Voyageur Vision

We stood in the picture window,
Searching up lake through the years.
We know how the season's ebb flow.
Pleasing each prize that appears.

Unearthed, untainted treasures,
Panoramic through the glass.
Spent centuries our vision unmeasured.
Strange are the creatures that pass.

TV'd on this tube on evening,
Splitting the waves with its bow,
We thought our eyes deceiving,
Furrows, the white-waters plow.

Voyageurs bending their paddles,
Needing a pipe-stop they seemed.
Men made by the fur trades battles
Poured each a drink as we dreamed.

- William Malewitz

Recycle Rejects!

The Barrens

There's a land where the freeways are rivers,
Ice paved for huskies in winter.
There's a band, branded men who are livers,
No tourists their secrets could enter.

It's a wasteland of tossed tundra and mountains,
Wrong named when Barrens entitled.
It has waters unfished, falling fountains,
It's gold, no paper entitled.

It's a scene that's majestic, magnetic.
Untamed, unharnessed, its vastness.
Time to test what's improper, prophetic,
Crucible cleansed men of crassness.

- William Malewitz

Wasteland isn't.

Northern Lights

Star dust dancing shafts sky piercing,
Arching over the mountains, crags and waters.
Silent waves, silent sound rehearsing,
Lighting heaven's secret nooks, God's quarters.

Majestic bent colored search lights,
Probing atmosphere in soundless wonder.
Midnight man's restlessness delight,
Deep secrets, soul searching flame can plunder.

- William Malewitz

All squirrels aren't nuts and all nuts aren't squirrels.

Ghost Campfires

At ends of portage paths we find
The charred coal signs of former fires
A welcome mat the rare used kind
Old campsites kinship warm inspires

Outcropping shield and balsam bed
The breeze stirred night conjures old dreams
And fans alive those coals long dead
Till quickened flames spark ancient themes

Awakened shadows strangely merge
As long gone voyageurs bestir
Their mellowed songs no need to urge
Long silenced lore old campfires stir

-William Malewitz

Love and Religion should be deregulated

Bits & Pieces Of Driftwood

Driftwood gnarled and tortured, water and weather worn defies description. Hold a piece one way, than another and uncover fresh viewpoints and half hidden truths and unlooked for beauty. The choice pieces concealed under water, debris, and sand are ever awaiting discovery. Too many of us never unearth the treasures that abide in the sands and recesses of solitude. The pieces of driftwood often uncovered and reexamined around evening campfires are the essays of interspersed herein. The one liners are just that, "bits" often inspired by nature or the miracle of The Northern Lights at midnight on the trail. It is the fond hope and prayer of the Beachcomber that you will find some of his worth researching and deeper investigation.

- William Malewitz, The Beachcomber