A Porch Song

The quiet chatter of those who know the knocks of years
And laugh with wonder that they have survived
The slings and arrows hurled their way;
And in the field they have even thrived
If the tales they utter are but half true.
They fully understand the clock runs down
And each ticking tock they will imbue
With life’s timid vibrancy to the end.

Only birds and cows were witness there
To harmless souls in friendship’s flight;
And if they drank too much and chortled loud,
Their grins were wide with eyes alight.
The aches, the scars are nothing then;
The pain and tears that carved their flesh
Are softened by the singing wren
Whose cheerful song says rejoice, live on.

Brilliant day of soothing heat

wind blown ruffling canvas

and silent tread the passing feet

with the raw hum of space.

Chairs rock gently to and fro

The languid clerk paces

soft music on the radio

wishing time fast away.

June 12, 2009 would have been my father's 100th birthday, had he lived so long. Regardless it will be the centenary of his birth in 1909 in what was then called Port Arthur, Ontario. (I am not sure I entirely approve of the renaming of commnities, or streets or buildings, that have had historical significance.)
One wonders if he would have approved of the world today - I fear not. I wonder if he would have approved of what has become of his children and grandchildren. It is impossible to say. But he was a conservative man and a man of honour, an Edwardian. No doubt he would have had difficulty adjusting to life's changing attitudes and behaviours. He might have despaired.
Regardless, a centenary makes one take stock of one's own life, especially when one has been a part of those hundred years for almost 60 of them! As my father aged, he became more eccentric and carefree. Perhaps he knew that he could do nothing to change the world any more, nothing to stave off the forces of development. I think I am already becoming a bit like that. It's not that I don't care any longer about the world and it's future. It is just someone elses's turn, someone who has more energy and idealism... the energy and idealism of youth.
On June 12 I will raise a glass to my father's memory, and I will relish my burgeoning eccentricity.