LOG SCULPTURE AT POINT ROBERTS

LOG SCULPTURE AT POINT ROBERTS

Once regal trees,
Now sodden bodies,
Rudderless they sailed
Drifting on placid Pacific tides,
Then propelled by storming seas
To this deposit high on shore
To lie a tangled twist of wood,
Each log a wooden story.
Dry and bleached in view of Baker.
Cradled in sand they watch the sun
As it rises, passes, sets.
Soft to touch, to climb and sit on
They call the child and hiker to their joy,
And sometimes the artist to paint on canvas
Their complexity as a sculpture
A natural work of art.

© Ron Unruh
Back Story: We make annual cross border visits to Point Roberts, a small seaside peninsula. Inviting paintable scenes are everywhere. 16x20” oil

MOTHERS’ DAY FAMILY GATHERING PICS 2019

Christine, Gina, Cari

THREE MOMS, Christine, Gina and Cari

Jeff, Christine (Mom), Cari

 Jeff and Gina kindly invited us all to their home on Sunday evening May 12th where Jeff kept on feeding pizzas into his outdoor wood burning oven. These were all delicious, assorted ingredients, and we sampled them all. Christine (Mom) was able to pose with her son Jeff and her daughter Cari. All of the grandchildren were present as well but off on their own so the adults got to sit together in the backyard by the oven and sip and dine and talk.

Cari & Jeff, sis & bro

  Cari and Jeff. We all feel blessed that we live within a 5-10 min drive from one another and can enjoy these times within these busy family lives. So present today were Tim and Cari, their children Kailyn, Ryan and Jayden; Gina and Jeff and their children, Kale and Kady; and Christine and me.  

WISHFULLY ON MOTHER’S DAY

Christine and I in London, ON., 1965

Now that they are adults with children of their own

I wishfully think how good it would be

If they could go back in time to see 

The girl that I asked to marry me,

With her flowing dark hair and her elegant stride,

And exceptional voice, I was wide-eyed 

Small wonder I asked her to be my bride.

To enjoy life’s journey by my side.

SIMON PETER

He had fished for his entire life.

It was all he knew to do, this Jew

But his life was interrupted

By deity in flesh, 

When the words “Follow me”

Changed this fisherman’s world forever.

Rapt in Jesus’ words and wonders,

One of the twelve, like brothers serving

Food for hungry seaside pilgrims,

Using a small boy’s lunch,

Two loaves and five small fish,

Swiftly more in a creator’s hands.

Strong and passionate disciple

Convinced his master is God’s own son. 

Steadfast protector of his Lord,

Swung his knife-edge in rage.

Christ does not need his aid.

Now wickedness appeared to triumph.

Penitent Peter, by Guido Reni

How soon he would ignore his love

In the awful terror of that night.

When knowing Him could lead to death,

Three times came his denial.

The cross is still, it’s done

It appears, but wait he stirs again. 

Two times they’ve seen Him in the flesh.

A third time he has appeared on shore

Hailing failed fishers with advice.

Not knowing this is the Lord

They listen and they find

He’s still capable of miracle.

A quiet time with Christ alone,

Does he love Him, he is asked three times.

“Yes”, Simon says. Then demonstrate.

Fish for humanity

Feed hungry sheep and lambs.

More than anything else, Follow Me.

© Ron Unruh, May 2019

Composed after reading the account of John 18-21, and the story of apostle Simon Peter. 

Painting credit: Guido Reni Nov 4, 1575 – Aug 18, 1642) was an Italian painter of high-Baroque style. He painted primarily religious works, as well as mythological and allegorical subjects. Active in Rome, Naples, and his native Bologna, he became the dominant figure in the Bolognese School. This portrait completed in 1634, located at Museo del Prado, Madrid, Spain.

I SHAVED MY BEARD OFF

BEARDLESS - Not until I retired did I grow a beard. I have been whiskered for 11 yrs, until today (May 3, 2019). Yep, I shaved. Gone. Christine and I have spoken and hugged, cheek to cheek. She has not noticed. I imagine her saying to herself, “He looks good. I don’t know what it is, but he looks younger.” This afternoon a neighbour saw me & first comment, “your beard is gone.” I’ll see how long it takes for Christine to catch on.

24 hrs. later, she still didn’t notice so I wrote the poem below ... Then at the 36th hour, Christine told me “I’ve been meaning to tell I noticed you shave your beard off. You do look younger, but there’s something about the beard. It makes a statements, rather sophisticated.” She asked, “so did you shave this morning?” I answered, “No, yesterday morning. All day and evening and all of today we have talked, look closely at one another and you did not see.” She laughed with me, and then said, ”Well, you never notice when I get my hair cut.” touché.

HAIRY & SMOOTH

Today I can repeat the words 

that Esau’s brother Jacob said

When he spoke to his mother

About his brother’s head.

Saying, “Esau’s a hairy man,

That is what young Jacob told her,

“Whereas, I am a smooth man”

His head on her shoulder.

Eleven years I’ve worn a beard

Was always okay but prickly 

That’s what Christine said to me

I may bring it back

Thought she’d notice quickly.

When yesterday I shaved it off

I waited for her to see it.

She would notice right away. 

I could guarantee it.

I was wrong and I’m still surprised

That she has not seen the diff’rence

She loves me so very much

She looks past appearance.

 © Ron Unruh, May 3, 2019

as if anyone else would want to claim authorship.

Genesis 27:11, Jacob & Esau

FOR THE LOVE OF THE GAME

Daytime Tuesdays is when Men’s’ Golf League plays

So you can guess the average age

Of faces tanned by southern rays

Boys living at the pension stage.

Men fifty through eighty post weekly scores

Thirty points higher than their age 

That’s why we hear so many “Fores,”

And groundskeepers live inside a cage.

Both skills and strength we expect to fade 

But older guys still filled with vanity

Blame extraneous things for errant shots they played

And pepper remarks with profanity.

The insipid topics of conversation

Range from sports to politics to medical care,

Knee replacement and poor circulation, 

NHL playoffs and Trump’s orange hair.

Since their performances here will never bring fame

One might question the handshakes as each round ends

But they return each week for pure love of the game,

And all are winners when they have friends.  

© Ron Unruh, April 2019

WHAT WONDROUS LOVE

WHAT WONDROUS LOVE

His hands are language calling from them
Blended sounds he’s coached to brilliance.
Their faces are exhibits of their elevated praise

Their lives like soft clay for the shaping
Our own lives fired to terra cotta
Together we extol the Lord whose name their voices raise

We are the ones who sit now to listen
We are the ones who have travelled so long
We are much nearer
To the theme of their Sanctus
We soon will unite with the heavenly throng.

© Ron Unruh, April 2019
Composed after hearing a musical liturgy featuring hymns and Schubert’s Wind Mass and Elgar’s ‘Nimrod’ from Enigma Variations presented by TWU’s Chamber Choir and Concert Band.
https://www8.twu.ca/academics/samc/news-archive/2015-2016/chamber-singers.html

LUNCH AT CRESCENT (poem)

LUNCH AT CRESCENT 

I turn our sports car to the sea at Crescent Beach.

Scattered clouds can’t hide the springtime sun.

Relaxed observers, we’ve come for lunch in our two-seater

With sandwiches from Beast and Brine.

We’re looking toward Vancouver and the tide is out. 

Curiously, not everyone notices or cares.

A sporty Honda pulls in beside us with two young people

who stay for fifteen minutes, each silently scrolling a cellphone. 

On our other side rap music beats and lyrics sound

as two young happy men keep a ball in the air,

their girlfriends soundly asleep in their car.

For them the breeze, the waves, the gulls have no effect.

Across the mud with two dogs to the distant water a woman walks 

while throwing a ball the younger animal eagerly chases. 

The older mate walks slowly, past his time for chasing

Staying close to his master from whom he welcomes a pat.

Two trucks arrive and out climb eight people speaking Filipino.

Soon two of them carry a boat motor the long walk to the water.

Four others manhandle a Zodiac loaded with crab traps to the motormen.

Then with motor attached two men in the boat sail to deep water. 

With lunch over, we decide to walk on Blackie Spit.

Clamshells lie white and opened days ago by hungry birds.

Tidewater is coming in, still cold, yet one man wades knee deep.

Crescent Beach is pleasurable for everybody’s reasons.

© Ron Unruh, March 2019

A LONG YESTERDAY (poem)

A LONG YESTERDAY

A long yesterday are my years.

I’m frequently going back. I’m in a groove

reopening memories, revisiting friendships, re-entering scenes, 

rethinking decisions, reflecting with satisfaction

on my lifetime spent suitably, but not done.

Yet going forward is a bullet train.

Only a few stops remain

and I, with so many dreams to fulfill maybe

or maybe not before times up,

here at least, and then, my faith’s assurance, eternity.

I think of it, my life a vapour in contrast with forever

and whatever that can mean in company with the One

who birthed my being to reflect Him.

Have I done that well, I wonder? I still have time.

© Ron Unruh, March 3, 2019

IT JUST HAPPENED (poem)

One of these days I’ll get back on the track of recording memories of stages in my life’s journey. Recently I have jotted down in poetic forms, the feelings and transitions I am experiencing, and that seems to satisfy my spirit. First, a 2010 piece revisited.

IT JUST HAPPENED

As Christine and I were saying goodnight

She with her head resting on her pillow 

And me reclining on mine, 

With one hand she stroked the side of my face, 

Silly little beard. 

As she moved her hand against me

I could see in her eyes a look of pathos, 

Viewing the different me she saw 

From the one she knew when we were young new lovers. 

Her expression was so clear to me that I said, 

“I’m sorry.” 

Looking into her eyes, still so stunningly dark and alluring 

I said, “I tried not to change.” 

And then her understanding eyes began to tear up 

As she replied, “Me too.” 

“I know” I offered, “we tried for so long not to let it happen to us.” 

And here we were, both happy with one another. 

Both complete with memories made together; 

Both nostalgic and yet realistic. 

I said, “We’ll go the rest of the way together.” 

At which time, we both wiped some tears 

And then Christine said, “Oh stop it, 

You can talk like that when we are eighty.”

© Ron Unruh, 2010