Poems Not On my Site.

In reflecting on my poetry writing, I doubt there is one piece I’ve written that doesn’t have a small story to it and why I wrote a particular poem. Today’s blog is about a couple of those poems. .

I used to have a very dear old friend who lived out on the west coast of Canada. The last few years he moved to live in the mountains. A smarter and intelligent man didn’t exist in those day’s, he was 78 years young. Amazing now looking back, just how many of my friends were pretty good at writing, John was no exception. When He passed away in February last year, it marked yet another increasing widening circle, a void of depleting friends. I lost three good friends in 2006. As a result of that and my contemplating life’s losses I wrote this poem:

Fading Ghosts

I gaze upon the empty space.
Once filled with missing friends-
No longer dwelling,
In the valley of the past.
Instead,
All that is painfully left,
Are ever increasing
Miles of ghosts,
And wasted plains.
With rivers all run dry.

Eric Valentine April 3/06 ©

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Last summer I and many, many people World-wide spent most of the spring/ summer season taking part in a unique happening. ~ At least I thought so.
Some of you may have been part of that event. ~

Hancock’s Wildlife Channel set up web-cams at a number of Eagles nests, in different areas of British Columbia Canada, Saanich and Hornby island being two. The general public were treated to quite an online show. In the one we watched there were two baby eagles born. As is sometimes the case, one was more dominant than the other, but that’s nature. It provided for some unique entertainment.

We were treated to a daily feast of the coming and goings of the Eagles parents and the feeding and raising of the offspring. I admit that at first I scoffed at the idea of spending so much time watching this stuff like the wife did just glued to the monitor, then I got hooked.

I found myself being worse than Elizabeth, I was up at the crack of dawn almost daily, my computer on at the ready! I wasn’t going to miss one bit of all the excitement if I could help it! I would still be watching again at the end of the day, as the last of the suns rays, disappeared over the horizon.

When the end of the season arrived and the Eagles had finally departed, the cams were still left on for a while longer. I along with millions were heartbroken at the thought of never seeing the babies again. With the cams still on I kept to my routine of watching the nest, even though now the eagles were long gone. Still I hoped that just maybe one would just drop by. I watched that nest at differing times of the day and night until the sun went down once more. This is a poem I wrote about that time. The nest, the sun and the ‘Shifting Shapes‘.


Shifting shapes

It has been a few days that I’ve sat here,
The Eagles, mom and little one, finally left.
Soaring away, off into the night-time sky,
Little one, still squawking ‘feed me!’

I sit and gaze at the empty nest, with the
Moving shadows, in the changing light
And I watch in awe at the shifting shapes,
Cast by the sun - Horizon bound.

Often I watched as you lay and slept.
These tired old eyes. Playing tricks?
Was that an eagle! I thought I saw?
The shadows move - Yet once again.

Eric Valentine Oct 30/06 ©

Lunch is up!

C'ya