Tagged poetry_cg

Staring into a Summer Day

Another timeless, hazy day lakeside so much of so very little on my mind. The opposite shore is a curtain of beech and pines, their tips jut out against a pale blue canvass. There is no pattern; yet with every scan of the tree-line there’s a comfort in seeing how earth meets heavenly skies. I’m lulled by sounds of a continuous lapping against a rocky edge, a soft melody passed on through the ages. Slaps of water, time and time again… carrying all things to this place; and, from this place… I gaze, then peer deep into the water beside…

I am looking for a simple answer

It’s my mission: I am looking for a simple answer to enjoying the very essence of life and the ones I love; to not be burdened with a day’s tiresome trivialities, those meaningless details and happenings that cause troubled sighs and sleepless nights. May I, in taking one deep breath, let loose those weights that drag me down.   Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication Here’s hoping I can put the adage to the test! I want a simpler way, filled with peace of mind – a place where I can freely exchange laughter, pursue my passions and pause to reflect;…

Hurray for Bike Month

June is bike month in our Almonte community. Argumentatively it is the best month of the year with all its family activities and events for bicycle enthusiasts. Take a look at Mississippi Mills Bicycle Month website and MMBM Facebook page for all the news and excitement.   Followers of By George will know our love of biking. In honour of the start of this special month, we feature two poems and five of our favourite photos of biking on the roads of Lanark County.   To bike these days A Ride at Dawn   Appleton at dawn Almonte storm clouds…

My sentence

Each nightly vision swirls about my head, as I sleepwalk through my days, mumbling through greetings and conversations, looking for some spark to ignite and energize, to slap me awake from this weariness that seems to bewilder me so.   Yet, I’m hopeless to express in so many words my quest for an original idea and the strength to get it on paper. A few striking words, strung together: one sentence to tell all. I need to begin with one sentence to capture and slay those visions and deliver me from this inertia.   That’s the challenge, as big as…

The Arena: a Lens onto Life

I lost and found my son this weekend on the ice He was there, and then…. he skated into a corner away from sight I imagined him in the middle of a scrum of bodies and sticks – eyes locked on the puck Somehow he looks bigger as he wheels around the net, glances past the crease and backhands a pass to his waiting teammate It is his ease of movement that makes me search for the answers I don’t really want to reflect on – just, how did he grow up so fast? And what’s next? I blink. He’s…

To bike these days (a poem)

The accident has taken an edge off this fun. It’s just become another thing to think about. These days I carry my knee like some foreign appendage wincing and praying to myself that it doesn’t explode There’s that sharp, stabbing in my left knee that reminds me of my vulnerabilities Yet, thankfully, I can bike through the pain (still) to climb the next hill and, take the crest, shift my weight, relax, coast, exhale. What had I expected with this climb? I had felt that jolt as I raised myself from my seat and then I checked the cantaloupe appeared…

A Ride at Dawn

Sunday morning traction my soul skimming over the front tire nothing but a clear road and the rising sun and clarity with each breath digging into each hill warm beads of sweat drop off my forehead somewhere from above and I catch myself smiling knowing this is a start of a beautiful day   (ed. – I am just back in from a sunrise ride through the sideroads of Lanark. I am reposting this poem, which was written a few years ago after a similar morning ride. And, it’s a poem that is printed in The Humm this month in…

The fiddler’s smile

I can’t seem to shake loose this stupid grin As I watch my son lean into the mic to project the opening notes he cocks his head to the side and lets his fiddle sing a series of double strings, then his fingers run up and down the fiddle’s neck and then a clear high siren, before he brings the reel home with a cascade of sounds A young girl is up and dances in front of him shuffling back and forth and keeping rhythm by running her hands through her locks Others stand, smiling, tapping their toes, clapping And…

Almonte’s Riverview

  The river rapids are swollen, gushing with Spring’s anticipation; my gaze sweeps upwards beyond the falls and spray. I’m elevated, suspended somewhere above the rocks, the deafening noise and the surge and the fury. I’m hung there, numbed senseless by my creative drought, whilst the clapping echo of the pregnant Mississippi dances through my soul’s cavity, pulling at my empty thoughts. I moisten my lips with the spray, then turn the corner of Mill Street to retrieve my daily bundle of flyers and bills from the post office.   – Chris George   (ed. – This poem was written…

The repeated cawing of the crow

Was that a warning of some sort when that crow swooped low, inches above my head to let out a shriek? Just how did I get to this spot, on this straight road leading me onto the hazy, distant horizon? There’s 12 black birds glaring down from the wire, and another solemnly sitting atop a fence post; all observing my every move with quiet, mocked disdain. I can only stare back in silence at my judge and jury for is there any point in shaking a fist into the air, or hanging my head to avert my eyes? The early…