my healing stones

bonnie, my friend, the native elder

offered my daughter

two palms and full of healing stones

now i play with, until my mind

overflows with, grace-filled healing!

these stones are not amethysts,

bloodstone or carnelian

neither are they red jasper,

white lace agate,

brown black purple white agate

the alias, coyomito agate

but simple stones of the simpleton

with red, pink, orange, and yellow

green, blue, indigo and violet

adding a few lime-green and blue-green

also silver-grey

brown, black, white, and gold

included among are some clear

but each one is powerful too

henry victor      08.03.2007

peace trail in the park

the trees in the park

invited me to walk

under their corridors

winds whispered secrets

fresh as freshly pulled carrots

for my feeble frame

pigeons and finches darted

up and down until i crafted

my poem beneath the trees

along the trail i heard songbirds pipe

i may with joy quickly elope

despite sorrow walking beside me

lilacs showered fragrance

lifting me into a tranquil trance

as i walked the park’s peace trail

henry victor      01.04.2007

spicing my creativity

pain, fire that purifies gold, my soul

and patience, cooling time

for the settling of my mind

are spices for my creativity

constructing my poem, my life

making my song from deep

within my heart prompting a dance

for my body to increase flexibility

for the river within to flow freely

into the wider ocean, eternal cosmos

with neither birth to celebrate

nor death to mourn

henry victor          04.05.2010

healing

healing i need to focus

i need to grasp

but it is a little stone

smooth and slippery

too small

for my oily fingers

to confidently grip

to store in my soul

but more colourful

and easily graspable

distract my eyes to play

with, tempting my fingers

but i remain resolute

to that stone, uncut

appropriating in heart

the healing to heal

henry victor      07.03.2007

Saskatchewan River

i went by the Saskatchewan River

my new guru and an untiring comforter

this time, just to thank her

for the previous day’s lesson, my only offer

also for the quarter, much bigger

rise from the usual nickel

she gave me as i beat the trickles

of the spring rain, to explore her

further change for my soul

now hardened like a range of mountains

evolved through a long time

difficult to get rid of like the lime

deposited inside my kettle

that boils water

a generous gift

of the Saskatchewan River

henry victor     04.05.2007

trail

i walk that old trail

with hope to beat a little

the sugar count

but more to leave another trail

my walk along the river

with a little quiver

caused by my bone

not ready to fight a beaver

i return from my stride

excited like a bride

elevated by the groom

himself driving that ride

though it was only a coin

that i added to my loin

but sure there were hugs

and a kiss from that grass crown

henry victor     18.06.2003

yearning

deep within the forest

elephants walk

the un-walked trails

deep within the forest

wild pigs work

the un-worked land

deep within the forest

eagles reach

the un-reachable heights

henry victor     18.06.2003

post a poem

observing the depth, width, and length

i refuse to scuttle like a galloping horse;

hence i choose to carefully scan the world

like a tortoise surveying, slowly, the path

superficiality, i know, refuses to dive deep

to follow the path of the cormorant

prompting the world to survey like a crow

picking crumbs and not dive for pearls

withdrawing from the rat race of this world

as a half-naked hermit with the minimum

i enter into the court, the cave of my heart

occasionally coming out to piss a poem

 

© henry victor     23.11.2003

break the egg and stir the pool

pleasing people at every moment

promoting a false notion of good

without expressing informed opinion

i remain not a relevant leader

without breaking the delicate egg

neither will a new chick come to life

nor will i ever enjoy an omelet

for an early or that late breakfast

no one ever received a healing

at the ancient pool of old Bethesda

unless the good angel from heaven

cared to stir the puddle with its mud

© henry victor     10.04.2003

younger today

 

what i failed to absorb, to grasp

from my parents and a female partner

i am beginning to learn from daughter

much younger and sharper

i learnt something yesterday

and got rid of my gray beard

my hair i have combed and oiled

not much is lacking today

fine clothes, shoes and money in purse

now i have worked towards complicated

goals than trifles and had attained

insights to chase my dream with ease

© henry victor     05.09.2003

ingredients

i prepared a simple supper

but with great love i cooked
that main meat of refined wheat
durum semolina, traded as rotini

an Italian pasta to go with beef, a grace

from a Canadian cow grazed in prairie grass,
spiced with herbs from the hunted tropics:
ginger, garlic, turmeric, and coriander

powdered, with red pepper powder

and red pepper crushed, black pepper
(also powdered), added to the onion
chopped, fennel, fenugreek, and cumin

(all seeds), and the magical mustard,

adding leaves chopped: basil, chives
and parsley, with garam masala, a Bharat
special, sprinkled with hardly a pinch of salt

before adding the slow-cooked African beans
and Mexican sauce: chopped and crushed tomato,
and boiled potato, after being sautéed
in the US canola oil to enhance the taste

of minerals and more already in my pan:

folate, iron, niacin, riboflavin, and thiamine
already mixed in carbohydrate, the main
with Chinese additives: citric, soy, and seasonings

unlisted; likewise the two sealed cans

that curtailed my sprinkling salt for supper
came with corn starch, sugar, more spices
and blackstrap molasses, and a poetic muse

henry victor     04.05.2013

newer journeys

my body, that machine
circulates fuel not so well
threatening, frequently, to stop
or, permanently shut down
certain sections
to slow down my soul
or, to suggest, with force, a path
my spirit never planned

this prompted me
to turn to a mechanic
for whom my soul is irrelevant
and who considers not the dream
that my sprit secretly dreams

adding tubes to that machine
but from within
the mechanic who touches not
any grease, nor the lubricating oil
made my soul soar higher
and higher to spaces my spirit
has never journeyed