The People

The Ears Have It

It was likely hearing Dylan Thomas reciting his poems...on a tape...many years ago...
that gave me an appreciation of the voice of the poet...communicating the fruits of
his or her inspiration. To this day...I prefer listening to poetry...if it's any good...rather than reading it off the page. For this reason...up ahead...I'm likely
to put voice versions of a few of the poems...already published on this blog...along
with...hopefully...some new ones. Last night I spent some time looking at ideas for
future audio blogs. One of the things that ocurred to me...as I engaged in that exercise...was that for pieces of writing...using the Guyana dialect in places...
having a voice version...would convey the flavour so much better...than
trying to write...or read dialect...on a page. Anyway...I don't believe in building
a "prison of promises" when I start anything...so...we'll simply have to see...or hear
...how the "voice on the web" thing...unfolds..............Quester.

Spoken Word On The Web

Yesterday...I surprised myself...and figured out how to set things up so that I can post audio blogs...and did my first one. To those born with a computer keyboard at their finger tips...this is nothing...to me...its climbing Mount Everest one more time
...like every time I learn to do something new on my computer. Fortunately I chose
to have a poem at ready...to help this first time experience along...so...there wasn't
any sparkling wit...or dazzling improvisations on display...but in one "take"...as
they say in the recording studios...the job was done. It's good to know that this
additional mode of expression..is available to me...now...I have to decide how often
I will utilise it...and whether I'll bring my trusty guitar into the process...or even
sing. The audio post is done over the phone...playing guitar already uses two hands...
and a third one is not available...at this time. Also...I'm not sure how singing and
playing guitar will work over a telephone line...in terms of sound quality. Anyway...
much to be figured out and decided...but right now...I'm experiencing the liberation
I feel...every time I open up one more mode of expression. So...here's to some
"spoken word" on the web...and we'll see about the "singing words"...and the string
plucking...some time up ahead...............Quester.

At The Age Of Twenty

Lifting My Eyes Up High

Before my morning eyes...the sky over the grizzled mountains...subtly shifts from
gradients of grey...to horizontal bands of egg shell blue...blending with ones of
light salmon pink. After a Sunday of too much football and hockey watching...today
I need to return to fare that touches the higher strings of my being...rather than
plays only on its lower registers. Even as I write this...the sun high lights the mountain tops...while the frost covered roofs across the way...remain in the shadows. Such a contrast it all makes...as my eyes zoom upwards...from the grey side walk...to the mountain tops bathed in morning light. Right before me is a reminder of the "different realities" that have been on my mind lately...nudging me to keep lifting my eyes...up high..................Quester.

Radio Orkney

Yesterday...via the magic of the internet...I was able to listen to a fifty five
minute program on Radio Orkney. Now...why would I do a thing like that?...to discover
traditional folk songs and tales of the islands off the coast of Scotland?...or
connect with the wisdom of the ages from a distant place?. No...it wasn't for any of
those reasons. In a recent posting I wrote about other realities available to us...
that we should remember...given we can become so embedded in the one we're living in...that we begin to think it's the only one there is. Radio Orkney underlined for me that there are legions of other realities operating in places distant from each other...in our world...not to mention different realities based on what we each can
carry inside of ourselves. It's true that the long arm of homogenous culture has
reached into this part of the world too...evidenced by musical requests for songs by
Faith Hill and James Blunt...but I was happy to hear the reels and jigs were still
very much alive in the place from whence they sprung. I enjoyed the public service
announcements...like..."fairy concellations due tae awfu' waithar-r"...a request from
someone returning home soon for a relative to have ready "a good feed wi' tatties etc. etc." Then there were the place names like Stromness...Westry...and Stronsey...
conjuring up visions of fishing boats...mountains...and cobbled streets. It was also
heart warming to hear a form of English turned to music by the ancient inflections...
pronounciations...and word usage...of Gaelic speaking people. Yes...for fifty five
minutes yesterday...and beyond...my connection with my fellow human beings was
expanded...giving me another place to visit...undeterred by distance...now that I've
found a way to bring Radio Orkney...into my home..........Quester.

Poem: Don't Put Your Trust In Neon

[Web sites and blogs...don't involve waiting at a counter for customers to come in...
with your shingle hanging outside advertising your goods or services...and so are
exempt from what this poem...written before they were on the horizon...has to say.]
Wet night...blue neon acupuncturist sign from across the way...
shines through the rain snakes on my wet window...
If I were to put up a sign outside my window...what would it say...
and would anyone bite?...Let me see...
"Student of the Art of Life"...No...that wouldn't work...
people don't make appointments to see "students"...
what reels them in is the illusion that you know what you're doing...
Anyway...neon and humility don't go together...
How about..."Professor of Seeing the Silliness of Human Beings...
starting with Himself"...No...that won't work either...
the last thing people want to know is how silly they really are...
they want instead...to feel important and wanted...
Perhaps...a scarlet and fuschia sign...
advertising some services of matching colours?...
No...I don't think so...I'm not that kind of a guy...
No...I don't think any of my suggestions will work for me...
given unctiousness or phoney pleasantness
in pursuit of a hefty reward is not my strong suit...
Instead...I'll continue to live my life out...
inside one more anonymous window...
remembering that the horoscope lady said...the last time I peeked...
"Don't put your trust in neon...your best bet...
is to flow with the universe...
and just let your little light shine!"..........
........................................Quester.

The Trees Are Dancing

Out of the corner of my eye...I catch a movement from inside my balcony door. No...it's
not a high climbing burglar entering for an afternoon tussle...my adrenalin maker
can rest. It's my maiden hair fern...string bean geranium...and even my supposedly
lifeless silver dollar branch...moving. No...it's not an earthquake either...it's just
the capricious wind...gusting through my partially open balcony window. For days it
was fog blanketing the city...today it is wind...cleansing the too long stationary
air...and removing yellowed leaves that were still clinging to their late November
branches. I remember once pondering the lot of trees...having to stand in one place,,,
without moving...while around them...little and large living entities...skittered and
slouched on their way. The lesson today...is that there is justice in the world of the
living after all...the wind is having its way...and the trees are no longer still as
lifeless statues. Today...the trees are telling all...that they too...have the life force surging through them. Today...the trees are dancing..................Quester.

Fog Lifting

On many mornings I go out into the world to start my day. Not today...the fog for the
nth day in a row...[maybe it's a November thing]...is hiding all that lies beyond
fifty yards in front of my windows...estranging me from my helpers across the way...
my mountains. Yesterday...I went in the afternoon down to the Bay. The water not far from shore...not to mention the more distant mountain ranges...were blanked out there too...and I found myself deciding not to go for my walk by the water...and then realized...how important the vista before me has been...on the many walks I've taken
there...turning them into holistic experiences. This morning at home has been special...as I drink my warm brew...and listen to exquisite pieces of music. With this
...another realization has come. It is about how we human beings...sometimes unwittingly let ourselves be shaped...by what we let ourselves be exposed to...
frenetic disc jockeys and harsh music...newscasts and commercials...reinforcing a
cultural reality...that is not the only one available...but is the one we acquiesce to
...every day. As I listen to a succession of songs and instrumentala...I hear evidence
of another reality...as they speak to the tender...reflective...spiritual...dancing...
peace seeking...loving...indomitable...enduring...aspects of the species I belong to
...and for a while...the fog in my mind is lifted.............Quester.

Poem: I Am The Watcher

Red and blue and orange sails
bulge with the wind...
as it riffles my hair
and the pages I write on...
I am the watcher tonight...
perched on my bench...
facing outwards to the far shore...
Solitariness fits me like a glove tonight...
the dissonances of past summer nights
walking the sea wall beat
left somewhere behind me...
I am patient tonight...
like one of the boulders in front of me...
still...above the rising tide...
To be washed clean of the flotsam and jetsam
of living life...is a longing
the human heart knows...
Tonight...I may not be dancing in the heights
of a summer epiphany...but this particular longing
is stilled in me tonight...
I am this man on the shore listening
to the lulling sound of little waves...
at ease in my solitude tonight...
knowing that even our electric moments
shared with others...always come to an end...
and the trick is...not to seek more of them...
relentlessly...in order to escape
spending time with yourself...
but to return to solitariness...
made easier by the long experience
of its riches...
or having cleansed yourself...
like the patient rock at high tide...
sit in silence...with the sun shining through...
the prism of your soul.........
.......................Quester.

Cutlass Country

As I walk along Kitsilano Beach...through the winter trees...my morning mind is blown
by the sight of five men bundled up from the cold...their faces ruddier than usual...
flailing away at the tangle of black berry bushes...near the path above the shore.
Arcing through the air...jerkily...in their unacustomed hands...are these long
cutlasses...["machetes" please...you're in Canada now!]. I almost find myself gawking
...as one or two of them look up at this strange figure in Ontario parka..navy blue
toque...and grey running shoes...a knowing half smile on his morning face. The irony
of the situation does not escape me. I had a cutlass in my hand by the age of seven...
and with a fork stick in the other...soon learned to cut many a swathe through the
"Jack in the Bean Stalk" grasses that sprung up in the fields close to our thatched
roof house. This morning...as in a much twisted piece of deja vue...I find myself
looking at these new comers to the world of the machete...awkwardly slashing away on
behalf of the Vancouver Parks Department...with a tool that to many south of the
Tropic of Cancer...is familiar as a fork to a Canadian. My moment of smugness vanishes
...as my old respect acquired in the steamy heat by the Mother River returns...for
anyone who works with his hands...and the recognition that I never had to swing a
machete...at minus three degrees Celsius................Quester.

There Is A River

There is a river that twists slowly up the dark shoulder of South America...like a giant cafe au lait snake...disgorging itself beyond the wide mud flats that border the
wild Atlantic. There are many sister rivers running in snaking parallel through The
Land of Many Waters...carrying nourishment out to the Sea that stretches North...up
and up...to the shores of The Kingdom of Salvation. This Mother River is only special...in that it remains forever embedded...deep in the soul of one man...who
through the millenia since he paddled his black corial...over its unfathomable depths...from time to time...is jolted out of his sleep walk...by the mysteries of
that water cocoon of his child days. Through this river...the Sea to the North...
brings salt deep into the bowels of this Land Below the Sea. In a cycle that never
ends...the well spring up in the high jungle...pushes the sweetness of the Earth...
back slowly down its mangrove sentried banks...repelling the invading salt once more.
The people who live there...cling precariously to the River's edges. They are often
very wise...but at the same time...often very approximate. Their unsheltered lives are
beaded with acts of daily courage...and rumours of impending doom...turned to gospel
by the second telling. They are people who fear God...and give their word as their
bond. They are the flowers of a garden of miscegination run riot. They are of all
human shades under the sun...clustered like rainbow blossoms...around the trunk of
the River. They are the sturdy descendants of a long line of rugged survivors...
..................Quester.

Poem: Pacific Rain

Rain...tears from the sky...
Raw walking I go...my cocoon dissolved...
by rain...Pacific rain...
Rain...unlinking me from black duck and eagle...
orphaning me as I blunder through
the Kitsilano wet...
White petals...wind driven...
stick to my blue over coat...
Honoured son I am...
at the spring potlatch...
of air and ocean spirits...
Yes...inside of me and outside of me...
the invisible ones slow dance and intermingle...
but flesh and blood have disinherited me today...
leaving me to ghost walk...
in the cool rain...
Pacific Rain.......
...........Quester.

"Nice People Don't Go On Survivor"

A poet and wise cracker I know...once said..."Nice people don't go on Survivor". I
think he hit the nail on the finger with that. Machiavelli doesn't have anything on
those who show their wares on this tv program...with their phoney smiles and promises
made...schemes...lies...and betrayals. Why do we watch this program then?. After
utilising this program..."to do some social antropology studies"...I would like to
hazard some guesses as to why: Perhaps...it helps some of us to feel superior to people
who do what we never do...Perhaps...it helps some of us to be reassured that having
allowed "ambition to turn us ugly"...we are not alone in behaving that way...Perhaps...
a bunch of "vanilla-esque" people being altruistic and loyal to each other to the end...in a remote location...would tune us out in a hurry...and...instead...there is
something in us human beings...that keeps us interested in watching devious people at
work. Perhaps...it simply helps some of us...to pass a dreary fall or winter night...
as we play "survivor" in our own lives...lasting long enough to fight another day....
.............Quester.

Poem: A Summer Observation

Flying...but not so smart...
a bee has found its way into my bedroom.
Makes me wonder
why creatures that can do the one thing
that humans would love to do...
perhaps more than anything else...fly...
have never been able to figure out...
the great mystery called "glass"...
and that a place of entrance through it...
is also a place of exit.
But when you're so small...
and can make honey too...
the least we entrance and exit meisters can do...
is to open a window wide for you...
so once more...you can go...
outward bound...and flying free.......
...............................Quester.

A Picture That Never Comes

On my first cd...which came belatedly after years of vinyl and tape albums...the
picture of me...had shrunk from full front cover size...in my early recording artist
days...down to the size of a postage stamp...on the back cover. It was an augury of what was to come. In the twenty plus cd's that followed this...in a hurry...a picture
of yours truly...is conspicuously absent. It would be nice to claim the absence of
vanity in my life...but this evidence contradicts that. The main reason for a picture
being absent from my cd covers these days...is that although I keep an eye on the
picures friends and relatives take of me...to see if there's one that will "misrepresent me affirmatively"...such pictures it seems...have gone AWOL over the last few years. This is probably trying to tell me something...but having such a picture on a cover...would give me the satisfaction of knowing it was a recent one...while still not being one that was too scary...or having to indulge in the old show biz trick of fooling the public with old pictures...and using an ancient one from my "quasi-hunk" days. So...looks like I'm likely to be checking out recent pictures for a while longer...just to prove that the person who said: "the camera always lies"...was right...................Quester.

Winter In The Oasis Of Canada

Just finished a walk by English Bay. It's grey and cold enough today to have me
reaching for my black woolen gloves. Of course a walk on a day like this is invigorating...if you're up to facing the cold. As someone born and raised in the tropics...I guess I notice the cold more than those who were born in the True North.
It's a good thing that twenty one years ago...I came to live in the oasis of Canada...
its West coast. As I come away from the water today...I pass clumps of palm trees and even a yellowing banana tree. Along with stands of bamboo across the city...they emphasize the "oasis thing". It's not only that...however...I can face a cool day in November on this West Coast...without beginning to hunker down deep into myself...as I did when I lived East of the Rockies...in Ontario...for about five months of the year.
Here...I know that throughout our "winter"...I will not suffer from "green deprivation"
...as I did in the East. Here...I know that there will be bright splashes of berry
colour on certain trees and bushes...flowers if I know where to look...and hardly any
snow...if any...to see me through...until Spring starts its slow return...some time...
around the end of January..................Quester.

An Impressive Twosome

In my coffee place this morning...I looked up from my newspaper...to see a woman who
was about thirty...and about seven foot tall...I'm not exaggerating...followed by a man
of similar age...and slightly taller. Heads swivelled as they came in...and I felt a
certain sympathy for them...as I thought of the thousands of times they must have had
to endure such a response. They ordered their coffees...and sat on two couches across
from each other...with a table in between...their long legs bridging the gap between
them. At one point...I noticed the man's left boot was about two inches longer than
the twelve inch square tile it was lined up against. After a while...sipping their
coffees...she got up...the top of her head reaching alongside...the top of one of the
lamp shades above them...and suddenly lowered herself into his lap...leaning back
with her head reclining on his right shoulder...to renewed stares. They remained like
that for a while...before leaving. Knowing how being very short or very tall...can
isolate people from others...who might forget that a human heart still beats in those small or long frames...I was happy for them that they had found each other...to hang
out with...on a grey Tuesday morning...and it looked like...for long before that.....
................Quester.

When The Night Is Cold Too Long

[Verse & Chorus of Song: When the night is cold too long.
Copyright: SOCAN]

"When the night is cold too long...
and sweet sleep won't come to me...
and my life is like a leaf blown on the ground...
and I search myself to find...
a purpose in these days and nights...
once more these words to comfort me come down...
Deep in you...beauty lives...
All else passes...when all's said and done...
Seek the source of your Light...
Watch your night disappear with the Sun..."
...................................Quester.

Poem: A Fecund Solitude

We are conditioned
from kindergarten...
to believe in
the comfort and wisdom
of the herd...
but so much of the time
we find ourselves alone...
Perhaps...it may be a good idea...
to teach us early on...
about the riches
of a fecund solitude...
introducing us to the path
we each must walk...
beyond the territory...
of even the most helpful
of herds........................
........................Quester.

Subjective Reality

My morning coffee place...for two days in a row...has presented me with grist for my blog. Yesterday...this man who has
previoudly sought me out...to chat...came in with an "I thought I would find you here"...and sat himself down at the other
chair at my table. He is also a musician and we started to talk about our likes and dislikes in music. As is obvious...no two
people are likely to like exactly the same kinds of music...and soon...where we differed emerged. So far...so good. As I
stated my preferences...I made sure I added the phrase..."this is only my subjective reality"...but soon...a syndrome I'd
experienced again and again presented itself. It is when one human being...in the face of a differing opinion...attempts a
conversion of the heathen expressing his or her own take on things...for he was basically telling me...why I should like what he liked. We finally parted...and I was left with a dissonant feeling. Perhaps it was because...wishing to be peaceful...I had not
told him...in addition to saying that "this was only my subjective reality"...as I expressed my likes and dislikes...that he
should be secure with his subjective reality...and respect that of others...and not feel compelled to put pressure on
somebody else's...to try to make it fit with his.................Quester.

It Does Matter

Yesterday...in my morning coffee place...there were two men sitting nearby...talking in very loud voices with heavy accents...
as if there was no one else in the establishment. The problem for me was not with their ethnicity....but...in the first place...
with their loudness...which was skewering my thought processes as I tried to write in my long hand journal. I finally felt
forced to put my pen down...as they continued. I came within a whisper of asking them to shush it. With my writing
interupted...I was able to understand...not everything...but some of what they were saying. Seems that the one who had
been working longest at their place of work...was doing an ego trip...disguised as help...on the other...telling him what to
do in order to keep his job. The Beta male...would try to express what he was feeling...and the Alpha one...at one stage kept
saying to him...whatever he said..."It doesn't matter!". I was reminded once again...of how human beings disactknowledge
each other...in their ego driven interfaces. In my book...telling someone that what they are feeling...or have to offer..."doesn't
matter"...is one of the biggest "no-no's" there is...and is another missed opportunity for having some real communication
with your fellow human beings..................Quester.

Poem: East End Oasis

Golden evening...cool breeze blowing...
sitting under an old tree...with waved trunk...
twisted bare branches...buds swelling along side
clusters of last summer's fruit of the season...
light brown eggs...pendulumming on long stems...
in the light and playful wind...
Behind me...the white ferris wheel...
its red chairs empty...is April still...
as Playland sleeps a little longer...
Below me is the East Side lake...
hardly having completed its first year...at the PNE...
but settling in for a long run...
likely to be much longer than its erstwhile host...
On bare patches of earth...at the water's edge and above...
newly planted tree-lets...struggle to get a grip
on the slopes of the shores...
one laden with white flowers has passed the test...
Not too long ago...there were bull dozers here...
and the wind and rain and snow...has not yet turned
this sudden lake into an easy partnership
with the newly planted bushes...and harshly ravaged soil...
but in my mind's eye...I see a time...
when the resilient earth will be healed...
and birds and other little survivors of the city scape...
will turn this aching place...into the Oasis...
of the Northern East End........
........................Quester.

Melody

[This was first posted on November 5th before "technical difficulties" resulted in it not appearing on my blog]. A little while ago I rousted myself out of whatever grooves I've been in during the last while...and returned to something I've neglected for quite a while. During this time my creating has continued...with a lot
of prose writing...and a poem or digital picture or two. I've also prepared and
recorded a bunch of songs, There was one thing...however...missing from the mix...my
first love...melody making...sometimes leading to the creation of songs. Although
I've made 23 cd's of my songs...there are still a lot of them yet to be recorded.
So...I am not really in need of new material. What I needed to do today...was to
resume my making of melodies...I did...and came up with 3 new ones...although there
are thousands already created that have not been turned into songs. Today's efforts
had to do with how I've been priviliged to have "melody" as my friend all my life...
and have been a "medium" through which melodies come...all my adult life. In all my
years of writing songs...poems and the rest...singing...playing guitar...and telling stories...for which I am very thankful...I would say that it is melody that is the
special present that I was given...when I came to this Earth. Today...I returned to
actknowledging this gift...and getting reacquainted with an old friend....Quester.

Band Aid

In case anyone out there thinks I suddenly and inexplicably lost my "blogging chops"...after posting at least one post a day for seven months...I didn't. i've been
ready willing and able to poat...and have but with only the titles...after my efforts
appearing on the blog. I readily admit once again...that with my Third World beginnings...I am not a wizard at finding technical solutions to things...and I thank those who have offered their help. Today...however...I'm going to do the country boy "band aid" thing...and try posting from my neighbourhood library...
instead of at home. Something tells me my "low tech" instincts...honed as a boy...
might result in a posting........Quester.

If At First You Don't Succeed Try Knitting

Technical Difficulties

Will It Work Today?

Melody...My Old Friend

The Right To Dancing Life

[Verse and Chorus of song:
"The Right to Dancing Life"
Copyright SOCAN]

"Although sometimes we lose our way...
forget what brought us to this time...
and spend our days and nights
like leaves blown on the ground...
Beyond the foolish things we've done...
the wounds received and given too...
the right to dancing life
can still be found...
Take from your eyes the greyness of the day...
This chain of the prices you feel you must pay...
Nothing you've done...or failed to do deserves...
Throwing these precious days away..."

Poem: White Blossoms

White blossoms...
old apple tree...
By their blossoms...
you shall know their hope...
By their fruits...
you shall know...
their beauty...
.........Quester.

A Good Resumption

At the tail end of a cold earlier today...I decided I'd gone to ground long enough...and it was time to venture into the world again...especially with some exercise in mind...to push away whatever remnants of my temporary ailment...were still around.
I decided to resume a program I had recently started...before the interuption. It is my "walk for your lunch" program. So...
I walked through the family dwellings and tattered gardens of my East End hood...with my coat and vest zippers up to my throat...for a good many blocks. I arrived really ready for my brunch...at a bistro on the Drive. After...I meandered back
home...stopping at a thrift store they call the "V.V. Boutique" locally...and came away with a black brief case...and a tiny
tan coloured lamp shade...which looks better than the one I replaced on my table lamp. I guess my long postponed
cheap impulse buying...also needed to be expressed. All in all...a good resumption...and a fine day so far. Now...if my
hockey team could only win tonight...........................Quester.

Poem: A Good & Peaceful Gathering

Under muted fluorescent lights...
the early bird waits...
for the flock to come...
so all can glide and turn...
in invisible realms...
and make a fire...
someone sitting in the greatest of palaces...
cannot make alone...
but most likely will be made...
in the next hour or two...
in this place of flowered chairs
and turquoise carpets...
after the late blooming fire makers...
come through the slow creaking door...
to share a song of hope...
or a bunch of words...
picked from the tree of life...
and the wordless energy
of people of good will...
joining each other ...
for a warm and peaceful purpose...