Durn Stirrup (Haiku)
by Alf Bilton ~ Whitehorse, Yukon
Durn Stirrup�s higher
Today than it ever was
When I stepped up green.
�2009, Alf Bilton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Tomorrows
by Alf Bilton ~ Whitehorse, Yukon
There on the skyline nods one knotty old pine,
Behind it a hundred winters, a few droughts,
Beetles and wildfires both went elsewhere to dine;
Patiently brooding, but it's friendly somehow,
It waves to the horse and I just passing by,
Then goes back to tree thoughts while I wonder how
It keeps up its spirits, out here all alone;
Could it be that the boulder right by its side,
Shows they are partners, like with me and the roan?
Friends are found where we find them most of the time,
Though we're often not watching, seeing who's there;
I'd best not be rude to the crusty old mime
There, now I've waved back and I'm riding away
A new friend behind us replacing one lost;
My record's still holding, one new friend a day.
How many tomorrows can that remain true?
How many tomorrows have I yet to do?
�2009, Alf Bilton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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My Pen Made Me Do It
by Alf Bilton ~ Whitehorse, Yukon
My pen moves all alone tonight
As hours while away;
Our muse is off asleep somewhere,
- the pen would have its say.
The magic of the written word
Is strongest put in verse,
Where not dilute with bafflegab,
Pretension, lie, or worse.
But truth disguised in poetry
Inspires a reader's quest
To tread the trails were hidden there
To places seldom guessed.
The rule of thumb has long been known
As Poets' Shining Star
Is, "Bear in mind the hidden things,
Disguising what they are!"
And should a reader ever ask,
"Just what's that all about?"
A poet's license gives him leave
To leave that one in doubt.
This stiffled pen, set free at last,
Reminds one truly blessed,
That haunting half-forgotten things
Once written, let us rest.
�2009, Alf Bilton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Kin To The Cowboy
by Alf Bilton ~ Whitehorse, Yukon
Dread ocean a nightmare behind them,
They land with their hopes for the West,
Then gather to hear out a redneck,
One of those did a job for the rest.
There are places out there where you just wouldn't dare
Think a bad thing or start to complain,
Where the awe fills you up like an overflowed cup
Leavin' no room at all for your pain.
There are forests so thick it's a pretty good trick
For a real skinny breeze to get through,
Then there's plains are so broad that your shadow gets odd,
Kinda lonesome an' clingy with you.
There's some rivers so fast that their future's their past
As they laugh and cascade from a cliff;
But they've cousins so slow in the marshes you know,
That they stagnate and get pretty whiff.
There are mountains so high that the stars going by
Have to climb 'em or else go around,
You can see where the snags left the loftier crags
Wearin' stardust like snow on the ground.
There's some lakes are so deep that the fishes must sleep
More 'n once comin' up for a stare,
Filled with water so clear that you might even fear
What is under the raft is more air.
Behind them a hundred years building,
And a civil war's barbarous test;
Again they will follow a redneck,
One of those did a job for the rest.
Have you seen a moose rub raw velvet loose,
And hone his new rack on the trees?
Or seen where he tore up an acre or more
While fighting before the big freeze?
Have you stood in awe at size of a paw
Print left by a griz in the pass?
Seen fox kits at play, and smiled at the way
They bounced to see over the grass?
Have you ever seen where some rabbit's been
Airlifted away by an owl,
Obit wrote in sand by Nature's own hand,
And lost when the wind starts to howl?
Have you seen a night the stars were so bright,
Orion had string on his bow;
When mountains stood out from shadows about,
With snow-laden peaks all aglow?
Have you wondered why some men, such as I,
Spurn comfort for something so cold?
It's for love, you see; we still want to be
Part of it though we're growing old.
Behind them the building of fortunes,
Safe to scoff at the way he is dressed;
They snear at the one with no mansion,
Mocking those do a job for the rest.
Waal, maybe I am an ol' redneck,
An' a hick when compared to you swells;
But my kind will always be leadin'
In things where it's character tells.
It's us with the land in our bloodline,
Yah the ones who bin ripened in sun,
The ones thet you've turned to forever
When there's somethin' new needs to be done.
We kept you an' fed you fer eons,
Jest the fact that you're here can atest
The value of those like the cowboy,
All of those did a job fer the rest.
We're drovers, an' rovers, an' tradesmen,
Maybe freighters or plumbers at best;
Butt of jokes until really needed,
Then the ones do a job fer the rest.
Ain't clothes thet will make a man cowboy,
Ain't a buckle, a saddle, or mount;
The inside has got to be cowboy
Or the rest o' them trimmin's don' count.
The ones go ahead to each yonder,
Be it new place, idea, or test;
They're each of them kin to the cowboy,
One of those do a job for the rest.
�2009, Alf Bilton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Gone
by Alf Bilton ~ Whitehorse, Yukon
Gone, like a summer at autumn's first frost;
Gone, like a back-trail uncharted and lost.
Gone, like a dollar spent heedless of cost.
Gone, like a moment with something unsaid;
Gone, like the monster beneath the kid's bed.
Gone, like the good friends once living, now dead.
Gone.
Gone, like a dream half remembered at dawn;
Gone, like a candle left burning too long.
Gone, just as surely as spots leave a fawn.
Gone, leaving memories won't go away;
Gone, like the sunshine when night swallows day.
Gone, beyond missing, or asking to stay.
Gone.
�2005, Alf Bilton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Perfection
by Alf Bilton ~ Whitehorse, Yukon
No more, Perfection, go! Bewitch me not
With siren songs and spells! Go beguile
Some other dreamer's mind and leave my lot
To lesser aspirations! Fortune's smile,
Your greatest boon, can n'er outweigh the dross
Frustration yields in hundredweight to mark
Your smallest frown. Perfection, note the loss
Of one among your minions! At dark,
When role is called, I'll answer not, but turn
And leave the ranks of restless seekers massed
To serve your whim. A dreamless sleep I'll earn
Tonight; at dawn I'll rise, myself at last.
Go, sweet sadistic lover! Tired of pain,
Devoid of hope, today I quit you yet again.
�1969, Alf Bilton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Beyond This River
by Alf Bilton ~ Whitehorse, Yukon
If other hours and other days await,
Beyond this river beckon hills unseen,
Unwalked, untraveled yet; but here's my fate
On water writ between these banks of green:
It's here I'll fail, or best the current and
Hone my skills to best effect. I will sound
This crossing's bitter temper, learn to stand
Alone in Fury's path and hold my ground
('t may serve me well another time and place
Beyond this ford, beyond this test and text).
I'll not be ruled by Boredom's golden mace,
Forever foreseeking what's coming next.
I'll chance what joys and pain this world can give;
I'll win a shore unknown, and knowing, Live.
�1967, Alf Bilton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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