A Canadian Who Has Never Been Famous and Probably Never Will Be...and her poems.

By Genie Waldo

Poems and songs written in the last thirty years. Some from my angsty teenage years, others during perios of joy or gloom, yet others during late night sessions of giggling histerics with friends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Genie Waldo
• Release date: Jan 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301855193

Genie Waldo

Ever since I began to read adventure stories as a young girl, I wanted to write the stories I could never find in my local library. I wanted mythical earths and mythical times. I wanted stories of boys and girls, wonderful creatures and beasts who together crossed water and land to rescue the trapped one, save the lost one, and recapture the treasure - all the while trying to stay alive! I wanted bonds of friendships so powerful even time and distance could not sever them. I wanted loves so loyal and pure that even heartache and death could not destroy them. I wanted painful partings and happy endings. I wanted tears. What I really wanted was Quest. Canada is my home. The vastness and diversity of this land is, I hope, well reflected in Quest. Much of what is Canada (in land and people) fired my imagination for Quest. My hope is that Quest takes you back to a time when you were ten or twelve, and left your house and ordinary things, wandered off to sit under the orchard trees or escaped to the play-house or to the park and, in your quiet corner away from the everyday world, lost yourself in a story of wonder; an adventure story you might often have imagined as you played childhood games. For me, that world was always Quest. *** - Don't forget to watch for Quest II: The Rejoining.

Book preview

A Canadian Who Has Never Been Famous and Probably Never Will be...and her poems

G.E Waldo

Copyright 2013 by G.E Waldo

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 9781301855193

AS IF WITH WINGS..

If I were a bird

I’d fly and fly ever across

the sunlit sky.

Through sun-bleached chambers

of glorious sight

into sanctuaries of

vaulted night.

Between the branches

I’d steer my feather

and join forest songs

all rising together.

Rising, ascending

in that living sea

to resound in the choir

room of Thee.

I’d fly and sing for

whatever may listen

to my wing-lifted song

through the star-showered glisten.

I’d soar and sweep

in the cleansing light

and descend, no, never

from my praising flight.

If I were a bird

I’d fly and fly ever across

the sun-lit sky.

1990

I like poems suffused with green.

I like dark, hushed forests.

I like songs of sacred harmonies

and sweet words full of hope.

I love the sleepy evenings

in my freedom wood.

1989

I touched a rainbow;

colours reflecting

in a salt-drop

from the light of a window I opened

to view the world I cried about yesterday.

I touched a rainbow and knew

a beauty could be in me

just as I’d seen passed the pane.

Passed the pain.

I saw a rainbow rolling down;

first one arriving on the glass

I gazed through, believing

As most do how depressing.

Until I touched its coolness

And remembered my salt-drop,

in its sultriness,

was joy

I will see

when the world, truly,

will be absolute beauty.

1984

The mountains, in their silvery hue,

shed the glow that lovers exude.

Beauty, in its tender deep

forest, mirrors love that lovers keep.

Clouds exhale upon the hills.

breathing gently, faintly.

The night is still.

1989

I love the night

and dark things.

The chilled winds

and