Mary Margaret Klinkhammer

A rose like any other who In Dublin lived and Dublin died. Her life defined by place of birth And the space she occupied. A name that mesmerized. I heard if first over drinks A remembrance softly chanced In talk that doesn’t matter Recollections of lives that never danced Reduced to simple banter. Religious schools and God was King Ghosts rising from the past And where our darling Mary K Drew breath from first to last With rules the strictest order. Girls unseen, unheard, understanding Things unspoken, would shed their skins At heaven’s gate with dreams wrapped all in faith Their steps so light and without sins Their hearts their only burden. a poem by Susan...

Stepping Off The Cliff

Stepping Off The Cliff   This is second nature to me, this stepping into thin air Feeling nothing beneath your feet. No solid ground To hold you up, to banish all despair No. Nothing but space on every side – and up and down No hand holds, no parachute, no railings, no rope. A universe unknown and dark below but not without hope. This is where you tilt your head and gaze toward the stars And breathe in deeply – again – again – again – don’t look down, Chin up – up -up. It’s who you are, who you’ve always been. And who knows why but step you will and step you must Across the great divide that separates those who merely live And those who lust for life – before they turn to dust.   (written on the occasion of another right turn)   Susan...

So far. So good.

So far. So good.   It’s a warm August day and life’s about to start clocking our miles. Cut the cards and deal me in! I hear there’s an official timekeeper on the job. So far. So good. Not certain if this will be imperial or metric, but we’re equally at home with both. One thing’s for certain though – it won’t be a straight run. No matter what lens you choose there’ll be some adjustment required but So far. So good From Sacramento – yes – that capital C stands for the gold rush state We’re in up to our necks. To just outside Strathroy, where? Ontario? Where? Canada! Oh, that’s nice. So far. So good. Put your shoes on darlin’ this is goin’ be a REAL trip – cool 60’s speak. Around the world in three thousand days (or so) Can’t decide which was hotter – Tahiti or Chernobyl. So far. So good. But home is where the heart is and his little heart beats to its own drummer. Imagine that…and the award goes to…he’s a lifetime achievement. We should get this on tape – something for posterity or cold winter nights in front of the fire. So far. So good. The view from here remains altered, a little skewed, tilted – always changing. As our minds keep time with this stepping out of the ordinary and up and up. There are some steep bits, some rocky bits, imagine that. So far. So good. Notches on a doorframe mark time and time marches on – to its own beat. Still our collective rhythm grows stronger and it’s...

A Poem for Todd

A Poem for Todd. (in keeping with the Christmas theme of late) ‘Twas a hot summer day about mid-July When Santa stretched and let out a sigh. The elves had all left – gone to the beach And taken the booze – all but the Screech. So the jolly old fellow unscrewed the cap And after a swig, lay down for his nap. But he tossed and he turned not able to sleep The room was so stuffy and full of such heat. So he turned on the fans – the AC full blast But the thermometer kept rising – so high and so fast. This wasn’t right, it was not right at all. But Santa had no one to help – or to call. It had to be Climate Change rearing its head And keeping poor Santa from going to bed. Santa was tired, the old man quite weary. His twinkling eyes were becoming all teary. He gasped in a whisper, “I need my nap” His demeanor was slipping – not a jolly old chap. Now he was cranky and sweating profusely. No resemblance to Santa – not even loosely. The North Pole was melting and so was St. Nick He needed some magic or at least a good trick To get things to chill up – to freeze up again He needed to call a very wise friend. Santa was looking for his big book of names He’d find who he needed to put out these flames. He called for the reindeer to help in the search But as it was Sunday they’d all gone to church...

What if Every Night Was Christmas Eve

What if Every Night Was Christmas Eve What if every night was Christmas Eve and everyday was Christmas? What if all the lights were twinkle lights and shone across the sky? What if reindeer flew beyond the moon and children danced in circles Around the tree all trimmed in gold with angels set on high? What if candy canes were as tall as your house with swirls of red and green? What if presents grew in gardens to be picked like a pumpkin or peach? What if silver bells hung from the end of our noses as shiny as shiny can be? Would we laugh ‘til we dropped at the jingling sound that jangled through all of our speech? What if choirs sang on every corner in perfect harmony? And we knew all the words, to all of the songs and they all had a reggae beat. What if your stocking was filled each morning by Santa or one of his elves? And right at the bottom – stuck in the toe – was an amazing and magical treat?                 What if your Nanna and Poppa were there to wake you with big warm hugs and kisses? And your favourite cousins and your uncle and aunt were coming for turkey and pie. What if all good things and wonderful feelings were wrapped just waiting for you  Under the tree, the beautiful tree, a tree that reached to the sky? What if every night was Christmas Eve and everyday was Christmas? And we found ‘peace on earth’ in a big ball of holly stuck in a snowdrift of white?  Would...