Our love is like a well-dried plum.

A friend recently asked on Facebook, "What do prunes have to do with Valentine's Day?"

Aside from the obvious "prunes are good for the heart"?   It's the perfect set-up for a punchline, but I decided to write a poem instead.  It has been a while since I wrote a poem and I was inspired.  So here it is:

Our love is like a well-dried plum
It blossomed on a summer's night
In the warmth of June
And like a plum with giant heart
Grew 'neath an August moon
And now, with age, it stands preserved
So with these words I croon
Our love will stand the test of time
Just like a well-dried prune

Jade's First Poem

Jade just wrote a poem.

Seriously.

OK, so maybe she didn't write it - she's only four and three-quarter-years-old - but she did compose it. Jade's helper asked her some questions and copied down what Jade composed. And here it is:

Snow

I like it falling down

Snowflakes are twirling around

I see cars...

I see snow on the cars

I see stairs...

I see stairs covered in snow, too

I see signs...

I see snow under the signs

I see trees...

I see trees covered in snow, too

Snowflakes are still falling down and twirling around

Everything is covered in snow now!

Infidelity.

Ever since you came into my home I've wanted you
Simmering for eight long hours in a crock-pot of desire

My wife is in the shower
I could join her, but right now it's you that I lust for
She doesn't know how strong my feelings are for you
She doesn't need to know but she'll read between the lines
I don't care anymore

You are saucy and tangy and moist
You have been pulled in every direction but you always find your way to me
You give me your tenderness

I want to trace your beautiful lines with my tongue
I want to bite into your flesh with my teeth
I want to feel your warm sauce dripping down my chin
I want to consume you

You know how to tease me
You please me to my very core

My wife is in the shower
I could join her, but right now it's you that I lust for

Pulled pork sandwich, you are delicious

When I've had my way with you
And you have become a part of me
I'm going to introduce myself to your sister
She's hot
And just as delicious in every way

The Ballad of the Kluane Shiplap Spruce Boat

Riveted, shiplap on rib construction.  This is from an OLD boat.

In the days long ago, when the land was full of snow

A healthy old spruce tree was growin'

Reaching up high from the north summer light

Near a cool mountain stream ever-flowin'

A strong sense of place with its roots in embrace

Of the rocks and the sand and the soil

It could not foresee the great axe-swinging spree

Of a boat-builder ready for toil

If fell to the ground with a great thudding sound

Its needles and branches a-snappin'

Then dragged a few miles, cut, and thrown into piles

All the while asking "How could this happen?"

As the spruce lumber dried the great boat-builder cried:

"A fine little craft this will make here

For Kluane Lake has a tonne of fish to take

In the deep Yukon waters, cold and clear."

He measured and cut from the tip to the butt

Then he ran each new board through the planer

He fitted each slat and then riveted each flat

'Till he had him a floating container

So proud of his boat, he then set the thing afloat

And then rowed it across Lake Kluane

It had been too long since his last hooch and song

With his brother-in-law, Skookum Johnny

What he didn't know is the spruce refused to go

Any further from its place of growing

With a pop and a crack the boat split down its back

Then into the craft water was flowing

The boatman, I'm sure, never made it to shore

Kluane Lake water is chilling

The moral, you see, is to never cut a tree

Unless it is ready and willing

Washed high ashore.

Stepping into History

Looking back at my muddy tracks
I declare
This is how dinosaur trackways were made!
A mark upon this earth
Preserved for millions of years
An individual's mark preserved for millions of years
Like a fingerprint
Only better


I leave my mark in my muddy tracks
I question
How will the beings of the future interpret the soles of my shoes?
A tread upon this earth
From a being unlike any other
An unusual tread unlike any other
Not like a fingerprint
Maybe better


I am filled with awe by my muddy tracks
I realize
There is nothing else I can do that will make a mark more eternal
A figure in Earth's history
Remembered for aeons
An indelible figure remembered for aeons
A signature of my existence
For all time


The wind carries my tracks away to lands unknown
I wonder
Maybe the Earth doesn't want me to leave a mark
Everything is erased
Even if it takes millennia
The Earth doesn't like anyone leaving prints
And that could be why
The dinosaurs are no longer with us

Crocus Rex

Crocus Rex

Proud little crocus
All quiet and still
Sitting alone
On top of your hill

Majestic and regal
In your purple crown
Standing up tall
In your green, fur-lined gown

Where are your subjects
In summer so ample?
It is a wise king
Who leads by his example

At this temperature...

According to Environment Canada, it was -38^oC outside when I took Nanuq for his evening walk two nights ago.  It later dropped to -40^oC.  As I walked, safely bundled in my winter clothes and returning to a nice, warm house, I thought about what shelter and survival means at -40^oC...

Murderously Cold

Spruce burst with percussive force:

A thousand snapping snares.
Long cracks line once-mighty trunks;

Trees murdered by the cold.

Larvae of Dendroctonus:

in spruce bark they repose.

Cryogenic'ly preserved;

Swarms murdered by the cold.

Moose won't move from sheltered spruce:
The wolves can't track their prey.

Fat makes warmth.  There's none for heat;

Packs murdered by the cold.

Voles make tunnels 'neath the snow:

It's always warmer there.

Their den's an iced white blanket;

Protected by the cold.

Men lie sleeping in the streets:

Wrapped in space-aged fleece.

Without a den for shelter,

They're murdered; not by cold.

Haikus for Winter

I haven't written any poetry since the spring, when I wrote "A tribute to my beard". RachelW, over at The Waxing Moon, has been inviting readers to contribute some of their own poetry. First she had an invitation to write limericks and then it was haiku. I got a little carried away with the haiku. Here are the poems...

There once was a guy named Joe,
who liked to do art with snow.
A clever young fellow,
he'd paint the snow yellow
when signing his name below.

Two Haiku in Tribute to Snowballs
Balls of snow
flying through the air
caught my eye

The snowmen
pay attention to
their snow balls

Two Haiku in Tribute to Sled Dogs
Steaming breath
trails behind the dogs
as they pull

Dog feces
are easy to scoop
when frozen

Four Haiku in Tribute to the Personal Hazards of the Cold
A boy's tongue
left part of itself
on the pole

Snotsicles
are not conducive
to kissing

In the cold
some body parts grow
and some shrink

Ignorant child
blissfully licking
yellow snow

"Strange Names to Diseases"

A friend (who also happens to own this company) posted a little challenge for musicians the other day. He proposes that, as busy as everyone gets, there's always a little time for a special side project. He calls his challenge "The Side-Project-Generating Game":

Here's how it works:

1. Go to the Wikipedia random article generator. The first random Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.
2. Go to Random Quotations at quotationspage.com. The last four words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.
3. Go to flickr's "explore the last seven days". Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
4. Write a song as your side project alter ego! One week. Get it done. Just live in the side project moment.

I knew I'd never have the time to write a song, but I played along with the first part just for fun. Here's what I got:

Band: Advanced Measurement Approach
Debut Album: "strange names to diseases"
(from "They certainly give very strange names to diseases."
Plato (427 BC - 347 BC))
Album cover (one that is, somehow, very appropriate):

This perfect image for my album was borrowed from j6 photo.

Oddly enough, something happened. I got inspired.  I "lived in the side project moment" and wrote a song.

I wrote some lyrics and can hear the tune in my head. It's a big band crooner piece that pays homage to the rama-lama-lama-ka-dingity-dingy-dong nonsensical lyric pieces that we all know and love. I know it's never going to be a platinum (or gold or even rusty steel) seller, but that's OK. I can live with that.

I've decided to share the lyrics here (copyright retained). Please note that my title song, "Strange Names to Diseases", isn't necessarily about social diseases, and is more likely about that other contagious disease they call love. Which, I guess, is a social disease (according to Bon Jovi). Ah, well. Here are the lyrics:

I don't know what she gave me.
I don't know what I got.
I don't know when I got it,
But, baby, it sure feels hot.

(Chorus)
Is it the
hubba hubba hootchie mama
slippity sloppity slap
with the
boomin' bangin' bingo boingin'
clippity cloppity clap?

Is it the
zippin' nippin' red hot lippin'
bumpin' jumpin' beanie
or the
scooby dooby labba nooby
walla walla weeny?

Maybe my doctor can tell what
I got from our night of romance.
Now come on a little bit closer,
and see what is making me dance.

(Chorus)

I can't get it out of my system
I've got it from dusk until dawn
There's only one thing that feels better
And that's when I'm passing it on

(Chorus)

Oooooooooohhhhhhh, yeah!

What's the name of your musical side project?