Welcome to the stylings of flowers and butterflies Patrick Waugh...

Patrick is a well known editorial and commentary author, published across Canada and other areas of the world. Here we expose you to some of his poetic stylings, which may be accompanied by significant commentaries on our political and environmental issues.

We provide these works as a preliminary display of, and dedication to, talented artists, authors, and writers. They deserve our support and admiration.

The following poems are copyrighted by Patrick Waugh

And the Kitchen Sink Too.

From the mountains, mighty snow clad peaks,

Water cold, tumbles down, over rock, by tree,

To the Illicillewaet, or Columbia it seeks,

And so spring, snow has gone, land is free,

Free of snow the land, rivers, scars now show,

Of mans indifference, to the valley, river,

Come, walk the valley floor so you will know,

See in stark, strong light, will we learn, ever?

Share this valley with all, fowl, fish, beast,

Gaze, with eyes open and with sense's, think,

Of Idiots, charlatans, people who think least,

So, WHO AMONGST YOU DUMPED THE KITCHEN SINK?

(Webmasters comment: Patrick has a marvelous picture of the pristine qualities of our valley...complete with the kitchen sink in the foreground, tossed by one who obviously is without vision...of our future.)

The joyride

Red, blue lights reflect in cold dead eyes,

A mother, young, vital, life's blood so dear,
A corpse, dead, gone, a husband arriving, cries,
His asking why, loud, anguished, all can hear.

Their child, thrown from life, onto the road,
A silent bundle, to a worman will never grow,
Innocent lives, the guiltless carry the load,
A desolate man, a wife, daughter, never to know.

Instrument of death, stolen car, joyride at night,
Four kids, carefree, thrill seeking, prideful and,
Ignoring society, its' rules, stop sign, red light,
Each of the four a peer, until fate takes a hand.

Laughing, reckless, on through sign and red light,
A light goes green, the family car by them unseen,
Metal, glass, blood, bodies broken, whirl into night,
Spinning, their car stops, only two live, one a teen.

Unspoken pain in the policeman's and paramedic's eye,
They see so many, it drains them, so much stupid waste,
Death, injury, day after day wearies them, ask them why,
The young driver, cocky, will do it again, he has a taste.

Grey Day

Where does the weary heart, spirit go,

Not to drift, a broken leaf in a gale,

Emotions, feelings, battered to and fro,

When life is meaningless, cruel and pale.

Yet life, a road, must by us all be walked,

This day, grey, wet, windy, cold and misty too,

Time to ponder upon the days, nights talked,

Long, happily of hopes, dreams to come true.

Of the future, who can tell what may fall,

Upon weary head, shoulders, and tired brow,

To stand dreaming, on a sandy dune, tall,

Of distant shore, sun hope, spirit lifted now.

The Sea, with timeless way, will cleanse the soul,

Of doubt, of fear, those new horizons seek too,

Our self, our destiny, is for us a dice to roll,

So on this grey day, dream, think a sky of blue.

The Training of Her Pet.

She had kept him so firmly, purposely, on a lead,

Pulling him harder if he dared thin or stray,

Tugging him, now completely obedient, to her heed,

Walking through the park, a perfect training day.

The training of her pet, was going quite well,

She looked down the well worn path to the door,

Around the garden they walked, nothing to tell,

into the house, sparkling clean and spotless floor.

Into the perfectly apppointed, polished sitting room,

And he who knew well by now his place, his chair,

Went with meek obediance, and that feeling of gloom,

She smiled, "We'll marry soon, he's trained, he's there!"

Editors Note: Patrick has moved to Scotland, and we can only hope he will recall his Revelstoke roots, and provide more of the same for all of us.

Return to Virtual Visit to Revelstoke

Return to Sustainable Tourism Construction Zone

This page is Sponsored by Geocities Get your own free homepage!