The Seven Seas: A Poem

The Seven Seas: A Poem


Snow filled streets glistened
in the fall of snowflakes against the backdrop of glittering neon
when the city's downtown still had neon lights
when the city's downtown still had a soul
before it became one concrete corpse devoid of soul
and devoid of neon lights


And there as one walked down Jasper Avenue
in the midst of the cold and the falling snow
one suddenly felt a surge of warmth
when confronted by the sign
that was suspended many meters above the snow covered sidewalk
the giant sign of a sailing ship sailing into a beautiful and dazzling sunset
in that magical meridian
where the setting sun merges with the rising sun
where dusk and dawn embrace
where Hespera and Eos momentarily touch
And below the sailing ship
these dazzling words The Seven Seas


One entered the restaurant
and at the front was a typical cafe diner
but one asked to go into the dining room
and one was led down a hallway
that became a little darker with each step
beyond the small smiling statue of Buddha that one rubbed for luck on the way out
beyond the small fountain and goldfish pool that resembled a Hawaiian volcanic mountain where a waterfall cascaded down into a stream (that was the goldfish pool)
until one came to a room
which one entered through a door of authentic Polynesian style beads
that bore on its ceiling the twilight and stars of a South Seas enchanted evening
and the mural on the wall was a life-sized gigantic photo of a sunny Waikiki beach with golden sands and surging tide of crystal clear blue turquoise water
So one stared at the mural as if one was looking out from the porch of an open air Waikiki beach restaurant
and then as one looked at the ceiling
one was gazing at the tropical starry heavens through the same open air Waikiki beach restaurant
The best of day
And the best of night
like the sign outside the restaurant
where the sailing ship sailed into that magical region where setting sun and rising sun merge
where dusk and dawn have embraced
where Hespera and Eos have momentarily  touched
The best of day
The best of night
The best of times
minus the worst of times
where only the best of times remain



That Chinese restaurant in downtown Edmonton
where my parents often took me to dine as a kid
Looking up at the ceiling
and looking at the mural
I somehow realized I was in a special place
and those dining experiences were special times
moments to be treasured


When Edmonton lost its soul in the oil boom years
and traded a birthright of beauty and atmosphere for a pottage of fools' black gold
The Seven Seas was torn down

I felt like a part of me died the day The Seven Seas was torn down
for a part of me had

Ian Tyson once wrote and sang a song about Alberta called Four Strong Winds
The song began
Four strong winds that blow lonely
Seven seas that run high


And those four strong winds blew even lonelier
The day The Seven Seas disappeared


-A poem written by Christopher
 Monday February 29th 2016

Haiku About Philip Marlowe Private Eye On The Case

Haiku About Philip Marlowe Private Eye On The Case

Street lights and shadows
click of femme fatale's high heels
sidewalk of dark noir

The Ghost White Buffalo

The Ghost White Buffalo


It was the winter of 1908
colder than a frost giant's plate
colder than the old timers could ever remember
colder than the young would ever remember when they approached their life's December
It was definitely a once in a lifetime winter
that made a thermometer an icy splinter
And amidst the drifting cold and snow
that made one huddle to a warm fire's glow
there were reports of a ghost white buffalo being seen
that fabled beast that haunted many a Blackfoot warrior's dream
It was an omen people said
in hushed whispers filled with dread
The beast would suddenly appear
then just as quickly disappear
an apparition that glowed on many a cold wintery night
and sent spectators fleeing in fright
Was this furry vision sensible to feeling as well as sight
those few brave souls could not get close enough to touch, try as they might
And so amidst the cold of this icy winter's breath
that gave one chills like the approach of death
could be added the cold chills of these ghostly visions
into the local psyche the ghost white buffalo made incisions




And now on this cold blizzardy night
some rancher's herd was not in sight
"The herd has vanished!" Joe said to his wife
this herd that was the source of his ranch's life
And into the cold snow blind night Joe did stumble
wishing to hear the joyful sound of a cattle's rumble
"Joe don't go!" his wife shouted
but the door slammed and the kettle's steam sprouted


Snow and snow and still more snow
wind and flakes did blow and blow
Joe wondered where to go?
For this night's cold was a deadly foe


Not far from this ranch was a dreadful cliff
on which Death's dark scythe could easily sift
over these cliffs the cattle could easily go
plunging to the snow white depths below

The cliff was called Dead Man's Bluff
but in this card game it was not enough
for the Grim Reaper easily won every hand
and welcomed one to where Charon's boat would land





Later generations would call it Dry Island Buffalo Jump
where white bones of dead buffalo formed a graveyard dump
Here First Nations people had hunted for centuries those great noble beasts of the Plains
and they'd fall over the cliffs like giant drops of brown pouring rains


The noble buffalo had now vanished from the wild Alberta plain
an image kept alive in memory of early settler's brain


Now the only buffalo one heard of hereabouts was the lone White Buffalo of fireplace tales
that made one's heart feel a cold bed of nails


At some point in the blizzard snow filled night Joe stumbled and fell
and looked down over the edge to a snow bound Hell
He himself was on Dead Man's Bluff
it was the edge of the world and all such stuff
that was related in childhood stories
a place where only ghost white buffalo make forays


Joe decided he better head home
from this abyss where ghostly buffalo roam






And so back to his cabin Joe went
this cold frosty night not well spent
Joe's only hope was his herd wandered down the narrow canyon trail and not over the cliff
a fairy tale he told himself as over his cup of tea he did siff


At 7 PM the next day, the blizzard did stop
and on to his horse Joe did hop
Joined  by his rancher friends, Joe set out in search of his herd
expecting Fate's answer to be one discouraging word
They rode to the edge of Dead Man's Bluff
and looking down, expected to see mangle of bones and blood and stuff
but there at the bottom was Joe's herd alive and intact
it was quite unexpected but nonetheless a fact
The herd had somehow found their way down the narrow canyon trail in this worst winter's worst blizzard
something that could only be accomplished by a wizard
A rancher friend suddenly pointed out on this moon swept wintery night
where the herd alive was to Joe a welcoming sight,
"Look there, Joe! Look who's been leading your herd.  See there, Joe."
Joe looked and he saw the Ghost White Buffalo
An apparition that did gleam and glow
making even whiter the glistening snow
The Ghost White Buffalo then looked up at the cliff
he whose ancestors had fallen over it like snow drift
and then the noble beast did vanish into the dark of night
this cattle herd's savior gone from sight.




The story would be told for years to come
over glasses of egg nog and hot buttered rum
of the Ghost White Buffalo who led a herd of cattle to safety down a narrow canyon trail
and saved them from entering too soon that abode beyond death's dark veil.


-A poem written by Christopher
  during the period
  Thursday February 11th
   to
   Sunday February 14th
   2016


-Inspired by an oil painting
 done by my father George Milner
 entitled The Ghost White Buffalo
 based on a true account of an incident
 testified as having actually happened
 by 17 old time settlers he talked to
 that remembered that dreadfully cold
 winter of 1907-08
 and remembered how a man's cattle herd
 was led to safety by a Ghost White Buffalo

2-Line Poem About Technology and The Circle of Life

2-Line Poem About Technology and The Circle of Life


Video killed the radio star
then digital killed the video store



-written by Christopher
 Monday February 15th
 2016.

Atlas The Wee Giant Bunny Rabbit of Glasgow

Atlas The Wee Giant Bunny Rabbit of Glasgow


He's Atlas the bunny
he takes tea with his honey
a disposition that is sunny
and his antics are funny


Such joy you can't buy for money
but you can have from a bunny
and maybe teach him to play gin rummy


-A poem written by Christopher
  Tuesday February 9th 2016


inspired by this BBC News Story from Glasgow, Scotland:


http://www.bbc.co.uk/newsbeat/article/35530468/home-needed-for-atlas-the-glasgow-rabbit-the-size-of-a-dog

Mr. Bean Meets The Queen of Hearts: A Poem In 3 Lines

Mr. Bean Meets The Queen of Hearts:  A Poem In 3 Lines


Mr. Bean went to tea hoping to be fed
and met the Queen of Hearts whose land she led
but when introduced, she screamed, "Off with his head."

Haiku About Using Mozart's Music As A Weapon Against Vampires

Haiku About Using Mozart's Music As A Weapon Against Vampires

Eine kleine nachtmusik
puts to sleep die Fledermaus
in Transyvlania

The Lone Cowboy On The Hill

The Lone Cowboy On The Hill

He stands on the hill like knight of old
watching cattle who are his fold
Today he's one of a dying kind
in today's world, he'll probably be left behind

He is the lone cowboy on the hill
one with a now forgotten skill
His time will soon come to an end
a man who counted old trails for a friend
Such vast herds will soon be gone
as the world turns and time moves on


To be a cowboy was once a way of life
to ride through rain, sleet and snow caused much strife
To greener pastures for his herd did lead
and did such work as to cause hands to bleed


Sometimes the day was far far too long
other times he stopped to sing a song
this time will soon bid the world adieu
but for now this cowboy's work is not through.


-A poem written by Christopher
  Wednesday January 27th 2016

Rose In The Snow

Rose In The Snow: A Poem

As I was walking through the snow so clean and so bright
It was a crisp and frosty cold winter night
and there on the snow all around
was a single red rose lying on the ground.


I stood wrapping my cloak from the chill from the air
and looked at the blood red rose petals that lay there so bare
What was this that greeted my sight?
The sad result of some lovers' fight?

Was this the final answer flung in some one's face?
After someone decided a vase would be out of place?
Was this love now dead like this rose in the snow?
All that answered in the night was a cold wind's blow.


-A poem written by Christopher
 Sunday January 24th 2016.