The Old Violinist and The Old Dog

I first saw them a few nights ago

They were on the corner of Burrard and Alberni

as I rode by on the bus..

The dog lay with his head on the sidewalk

in peaceful contemplation

his eyes closed.

The old violinist was vigourously 

playing his violin.

What melody he played I do not know

for the bus windows were closed.

An old hippy walked by

shaking his head

as if to say,

You can't teach an old dog new tricks

or an old musician new music.

The music he played was obviously

pre-Woodstock

I figured.

Then last night as I walked up Robson Street

half-way up between Thurlow and Burrard

I saw them-

the old violinist

and the old dog.

The dog once again 

his head on the sidewalk

in peaceful contemplation.

I approached

and the melody touched my ears

like the softest velvet.

Never have I heard

Vivaldi's Four Seasons played

so beautifully.

As a child,

my parents often took me to numerous symphony concerts.

I have listened to Vivaldi on radio and TV

and Galaxy satellite

and never have the beautiful Four Seasons

sounded so beautiful.

Vancouverites may not know it

but the streets of Vancouver are truly blessed 

as a master violinist sends his melodies

into the air 

before the Festival of Lights Fireworks

light up the night sky.

-A poem written by Christopher

 Sunday night

 July 28th 2013

 the night after the

 1st round of fireworks

 in the Vancouver Fireworks Festival

 Honda Celebration of Light

 Vancouver, British Columbia.

Accordion Player On The Beach

Accordion player on the beach
The beach has a crowd
but no one listens
The music he plays is good
And has melody
but he plays to no one there.


No one stands in front or around him
like they do other buskers on the beach.
He plays the accordion like a master
But it seems this world no longer has a place for master accordionists.


He finishes his tune
and is greeted with the sounds of silence.
He puts away his accordion
and heads home.
No one notices.
No one cares.



In the trenches of World War I
the soldiers listened to the accordion player
offering a sweet melody and hope
amidst the rumble of big guns
and the sounds of Hell.


"Oh let every good fellow now join in a song,
viva le pompier
Viva la viva viva l'amour..."


Long live love
they sing in French
to the accompaniment of accordion.
Long live love
they sing against the background of war.



Here on the beach
is sand not mud.
Here they lie in the sun
instead of huddled down
in the rain.
Here they cling to their iPods
and not to their guns.
Here are the sound of waves pounding the shore
and not the sound of guns pounding human flesh.


To every thing there is a season
and a time for every purpose under Heaven.
The accordion was an instrument that brought melody and hope
to those trapped in the midst
of a great and terrible war.


No one listened to the accordionist
on the beach last night.
But at least they weren't listening to the sound of guns.


Everything has its give and take.

The guns are silent.
The accordion is now silent.


And on the beach other buskers prosper.
The rapper who sings crap.
The crapper who can't rap.


So still the white dove sails
wondering where to rest in the sand
and the voice of the turtle is yet to be heard in the land.








-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday July 21st 2013.

Detroit Faces Bankruptcy

Detroit is the largest U.S. city to declare bankruptcy

showing that the debt monster suffers not from narcolepsy

but in a creditors' zombie apocalypse

where fortunes crumble like broken sticks

it goes forth seeking whom it may devour

and cares not the day or hour

things don't look so good in the hood

They're melting tires to make Yorkshire pud'

From Motown to ghost town

things are going down

like a broken record in an age of iPod

time to pay the Piper in the land of Nod.





-A poem written by Christopher
Thursday July 18th 2013.


Sent from my iPhone

Reflections of Chandler and Marlowe In The Hot Humid Heat of The City

Hot humid day in Vancouver

the most humid since I've moved here 8 months ago

I walk the streets of the City 

like I'm Philip Marlowe

since Raymond Chandler's prose

always describes hot muggy days in LA

when his private eye is out

walking about.

Coincidentally I see a whole bunch of women out today

wearing evening dresses

and they don't appear to be part of a wedding party

Just out and about wearing evening dresses

on a day hot and humid at that.

I really feel like I'm in a Chandler novel today

hot and humid and feeling sticky 

out on the sidewalks and streets

and hotter women in hot tight dresses 

making a sizzling summer day

sizzle even more.

-A poem written by Christopher

 Tuesday July 16th 2013

 a hot and humid day

 in Vancouver, British Columbia.

A Bastille Day Limerick

There was a young man from Castile

who was there that day at the Bastille

when the Revolution started

and Robespierre farted

and royal Louis'  head was brought to heel.





-A limerick written
 by Christopher
 Sunday July 14th
 2013
 The  224th
 Anniversary
 of the start
 of the
 French Revolution.

A Tale of Two Tides

In mid-afternoon a very very very low tide

the water is way out

the children's water slide

is a water slide no more

but a slide on dry land.

Stirling Stork is down in the low-lying water

Stirling Stork who only makes his appearance

when it's low-tide.

And rocks which can't be seen at high tide are there

jutting out on the beach.

And there on the rocks sits Sidney Seagull

like a glass of fine malt whisky.

Evening and the tide is high

Blondie should be singing her song now.

High tide

the children's water slide

is a water slide again.

Stirling Stork is nowhere to be seen

Stirling Stork who only makes his appearance

when it's low-tide.

And the rocks are nowhere to be seen

but buried beneath the waves like Atlantis.

And Sidney Seagull is likewise gone

like a glass of fine malt whisky in W. C. Fields' hand.

-A poem written by Christopher

 Saturday night

 July 13th 2013

 based on what he observed at 

 2 different times of day

 mid-afternoon and late evening

 at English Bay, Vancouver, British Columbia

 on this day.

Children's Joy On The Beach

Once more it is the ending of another day

and the sun is again setting on English Bay.

A little girl splashes her feet in the waves

this moment in life- no doubt among her faves

her little brother kicks his feet in the sand

full of joy and fun and life playfully grand

They dance and sing and hold hands

among the sea water and shining sands

the sky above is a sparkling shade of blue

a promising sign of all things new

a seagull lands on the beach

just within the little girl's reach

she runs up to say, "Hello."

But gull says "I've gotta go"

and away he flies into the crimson gold sunset sky

not once turning around to say good-bye.

The girl waves so long to her shy new friend

and her dance in the waves soon begins again.

The children's mother stands up and looks at her watch

for the sun has slipped below the horizon far more than a notch.

She goes to her children and motions them to come

they run to her and both of them hug their mom.

Yes, the sun has finally laid down and gone to sleep in the west

it's time for them to go home and have their own time to rest.

-A poem written by Christopher

 Friday night July 12th 2013

 based on what he observed this evening

 at English Bay, Vancouver, British Columbia

Hula Hoop Dancer On The Beach

Hula hoop girl dancing on the beach

her colourful summer floral skirt flirls 

around with the hoop.

The disc of the sun is setting

and the disc of the hoop goes faster and faster

around her hips

around her legs 

around her arms 

around her feet

a hula hoop dance impresario

dancing in the summer sun.

She dances with joy 

she dances with carefree abandon

she is a child of the sun

a child of the sky

a child of the sea

she dances with joy

she dances to be

she dances like one

in the dance of the free.

-A poem written by Christopher

 Tuesday night July 9th 2013

 based on what he observed this evening

 at English Bay, Vancouver, British Columbia

Sidney Seagull On The Seashore

Sidney Seagull On The Seashore



Sidney Seagull has been banned from most Vancouver raves
so he spends his time at the beach soaking his feet in the waves.


-A Sidney Seagull poem
written by Christopher
Saturday evening
July 6th 2013

Canada Day On English Bay

An armada of Canada geese float by

giving their own Pride Parade a try

a streak of white feathery cloud

soars above the Maple Leaf so proud

as if it was put there by a winged unicorn

giving hope to those who feel forlorn.

And golden red embers seem to burn in the sky

as if sky elves created a campfire so high

and from the fire a billowy white phoenix seems to rise

to a former self having said its good-byes

it embraces a new dawn at sunset

embracing a new form without regret

and on the beach people of every race, faith and nationality

who see in one another a common humanity

in a place where dreams become reality

a land God made for you and me

a land God intended to be free.

-A poem written by Christopher

 Monday July 1st 2013

 at English Bay, Vancouver,

 British Columbia, Canada.

Late June Evening On English Bay

An evening in late June

summer has come at last

waves pound the shore

sounding a joyful blast

and here on English Bay

as the sun departs from day

endless sea and endless sky

stretches below that golden eye

rays of gold and purple hue

cling to the sky like an evening dew

a horizon that stretches neverendingly

here on golden waves that crown silver sea.

-A poem written by Christopher

 Sunday evening

 June 30th 2013