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Starry Night

It was the blueness
Capturing the senses Bigger than comprehension Much bigger Skies swirled With light on the move Each one out there...a sun Imagine And a flow of sheen West to east As if spilled milk Small town was featured Only few homes With detail And one reaching Hopeful steeple Also a gracious cedar Made larger than life Older than the rest It seemed Surrounding hills and bush Like creeping lion's paws Trying to reclaim The lot. All much too large For any mind to grasp Clearly But he had tried Vincent had And we still honour His brilliant impression In our front hall.

Queenie Hennessy

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Queenie Hennessy

It began as a knee-jerk thing Unrequited love, another time A final time And leaving the job and the brewery The audit drives to hoteliers With Him Upright, blue-eyed, decent Gentle in humour and engagement. But now simply to leave The terrible hurt like a cleaver. His one son David...gone Brilliant, eccentric, troublesome And troubled Finally at the end of a rope. And I had known David Through various happenstances Fascinated with him As curious extension of his Father. And never disclosed it Neither those tell-tale symptoms For possible rescue. Too proud Too frightened.

Yes, to leave, bus after bus Nose pointed in a crazy Otherwise direction Til stopped by the North Sea Sand and gulls Somewhere near Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. The beach house Down from the Main Strip And over from the golf course. All wind-pierced, skeletal and rotting. But project nevertheless Distracting and defending. Locals and vacationers Curious and helpful About this crazy spinster woman Alone in th…

Still (with hillary scott)

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Pan Pipes Linger

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The music of the mournful pan pipes on the radio early this morning made me think of him. I had heard that he had died. Full of smiles, welcomes, hugs and names remembered. He was always at the Farmers' Market in Waterloo on Saturdays.

Our kids used to stop, listen, smile and wonder. At this beautiful man and at the two violinists, conservatory trained in eastern Europe who were further down the way. Crowds often wandered by stuffing their faces with sausages. But this fellow was arresting; his music other-worldly; his CD's always available.

Fernand is missed. His grace unique and loving.


Give a Good Word

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Silence

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To Be Holy

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To Be Holy



The old hymn says Take Time to Be Holy. That's the first part. Allowing the passage of time and the flow of encounters and reactions. God has willed you to be where you are, not where you are not. Your path to separation from the world's clutches will be unique because the Lord loves you uniquely. He also wants to use you to woo others.
There are places for the cloistered life of prayer, petition and meditation. They are spiritual dynamos occupied by peculiar and largely isolated saints. They bear fruit in the quieter moments and operations coming upon a busy, covetous, colliding world system that will not slow down to think deeply, to feel selflessly. Remember the beautiful fruit of the Spirit listed in Galatians chapter five (love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance).
But the monastery and the convent will not be for many. God wills that His ambassadors usually go out there to rub shoulders with a confused, hurried, questioni…