I prefer Nicky because that's what my family and close friends call me and I think of grandma Vi and yourself as family.
When that dog came today up to the house when we returned it Vanessa went to cross over the bridge over the ditch to your back yard. The bridge that we crossed thousands of times, back and forth. Its a shame to see the bridge now with weeds and plants nearly covering it, but it reminds me of the memories and fun we had with grandma Vi and you.
My mom told me Grandma Vi isn't well and it really saddens me. If my mom never told me she was ill I never would of guessed it, she always seems to be the same joyful, caring person she was the day we met her.
As I sit here my last night here until 1 whole year. I think its to short to stay for 10 days. I have a life back in ontario that I can't forget about but I would just love to stay a bit longer.
Ill have to get back to you later about the tar cleaner. My grandma and Ann Marie are still out and about.
Your friend,
Nicky
Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Waterfall
My mind throws away both the cold and the snow,
I walk through the alpines that have started to grow,
And, as I walk, the birds gather and sing,
My nose finds the smells aroused by the Spring.
All of a sudden, in the distance, a new sound.
The river runs faster, what is it I've found?
At the edge of a clearing, with trees standing tall,
I look down plunging waters of a high waterfall.
Slowly I climb down and remove all my clothes,
I enter the pool to which water flows,
There at the edge of the water's wild roar,
I lean back into thunder until I hear it no more.
With face tilted skyward, in the warmth of the sun,
I dream of the Springtime and what nature's begun
Around me the mountains, above me they tower,
I turn off the water, and step out of the shower.
-- GWB, Jan. 6th, 2010
-- Gordon William Bain
I walk through the alpines that have started to grow,
And, as I walk, the birds gather and sing,
My nose finds the smells aroused by the Spring.
All of a sudden, in the distance, a new sound.
The river runs faster, what is it I've found?
At the edge of a clearing, with trees standing tall,
I look down plunging waters of a high waterfall.
Slowly I climb down and remove all my clothes,
I enter the pool to which water flows,
There at the edge of the water's wild roar,
I lean back into thunder until I hear it no more.
With face tilted skyward, in the warmth of the sun,
I dream of the Springtime and what nature's begun
Around me the mountains, above me they tower,
I turn off the water, and step out of the shower.
-- GWB, Jan. 6th, 2010
-- Gordon William Bain
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
No Greater Gift
Warm breezes blow today,
The chill has gone;
The morning is filled with
the robin's song.
Give me your hand my love,
Come walk with me,
In the sun, with the birds,
and a tranquil sea.
A shawl full of diamonds,
Around us the mist,
For me there could be
No greater gift.
-- Gordon William Bain, Oct. 20th, 2009.
The chill has gone;
The morning is filled with
the robin's song.
Give me your hand my love,
Come walk with me,
In the sun, with the birds,
and a tranquil sea.
A shawl full of diamonds,
Around us the mist,
For me there could be
No greater gift.
-- Gordon William Bain, Oct. 20th, 2009.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Connect
Reach out, let’s cocoon
In the warmth of another
Spin truth back and forth
As we talk to each other
Escape all our troubles
Shed weakness, discover
Tear protection aside
Emerge and uncover
Touch our new comfort
Restrictions, suspend
Nurture the process
Transform and ascend
Embrace each new stage
Spread the wings of connection
Let the wind pick us up
As we share that affection.
-- NF, Aug. 21st, 2008
In the warmth of another
Spin truth back and forth
As we talk to each other
Escape all our troubles
Shed weakness, discover
Tear protection aside
Emerge and uncover
Touch our new comfort
Restrictions, suspend
Nurture the process
Transform and ascend
Embrace each new stage
Spread the wings of connection
Let the wind pick us up
As we share that affection.
-- NF, Aug. 21st, 2008
Sunday, February 8, 2009
A Matter of Time
She walked in the forest all alone with her thoughts,
There rang out with small echos a series of shots,
And she fell. Like a spirited doe, she rose, and moved deep
Through snow laden branches, seeking cover and sleep.
My beautiful lady, her smile still sublime,
Grazed by a bullet, the hunter was time.
The sun wakes the morning, the skies warm and bright,
Hand in hand with my lady, we walk from the night.
Snowbirds above us fly shimmering waves,
A fox searches fields for the breakfast it craves.
Our world is still turning, His Hand has reached down,
The hunter still lurking, but we're nowhere around.
-- Gordon William Bain, February 8th, 2009
There rang out with small echos a series of shots,
And she fell. Like a spirited doe, she rose, and moved deep
Through snow laden branches, seeking cover and sleep.
My beautiful lady, her smile still sublime,
Grazed by a bullet, the hunter was time.
The sun wakes the morning, the skies warm and bright,
Hand in hand with my lady, we walk from the night.
Snowbirds above us fly shimmering waves,
A fox searches fields for the breakfast it craves.
Our world is still turning, His Hand has reached down,
The hunter still lurking, but we're nowhere around.
-- Gordon William Bain, February 8th, 2009
Sunday, November 16, 2008
'The Big Bang'
This is the anniversary
Of my world,
The big bang
When everything began.
The stars looked new
And wonderful,
My universe spun around you.
What began so simply,
Grew,
And so did I,
Like life itself.
How weak I was,
And you so strong to see,
Deep within my soul
And in your wisdom,
Set me free.
Of this our day,
We pause our climb,
And look around;
So high,
Yet still your feet
Stand anchored
There upon the ground.
I think my thoughts,
And go my way,
And dream of what might be.
You smile and soothe
My worried brow.
I look around, and see you,
Everywhere
In flowers that bloom,
And birds that sing,
In air I breathe,
In everything.
When I look back,
I see you there;
When I look forward,
You're also there.
My pal,
My friend,
My love,
My wife.
-- Gordon William Bain
Of my world,
The big bang
When everything began.
The stars looked new
And wonderful,
My universe spun around you.
What began so simply,
Grew,
And so did I,
Like life itself.
How weak I was,
And you so strong to see,
Deep within my soul
And in your wisdom,
Set me free.
Of this our day,
We pause our climb,
And look around;
So high,
Yet still your feet
Stand anchored
There upon the ground.
I think my thoughts,
And go my way,
And dream of what might be.
You smile and soothe
My worried brow.
I look around, and see you,
Everywhere
In flowers that bloom,
And birds that sing,
In air I breathe,
In everything.
When I look back,
I see you there;
When I look forward,
You're also there.
My pal,
My friend,
My love,
My wife.
-- Gordon William Bain
Saturday, October 11, 2008
A Tribute To My Father's Present-Day Romantic Poetry
This section is primarily a tribute to my father's Canadian poetry. I will in one or more other sections, pay tribute to the history of the romantic movment from Spinoza to Rousseau to 18th and 19th century German Romanticism starting with Kant and moving through Herder, Goethe, Schelling, and others.
Following in this tradition, my father's poetry pays special attention to nature, positive memories of days gone past -- call it 'nostalgia' if you wish -- but with an appreciation of today's natural and human wonders just as much as yesterday's.
There is a special attention to detail relative to the 'wonders of nature' -- as well as 'the wonders of human creativity and invention' that have passed away into history largely forgotten, and not sufficiently recognized and/or appreciated.
How many of us could write a poem about a simple 'blade of grass', an 'old birch tree', 'forgotten railroad tracks and steam engine trains', a 'cast iron stove', 'a dog that climbed a tree' and other objects and events of this type? We've all heard the expression: Sometimes it is important to stop our running around, working seemingly endless hours to simply keep our heads above water and pay our bills, caught in the narcissistic urban rat race -- and stop to 'smell the roses'.
Well, my dad's romantic Canadian poetry gives us all a chance to take a few minutes to smell the roses vicariously in all its intended and extended romantic, natural meaning -- to appreciate the wonders of a blade of grass, an aging, old birch tree and tree swallows mating and raising their young to fly away free and repeat the cycle, the lure of the spider, a dog chasing a squirrel up a tree, important memories from days gone past like steam engine trains, outdated train tracks, cast iron stoves, and the like...
All of these ideas and these types of poems in my mind are reminicent of at least two different times in history: firstly, the philosophical movement of German and English Romanticism in the late 1700s and early 1800s; and secondly, the birth of Canadian Romanticism through the wildlife paintings of the famous 'Group of Seven'.
18th and 19th century romantic philosophy I will address in a different section. Other elements of Canadian romanticism -- past and present -- I may address here at a later time. But for now, I will simply focus on my dad's present day Canadian romantic poetry.
Last but certainly not least in the spectrum of 'Romantic Philosophy' is the phenomenon of love. This subject is nicely captured with a very personal touch in two of the poems found below, written to my mom: 'Anniversary Song' and 'My Valentine'. I hope you will enjoy these and all the other romantic poems my dad has shared with us here as much as I have -- and still continue to.
Take a little time to vicariously -- smell the roses.
dgb, nov. 30th, 2007, updated Dec. 27th, 2007, May 2nd, 2008.
Following in this tradition, my father's poetry pays special attention to nature, positive memories of days gone past -- call it 'nostalgia' if you wish -- but with an appreciation of today's natural and human wonders just as much as yesterday's.
There is a special attention to detail relative to the 'wonders of nature' -- as well as 'the wonders of human creativity and invention' that have passed away into history largely forgotten, and not sufficiently recognized and/or appreciated.
How many of us could write a poem about a simple 'blade of grass', an 'old birch tree', 'forgotten railroad tracks and steam engine trains', a 'cast iron stove', 'a dog that climbed a tree' and other objects and events of this type? We've all heard the expression: Sometimes it is important to stop our running around, working seemingly endless hours to simply keep our heads above water and pay our bills, caught in the narcissistic urban rat race -- and stop to 'smell the roses'.
Well, my dad's romantic Canadian poetry gives us all a chance to take a few minutes to smell the roses vicariously in all its intended and extended romantic, natural meaning -- to appreciate the wonders of a blade of grass, an aging, old birch tree and tree swallows mating and raising their young to fly away free and repeat the cycle, the lure of the spider, a dog chasing a squirrel up a tree, important memories from days gone past like steam engine trains, outdated train tracks, cast iron stoves, and the like...
All of these ideas and these types of poems in my mind are reminicent of at least two different times in history: firstly, the philosophical movement of German and English Romanticism in the late 1700s and early 1800s; and secondly, the birth of Canadian Romanticism through the wildlife paintings of the famous 'Group of Seven'.
18th and 19th century romantic philosophy I will address in a different section. Other elements of Canadian romanticism -- past and present -- I may address here at a later time. But for now, I will simply focus on my dad's present day Canadian romantic poetry.
Last but certainly not least in the spectrum of 'Romantic Philosophy' is the phenomenon of love. This subject is nicely captured with a very personal touch in two of the poems found below, written to my mom: 'Anniversary Song' and 'My Valentine'. I hope you will enjoy these and all the other romantic poems my dad has shared with us here as much as I have -- and still continue to.
Take a little time to vicariously -- smell the roses.
dgb, nov. 30th, 2007, updated Dec. 27th, 2007, May 2nd, 2008.
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