Wednesday, November 20, 2013

W.B. Yeats

"We can make our minds so still that beings gather round us,that they may see.It may be their own images, and so live for the moment with a clearer, perhaps a fiercer life because of our quiet"


Wild Life

the peoples along the bay of Fundy feed the deer , growing up there in the 50's it was more a matter of putting food on the table,work has become more easier to obtain in the surrounding city centers,like Moncton,Halifax and St.John.

My Grandson, Liam in the Waters

Blackberry Pickin


Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfulls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not. 
Submitted: Wednesday, December 28, 2011