No Justice

Another lovely young black man, senselessly gunned down by people who are supposed to be protecting the populace. How could anyone think it was justified? His girlfriend and her four year old daughter were in the car. This is insane. Driving, walking, breathing while black should not be a killing offense. Parents should not have to be afraid for their children, wives for their husbands, every single day. This has got to stop. And if the officer is so afraid, then perhaps he/she doesn’t have the temperament to BE in law enforcement.

#Justice4Philando

 

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Random thoughts

I know that my loved ones are not truly dead, not just because I can feel them near, but because they dwell in the very heart and soul of the divine. Every bit of love they ever had is still there, but like coal under pressure, it has turned, with their passing, into something rare and strange. I do feel sometimes as if they’re all around me.

And perhaps, when we sleep, the starstuff of our souls ascends to the heart of the divine, to be with the starstuff of our loved ones.

And that’s what makes the stars twinkle at night.

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Immigrant

I am the child of immigrants. My parents are children of immigrants, driven across the Atlantic by the hope, the dream of something better for themselves, their families.

My grandfather was a quarrier, holding the spike in one hand and driving the sixteen pound sledge with the other. Grandma was a weaver, weaving plaids at the woolen mill. They packed up four children and moved west from Scotland to Burnaby. The oldest child was left behind, the grandparents being unwilling to part from the whole family. The second oldest was left behind, too, resting quiet in a cemetery, lost to influenza at the age of two.

Paternal great-grandfather was an adventurer, born in Poland and always looking for the next thing. He took his three children to the US, immigrating to Canada through Chicago, leaving one daughter in New Jersey, enlisting his son in the Navy to keep him from being a “trouble maker”. He had a diamond mine in S. Africa, and I still have the piece of property he won in a poker game.

My paternal grandfather, from Galicia/Ukraine, changed his name to his new boss’ and went to Anyox, BC, where my father was born. It’s a ghost town now, the mine and buildings lost to rust and memories.

We are all from somewhere, and it saddens me that I often think of going back to Canada these days. Hard times, indeed.

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Dark

I

am

the dark

Blackness

a

void

wrapped

in skin

Galaxies

are

in

my eyes

Out

beyond

the Rim

into

the

Black

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Mothers’ Day

Mothers’ Day…

So many things to so many people. For some it’s the warmth of love, an embrace, a helping hand, support in the bad times and all of the things that make a mother.

But

For some, it will always be pain: of abandonment, of abuse, and a gaping wound that seems like it simply cannot heal.

Today,

my wish for you

is healing

love

and the sure knowledge that there are those of us out here

in the dark between the lights

that care

about

you.

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Sailing Through

Grief.

It cannot be rushed

cannot be

pushed

aside

It will

engulf you

It will

leave you spent and floating

between

the waves

And

just when you think

you’ve learned

to swim

it

comes raging back

a storm

a gale

that takes

breath

and strength

away

But

eventually

you

will find

that

you’ve learned

to sail

through

the

gales

and

embrace

the

storm

It

is

the price

of love

and

life.

 

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Grief

Grief
It is an ocean
of longing
of feeling
 
Sometimes it recedes
and we lie,
beached,
catching our breath
seeing glimpses
of what it was like
to not grieve
 
Sometimes
it engulfs us
drowning us in the past
in our love
and loss.
 
And
eventually
even with wounds unhealed
wounds
that will never heal
we are borne away
on a strange tide
to an unfamiliar land,
left
to find our way.
 
And our past
is seen
through windows
in a house
we cannot
enter
in a place
where we
are strangers
now.
 
© 2017 TGL
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