Poetry of December









Well, it has been a long week, it seems to be long anyway, even though it is just Thursday.  I think a lot about when I was a kid and how in elementary and junior high school I would look up at the clock and count the hours, minutes, seconds until I could leave.  Sometimes I would even do this when I had work to do although most of the time school didn’t keep me as busy as many of the other students.  I don’t regret my school days at all, actually I really started to like going to school when I made it to high school. Good old Paul Kane High, so many good memories.  Not long ago there was a 25 year class reunion posted to Facebook and I was blocked from viewing it by the administrators of the site.  It did hurt but as the man says, “The Best Revenge is Living Well”.  I really feel very blessed this year, I mentioned a few posts back that I had a great birthday, but my birthday seems to be still going.  Today I received a wonderful package in the mail from my old friend Caroline.  She sent me socks, a t-shirt she thought would look good on me, chocolates, special tea and even a delicious box of ready to make noodles.  And then later the same day my Dad gave me the news that my sister had just sent $75 in the mail for me.  I seem to be making out like a bandit this year.

One of the things that I think is very special about this year, and a few previous is how I seem to be able to form strong bonds with people.  Funny enough, I have a cousin who lives in Ontario who I don’t talk to a whole lot but I have become good friends with his wife Kirsten.  A few years back, her and I were chatting on Facebook and she had to go and answer a phone call and I thought to myself, “why don’t I write her a nice poem about England?” and so I did, right off the top of my head.  She came back and read it and said, “What a lovely poem Leif, who wrote it?”  I simply said, “I did-just now.”  her response?  “Fuck off!”  That really made me laugh.  I think I had to write more poems for her to convince her that I really do have something of a gift for poetry.  The super neat thing is that Kirsten and my cousin Brian at the time were University Professors and they used some of my poems as illustrations in their courses.

Yesterday a friend was talking to me and was telling me he was very sad because a close friend of his had a daughter who lost a newborn baby to an illness at the age of 3 months.  I felt touched by the words he told me and decided to write a poem for the family, perhaps to be read in the eulogy.  I don’t want to repeat the poem here, I kind of feel it is too personal, but it excites me that one day as I get better known I will be able to tailor-make poems for important occasions.  The whole world seems to be wide open for me right now.  I even have a new poetry book coming out some time soon.  Anyhow, I am going to post a photo here again I think, scroll down past it for today’s poem.  Thank you dear readers.




A Poet’s Night



Winter’s night so dark

Crisp cold snow all around

I’m alone but not lonely

There is little sound


I don’t hurt inside

On nights like these

I have my books

I have mid-winter’s gentle breeze


My poems keep me

From wandering thoughts

Of all I once dreamed of

All the things I’m not


In the darkness

I can always say

Peace and contentment

Are never far away


I can open any book

And be in another place

In another mind

Even out in space


An old young man

With a soul that’s been to hell

Finally I have all I wanted

Happy alive and well


I’m so dearly lucky

To have my dim-lit room

Volumes of poems

Both to write and consume


Thoughts of loved ones

On this Earth and loved ones gone

Keep me working, writing

Keep my spirit strong


If there is just one out there

Who cares for you

No such thing as being lonely

No such thing as being blue


And if you lack a love

To call your own

Remember there are hearts out there

Even more alone


Tomorrow is your new chance

To find that hurting soul

Give a little of yourself

And feel warm and whole


Never stop hoping

That you will make your way

Never stop knowing

You have something to say


Pick up your pen

Write out your heart’s true longing

Speak of wandering

Of not belonging


And then one day

Someone will read about you

They will understand

Know your heart is true




Leif Gregersen


December 11, 2014