Take heed to the giants of the sea.
The humpbacks are calling out to you and me.
It is not calling for a mate or three.
Sad songs the humpback whale sings, you see.
With plastics, flotsam and oil, my blowhole is constantly plugging,
I can hardly breathe and my mates are dying.
With the chemicals and drugs, my sonar’s hardly working.
On the white sands my friends and dolphins are beaching.
We are not sun tanning can’t you see?!
Who will hear my sad songs, who will fix my home for me?

Take heed to the giants of the sea.
The humpbacks are calling out to you and me.
You are plundering the oceans and seas.
You snag and kill off the star fish, turtles and sea urchins, dear me!
Down to the ocean floor your nets are dragging.
Even those that you do not eat you are destroying.
There’s not much left of the krill, herring or sardines.
Then you complain that there is a lack of cod,salmon or blue fins.
When are you going to stop polluting and plundering the oceans and the seas?
Who will hear my sad songs, who will fix my home for me?

Take heed to the giants of the sea.
The humpbacks are calling out to you and me.
You boast the thousands of tonnes of catches.
Very happy and delighted with the millions of dollars it fetches.
The oceans and seas are strangely silent with feeding grounds destroyed.
First the forest and then the oceans and the seas you plundered.
Your smartness, technology and greed had sealed our fate, you see.
There is nothing I can do but sing my helpless plea.
It may seem like a siren of wondrous melodies in the sea.
Who will hear my sad songs, who will fix my home for me?

Take heed to the giants of the sea.
The humpbacks are calling out to you and me.
If you take a sea shell or a conch and put it to your ear.
You will hear the same sad songs every year.
But you will not listen but continue to destroy and plunder.
Then all hope is lost and it is of no wonder.
Soon there will be no tunas or halibuts, squids or stingrays.
There will be no more crabs or lobsters, clams or morays.
Pretty soon there will be no life in the oceans or seas.
Who will hear my sad songs, who will fix my home for me?

Each year the Salmon swims upstream.
It does not know why but goes ahead, full steam.
Except to lay some eggs and for sure, die.
No matter what the cost is, is the silent cry.
The salmon have no choice but to keep its date.
Instinct forces it to swim upstream to meet its certain fate.

Swimming upstream is fraught with dangers and a sight not pretty.
Losing all your strength and stamina is a certainty.
Gets eaten by bears and raccoons along the way.
Death is the ultimate end and nature has its’ say.
Corporately its is almost suicide,
And socially you are an outcast with no place to hide

Conform and you die a slow and torturous death that’s for sure.
Living to a different drum beat means the life of a bohemian to endure.
All eyes will be on you, full of contempt.
Labelled a rebel, anti authority, anti management are their lament.
To think independently is a crime in their eyes, I fear.
It threatens authority, management & the church, oh dear!

To be different is definitely not of one’s choosing.
It is as natural as breathing.
Even when you force yourself to a different rhythm,
It will, over time, reverts back to its natural dictum.
You can pretend to be something else or someone you are not,
But like the leopard you are unable to change your spots

Be yourself  and stay on the your own course to the end.
Being different has its own rewards, my friend.
For us, flowing with the tide is mediocre living.
But to swim upstream is as natural as breathing,
Be free and breathe the fresh mountain air and it’s exhilarating.
So be true to yourself and keep on ticking.

Aaah to be in love, and think you have reached life’s acme,
And not know pain is only to reach half way in life’s journey.
To say that you really know the full extent of trust encompassing,
And not know betrayal is to miss the depth of its full measuring.
To feel and experience the horrors of deep deep pain,
In broken love and trust that almost drive you insane,
Is to come to a full cycle of all that life has to give.
To be afflicted by what seems like an insurmountable grieve,
After reaching the starry height of ecstasy,
But they are all temporary conditions, you see.

Before you only think you know,
But now you experienced it to the very marrow.
It tells you that you are truly alive and kicking,
To finally touch life can be euphoric or frustrating and depressing.
To have broken love and trust and feels no pain,
Should leave you horrified because you are dead or insane.
Nevertheless be glad that you are alive and kicking,
Otherwise you will not know what you are missing.
For it is better to have a few short moments of ecstasy or pain,
Than to live one where there is no sunshine or pouring rain.

Once you have been afflicted with pain,
It is most difficult to love and trust again.
How can one reach out again and be alive,
Without feeling, wanting to crawl back to the dive?
Back into the shell, where its secure and safe,
Your own cell and steel bars and no need to be brave.
Now the pain is controlling how you behave,
If you don’t watch out it will certainly lead you to your grave.
Take courage and summon all that is within you,
And free yourself from the invisible bond that enslaves not a few.

Why torture yourself needlessly,
When the other party discards you carelessly.
What is your worth intrinsically?
Is it dependent on what the others think of you? Seriously?
It is much, much more than that my friend, hark!
Your self worth is only limited by your mind, to start,
Not counting your abilities, your integrity and honor. Fie!
Are worth more than anything that money can buy
Do not put your worth on things that fades with time
It is definitely not based on looks, nickels and dimes

Never let others tear down your self esteem or respect.
The only disappointment is your judgement but you’re not perfect.
Errors can be corrected and you will be wiser, you know.
If the other person have no integrity or honor to show,
He or she is not worth your effort, time or pity.
They neither value their honor nor their integrity.
So guard your heart closely,
And do not to give it away cheaply.
Give yourself a fresh start like the sun that rises each morning.
Breathe in the fresh air and life anew like flowers in the Spring.

To work their way back into your heart is their devise.
A grape vine can only bear grapes and not otherwise.
To be won over by their strong words and emotions is a mistake.
Even though a snake shed its skin, it’s still a snake.
So hold steady and be that person of strong character,
Otherwise worse pain awaits you, if you falter,
Summon your courage that has been hid for so long,
To take a new step and enjoy new the day like the glorious dawn.
You only need to be strong and courageous for this day,
Tomorrow is too far away and when it comes, it will be ‘today’.

There maybe rain, snow or sun,
But he’s a regular at the Rose and Crown.
His stomach growls, when he walks.
He looks thirsty and salivates even if he doesn’t talk.
He anxiously waits for Grandpa Joe,
To accompany him to the Rose and Crown at four.
Walks in like he owns the joint, stops,
And then looks around and licks his chops,
The regulars would call out,
Hey, Capt’n! How’s it going? is the shout.
They all love the good capt’n be,
He doesn’t care if you are a he or a she,
If you are trans or a gay.
Or for that matter black, white, green or grey

They call him capt’n for short,
Cause Grandpa Joe loves to sit for hours non stop
Watching James T. Kirk, Spark and Scotty of the Enterprise.
Captain Kirk is Grandpa Joe’s favorite, is of no surprise.
The Capt’n, he’s the friendly type.
A wide grin for a smile that you cannot dislike.
Capt’n has an even cut, short blond hair.
It is all natural with no chemical dyes or sprays
They would shake his hand at the Rose and Crown.
Or pat him on the shoulders and you can never see a frown.
Capt’n would stare at them with disgust, naturally.
If they touch his beard or feel his belly.
He’s not here to give anyone trouble.
He’s here to have his ale, on the double.

Homer, the bartender would have his ale ready.
The Capt’n would quaff it down quick and steady,
White suds would show on his upper lips, pucker.
Shortly, he’ll be asking for another.
The regulars and strangers would chuckle,
Laugh heartily or have a sort of kerfuffle.
Capt’n would visit the folks at each table
You did think he is running for mayor for he is quite able.
A politician he definitely is not,
But he is friendly, to all the lot.
Once in a while you can hear him burp out loud.
The crowd would roar and laugh or even shout.
And some would bend over with tears,
He relieves you from your stress and fears.

One thing you should know is, the Capt’n is very short.
So when he looks up, he can see some without undershorts.
Being the good natured creature that he is,
He will just walk away and not tease.
But you cannot wipe away his grin or his smile.
You see, Capt’n is a yellow Labrador all the while.
Even though you serve him his ale,
He prefers his Guinness or stout as long as its not stale.
Sometimes he likes to come up to you real close,
Nuzzle between your thighs or legs with his nose.
Just to check you up on your medical condition,
In case you have kidney stones or constipation.
He tries to tell but you would not listen.
You push him off and cross your legs for your own reasons.

After two ales or three,
Grandpa Joe would walk in the park among the trees.
A cane on his right hand and himself to steady,
Capt’n by his side, his very best buddy.
The Capt’n makes his mark and surveys all situation.
He makes sure he does not miss any action.
Keen on the ears, eyes and even sharper with the nose,
It does not matter if its a strange sound, sight or smell gross.
He would survey and check out every action.
You should be thankful for he is the good Capt’n.
Below his tail is his third eye,
You can try to hide behind him but on you he will spy.
He would keep track of all the rear situation
He has his third eye on you without any distraction.

So when you go for a drink, a walk or a jog,
Just remember Capt’n is only a dog.
He means not disrespect with his actions.
So when he comes to check out your medical condition,
Please do not shoo him away.
Or you will hurt his feelings for the day.
Or if he tracks you down with his third eye,
Do not turn away in disgust and say fie.
He is only interested in you being safe and not done in,
So just pat him not on the head but under the chin.
Give him a nice cookie or ale and let him not beg,
Also, before I forget, please make sure you bring a plastic bag
In order to keep his expressions,
In keeping with Park regulations.

On this cold and wintry morning,
The cold Arctic winds are blowing.
Heavy clouds roll on and on,
Grey upon grey like a never ending song.
Row by row, the soldiers stand quietly,
And a mixed crowd whispers impatiently.
An airplane appears in sight,
Everyone seem to be wound up tight.
Their hearts beat wildly in this instance,
The military plane drowns the silence.
It taxis to a stop in front of the stand.
Eternity it seems has come to an end!

The door flings open, all eyes are staring,
The mind struggles to control the emotions, baring.
Not a sound or whisper is in the air,
All eyes are on two red maple leaf draped caskets stare.
Each hoisted on shoulders of eight good men and women.
The Princess Patricia Canadian Light Infantry is the regiment.
Holding their heads up high, proudly,
A strain can be seen on all the brave faces, naturally.
The traditional bagpipes mourn and cry for its fallen.
Tears like dews roll down and sadness for young lives stolen.
Puzzled and with curious faces the younger children watch.
Slowly down the rampway the soldiers march.

You could have chosen anything, but the military.
You replied, ‘Afghan is calling and I am not sorry’.
I pleaded and begged you to be anything but the military.
You said, ‘I had chosen a nobler profession’ on the contrary.
Fighting for the freedom and rights of all,
Following the glorious many and the bagpipes call.
It is my duty to answer and be counted.
Diepe and Passchendaele are our valiant history proudly recorded.
But this one is not your battle I beg to disagree!
With firm conviction and resolve you answered me.
Death is not an end but like a stargate to worlds unknown.
Afghanistan, Afghanistan, you have taken the bests, my very own.

Many corporations are getting rich by your sweat and blood, I fear.
Some politicians, they give you second hand military gears,
Rented vehicles, helicopters and cargo planes.
And after you are dead they will all say, it’s a shame,
Our prayers and thoughts are with you and your family.
It sounded mechanical and hollow to us, honestly.
Who feeds you all that rhetoric and screwing up your mind?
They are the ones who change their minds with a flick of a dime.
Some politicians, who are back at home, safely,
Eating plumb turkeys, potatoes and gravy,
Brussel sprouts, cranberry sauces and pumpkin pies.
Sipping wine and dripping on their clothes and ties.

Canada, oh my Canada, it is plain to see,
What have you brought home to me.
Sons and daughters with blood on Afghan sands,
Two bodies to bury on this frozen land.
Twinkling lights on houses and trees with hanging fairies,
A season to be merry and I am supposed to be cheery.
I have traded poinsettias for wreaths,
Dinner table laughter for overwhelming griefs.
Presents wrapped and ribboned yuletide baskets,
For two draped red maple leaf caskets.
Sweet carols and noels for a bagpipe mourns,
Manger stories for eulogies, epitaphs and groans.

You are not to be swayed nor denied.
T’was a week before Christmas that you died.
You served that some young Afghan hearts may be free,
You served that some Afghans may think, speak and write free.
You served that you may finally be free, as heaven cannot wait.
For you had an appointment with your ineluctable fate.
Into the black hearse they loaded you with care,
The bagpipes continue to mourn as the hearse pulls away.
I salute you for the nobler profession you had chosen,
Two proud burials for a yuletide season.
Death and Hope together on this late December day,
Yuletide seasons will never be the same again after today.

Hurry, work, hurry! hurry!
There is not enough time, really,
To plan or coordinate the project, everyone.
I do not have to know how work is done.
So if you work for me,
The curse is upon you already.

Hurry, work, hurry! hurry!
Time indeed is money.
Continuously improve or you’ll be sorry.
Must be on time or I’ll drive you crazy.
I don’t care if you work daytime
Nighttime, overtime or have no fun time

Hurry, work, hurry! hurry!
The work can be deadly.
I don’t have to be logical,
Or for that matter, reasonable.
First time 100 % quality is a must
Or you’ll be charged for rework tasks.

Hurry, work, hurry! hurry!
I am not the one on you, will pity.
All work must be broken into units very small
And if you deviate, I will nail you to the wall.
If you exceed your allocations,
All those above me will hear of your infractions.

Hurry, work, hurry! hurry!
You cannot rest or work slowly
Or you’ll be dreadfully sorry.
Your happiness is not my responsibility.
If my demands give you stress,
Maybe you need to change your work address.

Hurry, work, hurry! hurry!
Making the dateline is your only duty.
If you are dead early,
Then, here is another casket to bury.
You are not even a memory.
Who’s next in line?

This poem is dedicated to the memory of
Barbara Jeanne Law nee Ford (1949-2005)

Two masked pilots in the sky.
It was fun for you and I, when we had a long way to fly.
Sometimes in large numbers in V formation we sailed the sky.
Sometimes we dived until our webbed feet almost touched the water.
Sometimes we soared till we almost touched the sun.
We honked to greet the early morning sun as it peeked over the horizon.
We honked to say farewell to the setting sun as it sunk low in the sky.
I honked and you honked in quick reply.
In the spring we ate what we could along the way from the Eastern shores.
In the summer we frolicked in the Arctic and its abundance.
In the fall we feasted along the way from the Arctic.
In the winter we rested once again in the familiar Eastern shores.
We breathed the air, drank the water and ate the fallen crops along the way,
And our brood of two goslings grew up.
Their wings grew strong and they started to fly.
Life was good to us as years went by,

What’s this here ?
A growth in your breast and destined to die ?
They took out the growth !
They nuked you and pumped chemicals in your veins !
You lost the feathers on your head
You could hardly fly !
Flap ! Fla-ap ! Flap ! Fla-ap !
And one wing lost its zing !
Oh my ! Oh my !
You could no longer soar nor dive !
Oh my ! Oh my !
I honked and you ho-onked I honked and you ho-onked.
I felt your pain.
I felt your pain.
Oh my ! Oh my !
You kept flying and flying and flying.
But no more soaring or diving.
Even as you ho-onked and ho-onked and ho-onked.
The Saviour continued to give you grace to suffer your pain with a smile.
The doctors said we needed to pump chemicals into your veins or you would die.
We struggled but still we flew across the sky.
Many a time a flock would join us and help you fly and it made you smile.
Sometimes other geese had trouble with their wings,
You would sweep and clean their nests and bring them food and help them fly.
With the loving heart of a servant you sought to help others mend their wings and fly.

What’s this here ?
A growth in your sternum and destined to die ?
I felt your pain.
I felt your pain.
Oh my ! Oh my !
More chemicals were pumped into your veins to keep your sternum from breaking !
I honked and you ho-o-onked, I honked and you ho-o-onked.
You could hardly fly but fly you must or you would die.
Flap ! Fla-a-ap ! Flap ! Fla-a-ap ! as we crossed the sky.
The Saviour continued to give you grace to suffer your pain with a smile.
The doctors said we needed to pump chemicals in your veins or you would die.
We struggled but still we flew across the sky.
Many a time a flock would join us and help you fly and it made you smile.
Sometimes other geese had trouble with their wings,
And you would sweep and clean their nests and bring them food and help them fly.
With the loving heart of a servant you sought to help others mend their wings and fly.
We wondered out loud many a time…
Was it in the air we breathed when we flew across the sky ?
Was it in the food we ate in our many stops ?
Was it in the water where we swam and that we drank in lakes and rivers ?
It did not matter now … It did not matter now.

What’s this here ?
A growth in your neck ! Twice the size and destined to die ?
I felt your pain ! I felt your pain !
Oh my ! Oh my !
I honked you ho-o-o-onked, I honked you ho-o-o-onked.
You could hardly fly but fly you must or you would die.
Flap ! Fla-a-a-ap ! Flap ! Fla-a-a-ap ! We no longer crossed the sky.
Lots of pit stops along the way, shorter distances now we would fly.
The Saviour continued to give you grace to suffer your pain with a smile.
The doctors said we needed to pump newer chemicals in your veins or you would die.
We bravely struggled with many more pit stops when we would fly.
Many a time a flock would join us and help you fly and it made you smile.
After three weeks your neck had shrunk in size !
What a wonderful surprise !
The feathers on your head grew back white as snow !
What a relief !
What happiness and joy ensued !
Even as we honked and ho-o-o-onked, flapped and fla-a-a-apped.

What’s this here ?
Many growths in your liver and destined to die !
We thought perhaps, grace and mercy from heaven had touched us but it was not to be.
I felt your pain !
I felt your pain !
Oh my ! Oh my !
No more place for the needles, your veins collapsed.
Fourteen years of bravely flapping and honking with pain.
With only one wing, with only one wing you cannot fly.
On Boxing Day the brave masked pilot of the sky.
Gave one last ho-o-o-o-onk and one last fla-a-a-a-ap to forever fly.
One more brave smile to say good bye until we meet again.
Free from suffering, free from pain, free from chemicals,
You fly the eternal heavens in the forever sky.
One masked pilot left to fly.
Flap Honk Flap Honk
There is not much pleasure in diving or in soaring.
The Saviour’s grace and mercy is much needed just to fly, just to fly.
Flap Honk Flap Honk
One masked pilot left to fly.

Evil swept through your land.
You became the victim, not by your own hand.
The plane landed.
Eight of us disembarked.
We came with different skills to give you a hand.

A beautiful land, full of hills, dense forests and some gorillas.
Full of bananas and tea plantations.
Full of children and teen soldiers.
Teen police officers running the city.
Oh what had they done to you ?

They warned me not to give to beggars.
They warned me that the older ones,
Will beat up the young and weak for their alms.
But they were young, oh so young.
Oh what had they done to you ?

I came in a flat bed truck with my friends.
We stopped at the market place.
I never expected to see so many of you, all at one time.
You jumped on the truck as it stopped.
You were young, oh so young.

Thin, with tattered clothes and no shoes.
You stretched out your hands and begged.
Sir, sir, give me some money.
You motioned with your fingers toward your mouth
You were young, oh, so young.

One stood out from all the rest.
Though you were black,
Your face was green.
You were dying from starvation.
You were young, oh, so young.

They warned me not to give to beggars.
They warned me that the older ones,
Will beat up the young and the weak for their alms.
But they were young, oh, so young.
Oh what had they done to you ?

What was I to do, What was I to do ?
You said, ” Please give me your boots ?”
That took me by surprise.
I replied, ” I am sorry, they warned me, I cannot give it to you!”
You were so young, you were dying.

Part of me died inside.
My heart screamed out, my brain exploded.
With my skills and my money.
I felt helpless, I felt helpless, was my silent cry.
You were so young, you were dying.

They warned me not to give to beggars.
They warned me that the older ones,
Will beat up the young and weak for their alms.
But they were young, oh, so young.
Oh, what had they done to you ?

They took me to your camp.
There were 10,000 of you, not one over 16.
You waved and smiled.
You shouted ‘mersoongoo’.
You were young, oh, so young.

The car rolled to a stop.
I saw the fear in your eyes and you ran away.
The adults nearby said it was okay.
So you came back with smiles in your sunken cheeks.
You were young, oh so young.

A few laid in an open tent.
Under the hot, humid and clear blue African sky.
You laid motionless and the flies swarmed around you.
Your sunken eyes stared at the emptiness.
You were young, oh, so young and you were dying.

I asked the camp attendant,
‘What do the folks here eat, each day ?’
‘Corn meal everyday for the last two years.’
Then another part of me died, there was nothing left to say.
You were young, oh, so young.

All the work for the team and me was done.
The plane taxied down the runway for a takeoff.
The warnings embedded in my brain.
The sunken eyes and the green black faces stared back at me.
You were young, oh, so young and you were dying.

It was not what I had intended at the start of the trip.
Evil had left its marked upon its victims.
Your outstretched hands begged me.
You cried out for mercy, I felt helpless, I am slain.
I came, I saw, I wept, I am changed forever.

What are you willing to sell your soul for?
The monetary gain is huge.
The business world pays you respect
You will gain many new ‘friends’.
You will earn a position of power
You will have tremendous social conquests.

What are you willing to sell your souls for?
All you have to do is steal a little!
With the money you gain you can just about buy anything
You will never be in debt and you can even buy ‘love’
You can buy many mansions or Ferarris or have many servants.
You will even have ‘friends’ in Hollywood

What are you willing to sell your soul for?
All you have to do is cheat a little!
You’ll be listed as one of the top CEO’s in Fortune 500
You’ll be invited to speak by all the business leaders of the day
When you speak, they will listen and will take notes
People and staff will run to give up a chair or open the door

What are you willing to sell your soul for?
All you have to do is lie a little!
You may just get elected and be a politician
Look at all the power you have over both men and women
Look at all the bragging rights
You just have to look after number one

What are you willing to sell your soul for?
All you have to do is to sleep with a person here and a person there
What is important is you get what want
You can deceive a little and you don’t have to be true to anyone but yourself
As long as your needs are satisfied
Its about you, you and you

What are you willing to selling your soul for?
Little by little you sell your soul away and no one will ever know!
For success, for enjoyment, for security, for power, for egos!
One day you will find that there is no more left of your soul to sell.
The hollow and empty person has nothing left to barter!
Physically, you will not look any different but you will not recognize yourself.

What are you willing to sell your soul for?
Strange question indeed.
But who is buying or who will buy?
Who has been stocking up on souls?
What happens when there is nothing left to sell?
Then the buyer owns you lock, stock, and barrel.

In the early early misty Spring morning.
I hear the solo red wing black bird sing.
It goes on and on and on.
But the solo red wing black bird I cannot see.
It sounds like an earnest mournful cry.
But no reply.
No reply.

The sounds of trucks passing by
Drown out his solitary mournful cry.
A solo red wing black bird song.
Where are you?
Where are you?
Don’t you hear?
Don’t you hear?
My mournful cry.
My earnest plea.
But no reply.
No reply.

There once were many sweet replies.
There once were many sweet replies.
From the marsh reeds they used to fly.
Oh, let me look over this tree top.
I see no marshes, no reeds, no trees.
I see no marshes, no reeds, no trees.
Only new rooftops and new rooftops
As far as my eye can see.
Who is going to hear my mournful cry?
Who is going to answer my earnest plea.
A solo red wing black bird song

When am I going to hear the sweet replies?
When am I going to hear the sweet replies?
I have to go now another marsh to find
And sing my solo red wing black bird song.
Maybe someone will hear my mournful cry.
Maybe someone will hear my earnest plea.
Maybe in a marsh somewhere
A pretty red wing black bird will hear
My springtime song and come to me,
Come to me.