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Bright eyes for a dim affair

community

Psalm 133 Community, for A long obedience in the same direction (E. Petersen)

I wandered all night with the light of the River looking for the child of the fraser this land named ‘Richmond’ broke indeed at the close of the day

I searched for a song the very words would not reach my dry lips my thirst long parched from many days of longing for hope in the air

Was it the sunset that vanquished my anxious thoughts or had I taken a sip of an elixir that calmed my frightful tired mind

I could not tell in that moment since I was lost on the south fraser shores calling to
the child of the fraser this fair ‘Richmond’

Poor land I am alone sorrowful in my demise

Conor Oberst

I hear the sound of drilling concrete

Waste Installation by Ray Gallawan of FarmWatchBC

Waste Installation by Ray Gallawan of Farm Watch BC

I hear the sound of drilling concrete
shards splinter into the wind
carrying them to local blueberry fields

This night I am in my right mind
listening to the sound of the rain above
watching rivulets of water beneath me

I am in a trench a ditch on my homeland
beneath my skin is the memory of yesterday
when the leaves fell I watched them turn

I want nothing more than to remember
the scent of decomposition on my land
on my neighbour’s ground where sun shines

This night I am fast in my sleep waking
to the sound of a breakfast delivered
by kind souls who care for me for a while

What was I thinking when I spoke out loud
not knowing what was before me
I receive everyday with the gladness I possess

I am in a festooned fenced in fort
beneath my skin is the memory of yesterday
when the leaves fell I watched them turn

I listen for the sound of drilling concrete
shards splinter into the wind
carrying them to local cranberry fields

Off in the distance is the anguished cry
of an enraged child not unlike me
who for the first time discovers injustice

This night I am in my right mind
listening to the sound of rain above
watching rivulets of water beneath me

A Farmer’s Lament

toxic waste

Finn Road Farm, 9360 Finn Road Richmond BC

I saw the metal in the field

Where I had only known sweet grass before

My toes began to bleed as if weeping into the land

Would cure this curse I stumbled upon

Down to my knee in a marsh bog I was

There I cried long for a clay floor

To catch me even as it shifted beneath

Once before when a small while ago

I lamented the loss of farmland

It is to my son and daughter I whisper

Take my hand and let me go away from

This night dream that stalks me by day

I want to know if you are listening

Out the door and back with take out cups

To sit at a kitchen party in Finn Slough

There is talk of an evolving re-volition

Local misfits and maverick denizens trace

An outline of a new enterprise to feed

Forgotten people who roam the outskirts

In a wealthy city where food is plentiful

Social schemes take shape there I set up

A stand with vegetables and flowers offering

True bread to those who would come to take

Seeds to spread over a cursed ground

The same

It is all the same to me

I am in the background watching the pour

Fire refines and casts a shape

It cannot be easily changed

Thy dangerous flame I miss

Thy heat is long felt and broken upon my skin

My only hope is that one day

Thy fire, water, earth will mix with wind

To produce my felt desire to be with you

Then the same will be different

I will have long left this tent

To come home to my kin

In my Father’s House

rushing-water

Rushing living water

“Sir,” the woman said “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water?” John 4:11

The sound of water is what I go to sleep to. BC Liquid Windows helps me with this since I do not live in a house on the beach! I dream about it and I am grateful that I live close to water.

The mouth of the Fraser River provides endless inspiration to me as I watch tugs, barges, Seaspan container ships (mostly empty), ‘Titan’ the dredger, fishing boats and power boats. In summer sail boats and even tall ships every few years come and go, the sand, grass and the ever changing beauty of Garry Point Park in all her glory constantly beckons to me.

c.ekwphoto

c.ekwphoto

c.ekwphoto

For Doug Workman