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.

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

The lowly grasses grow wild under the Alberta sky.
The bisons feed on it and grow strong.
The bees thrive on the sweet wild flowers of summer.
The field mice live, hide and frolic in the dense growth.
Man trampled it and ripped it up to develop the land.

What is it that she sees that makes her sigh?
Is it the beauty in different hues against the western sky?
What is it that she sees that makes her ooh and aah?
Is it the colourful picture nature paints against the prairie landscape?
What is it that sees that captures her imaginations?
Is it the gentle rustling sounds in the autumn breeze that whispers to her heart?

What is it that she sees that enchanted her at first sight?
Is it the uniqueness each blade holds and the splendor of summer flowers that beckons her?
What is it that she sees that cause her to enjoy the wild grasses when others would tread them under their feet?
Is it their resilience against the forces of nature as they return each spring that she admires?
What is it their she sees that moves her spirit in the midst of more important matters?
Is it in the sweet smell of the flowering wild grasses that gives her such delights?

Is it her way of responding to the handiworks of the Almighty Creator?
I dare say I do not know.  Maybe it is all these things.
It is the same heart and spirit that delight in the forever changing lines of the sculptured winter snow in the blowing Arctic winds.
It is the same heart and spirit that smile in wonder at the sight of clouds upon clouds upon clouds travelling across the western sky.

Some call it romantic and others call it artistic appreciation or love of nature.
It is much, much more than that!
I believe Almighty God has touched her heart and eyes to behold the magnificence and glory of His creation.
It is because her spirit soars on heaven’s wings while many remain earthbound.
Let your eyes and heart eat, drink and breathe of Him, my love.
He has created the wild grasses for you that you may sing praises of Him.
Bless His precious name and worship Him.
His love says it all, in His Son, for you and for me.