The Foothills Of Alberta
by Mag Mawhinney ~ Cobble Hill, Vancouver Island, B.C.
I wanna ride through the southern Rockies
Head north up the old 22
Where my heart skips a beat at the beauty
When carpets of green meet the blue
Where cotton ball clouds float silently
As far as the eye can see
In the foothills of Alberta
Is the place where I should be
I wanna rumble over a Texas gate
On a winding country road
And follow the dust from a cattle truck
As it hauls its heavy load
I wanna walk on wooden bridges
Where creeks flow wild and free
In the foothills of Alberta
Is the place where I should be
I wanna see some wildlife grazing
In a valley beyond the hill
And listen to the song of a meadowlark
Or the sound of a whippoorwill
I wanna hear the trembling aspens
Playing music in the breeze
In the foothills of Alberta
Is the place where I should be
I wanna watch some ponies running
On the sunny side of a slope
I wanna hear the squeak of leather
And the swish of a cattlerope
I wanna roam upon the heartland
Of the Blackfoot and the Cree
In the foothills of Alberta
Is the place where I should be
I wanna stand in a skyline meadow
Where the Black-Eyed Susans grow
And watch a sunset paint the tips
Of the Rockies topped with snow
I wanna feast my eyes from the highest ridge
Till it brings me to my knees
In the foothills of Alberta
Is the place where I should be
�2009, Mag Mawhinney
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Companions
by Mag Mawhinney ~ Cobble Hill, Vancouver Island, B.C.
When I stand in a forest,
pines whisper to me--
lofty branches wave a greeting;
birches and maples rustle leaves
to get my attention;
leaning alders lend an ear
to my thoughts;
like soldiers, majestic firs
surround me in silent portection.
Each one is my friend.
�Mag Mawhinney
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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You Didn't Listen (Country Song)
by Mag Mawhinney ~ Cobble Hill, Vancouver Island, B.C.
You didn't listen when I said
We'd lost that close connection
And we need to get that feelin' back
With caring and affection
Then you whispered good intentions
You thought that I should hear
They were only empty promises
That came through loud and clear
***
(CHORUS):
You didn't listen
You knew my lips were movin'
You heard every single word
It's the meaning you were missin'
No, you didn't really listen
***
You didn't listen when I told you
That our love would never last
If you cling to those resentments
You bring up from the past
When you yelled those hurtful words
That your anger couldn't stop
That wall between us grew
Until we couldn't reach the top
***
(REPEAT CHORUS):
***
You didn't listen when I told you
That love was give and take
You took it all and what you gave
Was nothing but a fake
A one-sided compromise
Will never make it right
So this paper says it's over
Written there in black and white
***
(REPEAT CHORUS):
�2009, Mag Mawhinney
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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You're Still There (Country Song)
by Mag Mawhinney ~ Cobble Hill, Vancouver Island, B.C.
The words you said that showed you cared
are fading with the good times left behind
and all the laughter we once shared
still echoes in the corners of my mind
...you're still there
***
I see your face in every crowd
but in my heart I know that can't be true
I play my music really loud
to drown out all the songs that we both knew
...you're still there
***
(CHORUS):
You're still there, you're everywhere
I think of you both day and night
I know you're gone, it isn't right
You're still there, oh, you're still there
***
I close my eyes and I can feel
the comfort of your arms embracing me
I reach for what I think is real
then realize it's just a fantasy
...you're still there
***
I've tried so hard to say good-bye
but I'm still clinging onto yesterday
When I no longer question "why"
I know that time will wipe my tears away
...you're still there
***
(REPEAT CHORUS):
�2009, Mag Mawhinney
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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The Homestead My Grampa Used To Own (Song)
by Mag Mawhinney ~ Cobble Hill, Vancouver Island, B.C.
I'd read my storybooks in a cozy little nook
near a hearth built out of rocks from Grampa's land.
I felt so warm and snug on that big, old braided rug
made with tender love by Gramma's calloused hands.
The Grand Ole Opry Show, on the stand-up radio,
played the music me and Grampa loved to hear.
I'd pretend I was a star as he strummed his old guitar
and my Gramma joined right in to clap and cheer.
***
(CHORUS):
I remember feather beds and the smell of gingerbread
in the place I used to call my second home.
Joy filled ev'ry minute, with lots of love wrapped in it,
on the homestead that my Grampa used to own.
***
The rug that Gramma wove now hangs beside my stove,
reminding me of memories I hold fast
and that stand-up radio, playing songs that I still know,
will remain my treasured pieces of the past.
It nearly breaks my heart to see the cabin fall apart
on the homestead that my Grampa used to own.
Wind whistles through the cracks of that worn-out country shack
as the prairie soil awaits to take it home.
***
(REPEAT CHORUS)
�2009, Mag Mawhinney
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Birth Of A Poem
by Mag Mawhinney ~ Cobble Hill, Vancouver Island, B.C.
In the morning, I walk
surrounded by forest giants
my thoughts are as fresh
as the country air
words swirl in my head
like autumn leaves
caught in whirlwinds--
vortices discarding most
keeping only centered, colorful ones
the afternoon finds me
in a favourite chair
sun bouncing off my shoulder
lighting up the page
I pen the collected gems
into meaningful verses
and a poem is born
when night falls
I cannot sleep
unless I soak up the silence
and nurture my creation
in my mind
till it feels just right
only then, will I put it to bed
�Mag Mawhinney
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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