Growth on the Lake

The neighbourhood
Has grown,
In a burst.
The fruits of
Big commerce,
Suddenly blossoming,
As they often do
These days,
When construction
No longer crawls
But sprawls
In high and
instant towers.
The Streets
are buzzing;
Night side walks
are full of
Condo dwelling youth
All hand in hand;
an instant population
On the Lake,
Where formerly
were only
Discrete motels
Rented by the hour
And rendezvous
In half filled lounges
Where the lizards sang.

There is no end to it;

the wondering of why

we are

except in the expiration

of the counted breaths

that make up a single life,

And except in that unfathomable thought

that we may be but a single breath

of the many breaths

of The One .

Born in the East

I was born in the East

where poverty

and want abide.

An abundance

of yearning is

in the East,

where the sun shines

brightly focused on impoverished ground,

as it illuminates the earth

In explicit fine detail,

exposing every floating spec of dust,

and every wandering grain of sand,

every child, every woman,

and every man.

I have journeyed

and traveled to the West

to live,

where a filtered light abides,

Where women wear

their crowns

with increasing pride,

a growing,
and cascading tribe,

unlike the downward cast

and fabric covered eyes

of the women of the East.

I have made the journey

from the East to West

In the twilight of the

gently fading light

that casts

an orange golden glow

on the outlined squares

of all the lighted

and drowned windows

of the city towers

and western temples

all cast against the darkened

blues of night.

And here

I have found my life,

my spouse,

In a merging

of East and West

and in a mingling of heart

and blood

and mind.

Yet in my heart there’s

a yearning still

for want,

And suffering,

some of it derived from the

ragings

of the beast,

But I yearn for the honesty

Of humble roots;

For the open hearts,

that want and suffering can breed.

And there’s a beauty

and a yearning,

a familiar comfort,

of a kindred sort

in the night falls of the West,

that especially is felt

when traveling

at night by roads that run by water.

It arrests the heart

and soul as well;

In a sombre moment of

serenity.

There are so

many setting suns

that are all descending

in the West

and the poignant beauty

of this sadness

and their descending

all at once ,

is so great

that it defies description.

It’s a sadness abiding

in the feast

of many tables,

an abundance

quickly fading,

from reality to fables.

And the fading

sows the seeds

for fields of hearts

to be cultivated, to be grown to open.

And these

Fields plowed and fertile

are the very reasons

that I now

have made this land

my home for hearts to open.

From “Picture Book of Poetree” by PWChaltas

The fragrant
Evening mists
Of ending summer
Carry secrets, lists
of budding life,
Secret lists,
Searing with revival,
To be buried in the
Rust charred yellowed leaves
And in the coming weight
of moribund white

City Haste

The city is a grand illusion
Made of individual human dreams,
And if you blink for
Just a moment,
You will see
it dissipates
To a figure eight,
hope and aspiration, stitched
together at the seams
by human beings.

City yawn,
Shrugged shoulders,
Observations made,  conclusions drawn.
Abba sits back
and smiles,
And with a single breath
Reverts it all
to flowing grass and streams.

The Waters

If you have
been wandering
On path
Not kept
on higher ground,
When the deluge
Finally comes,
You will be
Swept away,
And although
merciful hand
May intervene
You will find
Yourself in a place
Outside
And far away

from the place
You knew
As home.

4:59 am on Queen Street

4:59 am on Queen
The sky light blue,
And moon full.
It hangs bright.
We drive down Queen street
strewn with the
Early morning random people..
A flight attendant in
Blue and red scarf
wheels luggage
Round the corner
And the stores
They are all dark
But traffic has started
on the road,
As the rest of the
World sleeps still
Dreaming of the sun.

The Boatman Speaks

The boatman
Looked at me, his hair grown a longer grey, stringed instrument in hand, he said:
You give me hope.
And I knew exactly
what he meant;
Little did he know that
He gave me more.
And as I walked away
His music rang
All that much stronger,
Into currents of the summer breeze
And across all
the flowing waters.

The day before yesterday I visited Pier 21, one of the two main reasons my wife and I decided to visit Halifax. I wanted to see the place where my parents first set foot in Canada.

This is my first time to Halifax and I am taken with the warmth and forthrightness of the Haligonians. They are a courteous lot. Cars stop when they see you waiting to cross the street and people go out of their way

to be helpful. The city, although studded with budding towers, has a cosy small town feel.

In my hotel room in Halifax on the harbour after making some calls and sending emails, I look out my window at the building called Pier 21, now a museum.
At one time between 1928 and 1971 Pier 21 was the gateway for over a million immigrants and has now been turned into a museum beautifully commemorating all the many journeys. My parent we’re among those that made the week long sea journey to eventually walk through the doors of Pier 21 and set foot in Canada . It is Canada’s version of Ellis island.
During our visit to Pier 21 we viewed an incredibly moving documentary detailing the stories of some of the more recent immigrants who have made a life for themselves in Canada. I have to confess I had a difficult time keeping my eyes from welling up as did many others in the theatre as we watched and listened to real stories of challenging and poignant journeys. I kept thinking to myself if this experience is so difficult in recent times how challenging and difficult must it have been in troubled earlier times with wars, poverty, and greater prejudice. After the documentary, we took a guided tour of the museum led by our gregarious guide George who himself had emigrated from Holland at the age of 17 with his parents in 1951; the very first time that he passed through the doors of Pier 21.

Our engaging host walked us through full size replicas of the tiny tourist class’s cabins on the boats that took many immigrants across the Atlantic, and scale replicas of the insides of trains that many of the travellers embarked as they headed out from Halifax to find their new Canadian homes.

He showed us the doors that they came through as they arrived in Pier 21, as well as luggage, and storage crates of belongings and artifacts that had been donated to the museum by many (including George himself) who had made the journey to their new home. Ironically some of the large storage crates packed full of belongings were never fully utilized because the new residences for some of the early immigrants without contacts or relatives in Canada were often sheds, barns, and other cramped quarters.

My own father emigrated with not much more than the typical suit case and $25.00 in his pocket. One family friend I knew, who has recently passed away, related to me how he had arrived with just the shirt on his back, in the dead of winter; with no coat, no understanding of English, and without any money left over. Regardless of the great difficulties they all persevered, thrived, and prospered in their new found home, to become employees, business owners, citizens and taxpayers.

We had the chance to
speak with our guide George after the Pier 21 tour and he confided to us that many of his contemporaries from the 50’s who had made the journey, found it very difficult to talk about their early experiences and it was only after considerable coaxing that they did open up and tell their stories, allowing them to be recorded. These stories are important to keep alive especially at times when we may become overly complacent or feel overly entitled. We have not really had any great trials of this scale as a generation. At least not yet.

The common theme among the many that made the journey to Pier 21 according to George, regardless of the hardships, was that they were all glad they had made it to become Canadian citizens, to find a better life for themselves, and for their children. In a nutshell, they are proud to be Canadians. Pier 21 is a worthwhile and important reminder. The trip to its’ halls reminded me to be thankful for being born Canadian, and for the sacrifices made by many. As some one once said: Be kind to each other, especially to the traveller far away from home.