Huh?

Posted on May 31, 2014 by cdsmiller17

huh

Huh?

How is it that you understand

So much of what I feel inside?

Do I lay myself so open

That I can be read like a hand?

Is there nothing that I can hide

From the prying eyes of you women?

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Afterthoughts

Posted on May 30, 2014 by cdsmiller17

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Afterthoughts

Memory, that unlocked drawer

Where words go in,

Come out no more,

Is of the past.

An afterthought,

In which no thought

Is last or lost

But filed away

For some future date,

When the secret word is said

And the magic key is found

To loose the heart for love

And free the head

From hate.

.

Love, the sweetest plum

Which from the tree

Of life has hung,

Was picked

And then the eater felt

A melancholy sadness

In his heart

When from his paradise

He left, even though his love

He won’t depart,

Forever.

.

Eluding classification, description,

Evading imagination’s images,

Frustrating fragrant phrases,

And escaping time

Is this love of mine.

.

No ends of thoughts are thoughtless ends

When to my mind for thoughts I send

But all the thoughts that I can see

Are all the thoughts that endless be.

.

Another Afterthought

No thoughts had I of anything

Or at least that’s what I thought

I even thought I couldn’t think

But now I think I never thought.

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Attraction

Posted on May 30, 2014 by cdsmiller17

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Attraction

Tire tracks,

Like life lines on the street’s palm,

Leave anxiety

In the wake of cooling calm:

So many crossings,

Like a gigantic caution sign;

So many warnings,

Shallow treads out of line…

God,

How do I get in traffic jams like these:

Is it because I steer too hard to please?

My mind is slipping,

Like helpless tires on sheer ice:

I need your helping hand,

Your loving heart, at any price.

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Razzle Dazzle and Michele Finney

Posted on May 30, 2014 by cdsmiller17

Michele and the Beatles

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In 1964, a huge slice of my childhood ended when Michele Finney left the CBC kid’s program Razzle Dazzle. I had been a fan of hers from her earliest days there (1960-61). In fact, we used to correspond regularly.

While still living in Windermere in 1962, I got hold of a Toronto phone directory and using a little bit of logic, worked out which Finney listing was under her father’s name. (For those interested, I deduced that the listing in the same WAlnut 7 area as the CBC studios would be it.) One Saturday, I rang the number: a woman answered; I asked to speak to Michele; she said, “Just a minute,” and went and got her! We had a short chat. She claimed to know who I was from our correspondence (I’ll bet she says that to all the boys). Thereafter, I called her about once a month for the next year.

One of my greatest treasures was a photograph of her interviewing the Beatles at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto. She’d addressed it to me and signed it on the back. I no longer have any idea of the whereabouts of that photo, but I found a copy on the internet recently.

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I believe it was in 1965 that Michele returned to Razzle Dazzle for a guest appearance. I had been visiting a school friend (in Barrie) after classes and happened to see the program. As the shows were performed live in those days, I immediately rang the CBC studios in Toronto at the end, and asked to speak to Michele Finney. I was immediately put through to her and we had another of our little chats. That was the last time we spoke on the telephone.

For the next few years, we continued to keep in contact, even after I moved to Vancouver and she was in Canada, after moving back from California to Toronto. But as with all relationships, time passed and connections get lost.

Years ago, I read a magazine article in Macleans in which Michele was interviewed, and she commented on the fact that she had had correspondence with some fans over the years. I like to think that one of those fans she was referring to was me. If you happen to read this Michele, Chris says “Hi.”

Post Script

Dec 2016: Michele and I have reconnected on Facebook.

michele-finney

(Photo of Michele courtesy of Facebook)

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A Pawn Piece (Upon Peace)

Posted on May 29, 2014 by cdsmiller17

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A Pawn Piece

 

Today I talked with the cars,

And they told me they’re tired of refilling;

They wished they could stop all their killing

And park in a peaceful garage.

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The birds, then, twittered a bit

And spoke of the ‘flu’ they’d caught;

They wished that they could be shot,

To be at peace to rest.

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The dogs barked out their grievances

Upon the trees who sighed, ‘How they steal!’

And said that they’d make no appeal

For any piece, big or small.

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The trees, then, spoke to me

And told me their tale of woe;

They wished the bulldogs would go

And leave them in peace in the park.

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The cat who’d lived in hunger

Said nothing of her stomach’s need,

But talked of love, instead of food to feed,

Though a piece of fish would be nice.

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The rock that sat in the pot-hole

Spoke of times when he was the peak;

As a mountain, he’d never felt weak:

Now he’s not even a piece of it.

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Not knowing what to do,

I left them in their misery

And wondered if peace was worth the price

That these could say they were willing to pay…

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Off Base

Posted on May 29, 2014 by cdsmiller17

In July of 1969, man walked on the moon for the very first time. At the time, being in my late teens, I thought that, wonderful achievement that it was, the money should have been spent on more worthwhile endeavours, like feeding the poor or building affordable housing. Seems that I was a bit ahead of my time…

 

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Off Base

 

By leaping to the Base Tranquility,

Mankind now seemed to have surmounted all:

He found that he could jump a ten-foot wall,

Thus reaping his new-learned agility.

Not knowing the fatigue, futility

Of planting plastic in the lunar fall,

He hopes to raise synthetic crops so tall,

Though silently sowing sterility.

I think that we should not be too concerned

With distant interplanetary life,

At least for three or four more earthly years;

I feel, as yet, we haven’t really learned

To conquer all our worldly woes and strife,

To help appease our apprehensive fears.

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Expected to be Tired

Posted on May 29, 2014 by cdsmiller17

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Expected to be Tired

 

Wait?

Relax??

Be patient???

HOW?!!!

 

When my wife’s a patient about to give birth,

How can I judge if the waiting is worth

The worry that wearies me?

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Customer Service Rep

Posted on May 28, 2014 by cdsmiller17

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I’d forgotten how difficult it is to talk to complete strangers when they call in with a concern about their services. Most people are world-weary, due to the necessity of having to contact the service company. Some have even been pushed to the limits of their tolerance due to ongoing issues. All just want to know that someone, somewhere has heard their story.

When I was a Samaritan in the UK, the people calling in had real problems, at least they were real problems to them. All they wanted was someone to share them with. I think the jobs are similar when you are in any form of customer care. The key is to really listen to the person on the other end of the line: put yourself in their shoes; walk around in them for the length of the telephone call. Be empathetic. There is nothing worse than being treated as another statistic.

As a CSR, you need to remember that what the customer is saying to you is not personal. Let the cuss words pass, like water off a duck’s back. Hold on to the idea that you can only do what you’re able to do, and let the rest go. And, for goodness sake, smile: it makes such a difference to the conversation; the customer may not be able to see the smile, but they’ll hear it in your tone.

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Limericks

Posted on May 27, 2014 by cdsmiller17

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The limerick is a poetical form popular since the 18th century. The idea that there can be ‘clean’ limericks is farcical at best. However, I have a couple of examples that I wrote which are cleaner than most.

 

Vacuumed Cleaner

There was an old man from Vancouver,

Who bought his new wife a used Hoover;

She put in the plug,

It sucked up the rug,

So he got a big van man to move her.

 

It’s the Pits

There was a young woman from Barrie,

Who loved kissing armpits, quite hairy;

One day, she did smell,

And said, “This is hell:

Some sweaty men’s armpits are scary.”

 

Will that be Cash or …?

A young maiden from St. Catharines

Felt she’d have to pay dearly for sins;

So she thought, “What’s the harm-a,

If I charge them to Karma,

Cause a person with debts never wins?”

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Smouldering Death

Posted on May 27, 2014 by cdsmiller17

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We have a love/hate relationship with death. When we’re young we view it as the ultimate end to everything we know, so we try to ignore it. As we grow older, we begin to see it differently. When our parents die we know that we’ll be next, but it’s still somewhere in the future. It’s only when we get old, do we welcome death as a relief. By then, we’re tired, and all we want to do is rest. But is it the end?

 

Smouldering Death

 

The end of life is death,

When the body exhales its breath.

It’s the terminal of life’s bus route;

The final station at the train’s last toot.

Death is the only hope for the spiritualist,

And the greatest fear for the atheist.

To some, death is the cold end to life in any form;

To others, the beginning of a greater life, secure and warm.

It sends chills down the spine of older folk,

And is laughed at by the young, a filthy joke.

Life is a match, blown out by a breath,

But until it stops smouldering, there is no death…

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