 am 

low motor sound in the cul de sac

black sedan full of young men...boys?

scanning for opportunity

key fob relay thieves, or

tools from the trailer out front

 - maybe gas from the shed

the tired monk emerges

from the cedars

puts down his morning tea

120 000 lumen flashlight

clicks on 

illuminates the temple yard, 

and startled faces

one burglar turns

jogs away

jumps...splosh!

lands in thick ditch muck

tumbles into the side door, and away

one shoe remains 

stuck in weedy slime

dozer

bulldozer rumbles

ploughing over trees

pulling up roots

that cling to ice age rock

tremors shake

mud quakes

windows rattle

I turn the radio up

and look away

rain shadow

484 kilometers away...

...lets call it 500 

the rain has passed

raging fires are quenched

a few wisps of steam 

     the air crisp clean 

here the rain storm of the north

is just a steady mist now

the tired monk dribbles

shoots bank shots

swishes mid range jumpers

under the maple tree rain shadow

hooping

tree shade over the driveway

phife dawg rhythm 

bouncy old school beats

dribble step back three

can't miss

hooping in the early June heat.  

out by the fence

May rains June heat

lush soaring weeds

fat rabbit by the fence

Radio Silence

one more big stretch to go

big city radio station

finally within range

first tolls of

Acca Dacca bells

next brother Gord

sings of New Orleans

blessed trifecta rounded off

with Neil's blazing licks

I'm indeed Rockin' in the Free World

radio cranked to 11

...commercial break...

a mellow set

The Tired monk sings

Lost Together

out the window 

cows look up chewing

then...

opening chords of

New Kid in Town

radio clicks off

silence 

on the open road

The Dude was right.

the Collected Works

The Collected Works: Poems by Brother Ollie the Tired Monk

This looks so much better all opened up...  I'll work on my cover design for my next book (My Collected Haiku).  I'm a total amateur in the realm of book publishing, but it is nice to have a printed version.

Thanks to Sherry Blue Sky for the Foreword.

Visit my bookstore via this link:

The Collected Works of Brother Ollie   Tired Monk Poems 2009-2023 

the edge

mowing less

letting it grow out on the edge

aspens, spruce, and baby maples 

shoot up above the long grass

makings of a mini-forest

volunteer flowers

that have floated seeds

on a breeze

grow with the wild trout lilies

a few fallen logs

dragged into the furthest shadows

damp and rotting slow

a perfect salamander home

oh this wild edge

Walking Poems

1.  The Tip

tangled weeds

mangled trees

growing up through 

a rusty washing machine

cabinet record player 

rotten and pulped

glistening smashed

TV screen glass

a push lawn mower

twisted blade 

bent handle

two snowmobiles

sinking into the earth

scattered Labatt 50

stubby brown bottles

2. Trilliums

white trilliums

hundreds? 

thousands?

deeper down the path

out on the edge 

of a shady glade

one red trillium

3.  Jimi

singing 

"I stand up next to a mountain"

loud 

echoing down the path

into suburban windows

 - just out walking 

 - collecting moments in poems

spring walk

beaver crossed  here

dragging a tree branch

foxes and coyotes mingling

with cattle dogs

a deer straight down the trail

then through the cattails 

deep horse hoof prints

walking side by side

tracks in spring melt mud

Sacred

the forest path

the inner sanctum 

inside temple doors

in a truck

driving down 

back country lanes

a desk scattered 

with papers

and coffee cup debris

the smoke break bench

everywhere is sacred

Come outside

 the Abbess:

"come outside

it is loud

you'll love it."

the monk is confused

...then remembers:

"are the peepers out?"

they are  

with loud forest calls

oh this spring chorus

frogs thriving

in perfect woodland ponds

I love it.

Power

power 

(or one might call it seething evil)

almost killed the tired monk

tipped him from tired to dead

killed his spirit

sent him out on the road (poetically)

working my way back to monk duties

poems and prayers

     hopefully peace.

trespassing

trespassing...I guess

beat down path beside the creek

just a bit off the (city sanctioned)

recreational path

crushed domestic beer cans

pile of fortified wine bottles

cold wind over the field

gather up a few scraps and twigs

little daytime hobo fire

warming up the little dell

one perfect cedar brand

to lite my pocket pipe

a quick tug

from a silver flask

fire dies low and slow

kick over some dirt

bag up the party debris

one more whisky sip

and home

on demons

the demons slipped out

they are out more than in...most days

today they sit huddled together

out on the edge...waiting? just watching I guess.

   they look bored, a bit disgusted maybe.

sure they cycle back and poke, look for gaps,

try their old ancient tricks

I can still see them, but it is harder.

eventually they'll break off, and just leave

soon

Soda Bread Poem

Soda bread, scones, 

and Guinness stew

Irish kitchen folk songs.

I pour a stout, later a red ale

then sip a Jameson...slow

think on my family

from Clare, Wexford, Antrim, 

Wicklow, and Cork.

Blessings, peace and rest to you

this St. Patrick's Day.

Mediation from a fellow tired monk.

stop

breathe

acknowledge...

...that you are alive.

That's it. 

sleeping monk

when I sleep I'm healthy

striding deep in pine forests

up and over gnarly roots

inspecting forest floor mushrooms

and high branch Ravens

when I wake

I'm sick

 with "the cancer"

my very blood is rebelling

Brother John says: "Sleep is God's Medicine".

good remedy for this most tired monk.