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wolfdenpress


eight

My little book of short stories, based on true life experiences

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air

Airplanes covers events from childhood through a tour in the RCAF

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train

The railroad track was only a few doors from our house. We saw lots of trains

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train

This was the chance I had waited so long for; to meet and talk with Gordon Lightfoot in person.

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fiddle

"Smoke, Tor?" "No, not before I wash." "Well, we could help you have a wash!" A mist of frost rose above the lake into the even colder, freezing air.

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boats

Running against an ebbing tide in a light, mist fog under the GG Bridge when wooosh, a giant, black behemoth, surfacing right beside us just made our day.

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A couple of poems




Haunting Song


Haunting is the song of the wolf;
Only because someone said it is?
Their song does not aggrieve me.

Singing in solo or chorusing long;
Enchantment dances in my brain.
I want to be there again.

Once in cold night air, I tried
The language of Canis lupus.
I thought I did quite well.

Across the verdant forest I sang
But no wolf answered my calling.
Then, I heard me laugh at myself.

Harmonies of wolf are for the pack,
And other kinds of wild understanding.
Oh, if they please, may I just listen?

Should the alpha speak to me,
Surely I will respond, if they do,
In melodies of welcoming.

Haunting, is the song; whose?


© 2009 by L. A. Jones

Lake of the Night

Fearsome,
The never ending valley
of blueblack glass;
stretching, unrippled,
reflecting.
Sweeping to unreachable shore,

Spires of winter cold pine.
And dismal the sky
in the vast polished plain,
with an echo of stars
to depth;
away as Amdromeda.

To venture
upon this Earthen glass?
A step where death lurks
with watery hand?
T'would only sequence
to shatter the mirrored.

And who am I
to be where all is giant
and still?
Where the only motion is thought;
wildly despairing in mind.
Lured by the Lake of the Night.

© 2009 by L. A. Jones


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