always the cold

temple is frost heaved n'shifted
little cracks
welcome the cold
       creeping low
across the floor

the tired monk fights back
with hot hearth logs
and doubled wool socks

stars n'guitars

i)

starlight glimpses
quick n'sly through
low hanging campfire smoke

ii)

that guitar a yers
it looks like yah
walked out in to tha deep woods
hewed that guitar outta
some storm blown
lightening burnt tree

yep -
that is how I get them gnarly old sounds



I'm trying to capture the real Lanark County/Ottawa Valley Accent.

Imogen's Poem

tucked up neat n'deep

in monk robes
soft baby murmurs mix
with soft strummed chords


Brother Ollie

flurry of winter poems

i)

snow blower starts on the first pull
growls to life
tired monk sets the choke
smiles

ii)

touque slips to a jaunty angle
almost slides off
the hot tonsured head

iii)

temple dog does a quick check
smells the rabbit tracks
looks out into the white forest
runs back inside
the open temple door

iv)

tired monk ponders
thinks to his Belgian Brewing Brothers
and the winter air
slipping in under the garage door
cold enough to keep a chill in the beer

Movember Monks

monks tuck
razors away..more or less
just a quick flash
across the face
to create
a most unmonkish moustache




Us monks have changed our shaving rituals, for this month of Movember only, to love, and support our brothers, fathers, friends and sons.

The abbess's father, a most jolly Benedictine monk, is fighting prostrate cancer.

Also a brother monk begins his battle with testicular cancer this week.

Please support us:  HTTP://MOTEAM.CO/HILLCREST-MO-HAWKS

Join our team.  Pray for the health of our brother monks.

Lost Saints or a Monk's Lament

so many old saints
  scattered
far afield
or dusty faded
from my life

gone to
those lost
lingering links
saint's prayers
just a click away


time to gather all the saints

Brother Gary

Gary is a guide
he took me up mountains
echoed poems
off Desolation Peak

brewed campfire tea
focused my eyes
on the beauty
of nuts n'grime
hard work sweat

pointed his walking
stick up through
pine tree tops
and the blue night stars



Mine is about my favourite poet Gary Snyder; another good friend of Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac.   You may know him by his Kerouacian pseudonym: Japhy Ryder.  I've hidden the name of my very favourite poem somewhere in here...do you see it?