Sunday 21 February 2010

Don McDonald enjoyed writing poetry, often on everyday themes related to events in his life – family, fishing, friends, weather, news. Many of his poems treat the subject matter in a humorous way. The following collection of Don’s poetry was scanned from a binder which he gave to his sister, Marian Kay, some time in the 1980s. Thanks to my brother, Randy Kay, for scanning the pages and making them available so that they could be added to this website. – Bev Wigney (February 2010)
A Story Told by an Old Farm Lady at Lac David
You see my son went off to the War
Then my man was laid away;
Our dog that was old just up and died
And I was alone that day.
I found an injured fawn in the field,
And I brought her home to the farm,
I patched her up and nurtured her
And kept her from all harm.
Her liquid brown eyes and her sweet soft face
Soon found a place in my heart
And as I did the chores each day
We were seldom far apart.
In the evening when I’d sit on the step
She would rub her head against mine
In her throat she made a low murmuring sound,
Together we passed the time.
A year went by and Pet and I – you’re right I named her Pet
Found many things to see and do, in my mind I can see her yet
As she nuzzled me for sugar or a scratch behind her ear
She made her little love sounds; to me she was sweet and dear.
I was awakened one morning by the sound of a shot
I rushed to the window-pane
To see a hunter dragging her off
With a bullet-hole in her brain.
I didn’t go out or say a word
I cried in my tea that morn
And I cursed the hunter and all his ilk
Yes, I cursed the day they were born.
I gathered my pails to do the chores
And I guess I cried all day
And I cried a little harder to see
Her hoof-prints there in the clay.
I went to the shed and got a spade
And put some of her tracks in the sun
When they had dried I took them inside
And wept over each little one.
It was foolish I know to carry on so
But when you’re old, you’re more easily hurt
It’s hard to imagine a lonely old crone
Crying there at some tracks made of dirt.
No – my boy never made it, he didn’t come back
He died in a field far away
And maybe you won’t believe it,
But he and Pet died the same day.
So here I sit in my rocking chair
I don’t do chores any more
I think of the ones who have gone ahead
As the cars rush by my door.
They’re filled with men and guns and rods
All intent on taking a life
It’s a strange world I’ll be leaving soon
Away from the death and strife.
Perhaps some day if the Lord sees fit
With my loved ones I’ll sit on high
And I won’t have to think of death and guns
In my beautiful home in the sky.
(October 1970)
Canadian Winter 1971
The milk man struggles to the door
And puts his bottles down
Then puffing, panting, on he goes
To serve the rest of town.
Jack Frost looks down and blows his breath
The milk freezes then grows high
Three inches of ready-made ice cream
Greets my resentful eyes.
A snow flake floats down as if to say
I’m the first of many others
The wind is coming soon you know
With millions of my brothers.
The wind and cold plays with the snow
And drives it into hills
The sidewalks fill and shovelling starts
With snivellings and chills.
Soon all familiar signs are gone
Buried deep and cold
Soon all are locked within their homes
The young, the sick, the old.
And when the driveway’s shovelled out
The sidewalk’s bared and clean
A city street plow fills it in
While you stand by and scream.
Frustrated now you turn your back
On the snow pushed in your yard
You wonder why you’re here at all
Where winters are so hard.
No place to go, nothing to do – sit down and watch TV
A voice gives the statistics with a tone that’s filled with glee
Just think, says the voice, it’s a record year
The most snow in history!
And you wish you had the fool by the neck
You wish you lived in the south
You wish you could put your foot through the tube
And jam it in his mouth.
And then some day you stand in a throng and you sing O Canada
You’ve forgotten the winter that’s six months long
You’ve forgotten the cold and the ills
You’ve forgotten how much you had to pay to cover your heating bills.
So we live in this frozen ice cube
We perform as a winter’s tool
All I can say is that some lovely day
I’m going to stop playing the fool.
I’ll collect my old age pension
I’ll cut and run from the cold
I guess I won’t run, I’ll have to walk
‘Cause by then I’ll be too damned old.
(March 1971)
Chrissie
A tottering step, a slip, a fall
A head that’s banged against the wall.
A tear or two, a wipe, a smile
Another walk on the first long mile.
I watch your progress day by day
Removing danger from your way.
No, Chrissie, no, the stove is hot
Don’t eat that dear, it’s really hot
Here my love try this instead
Oh, God, he fell and hit his head.
It’s not his head, he’s cut his lip
I should have known that chair would tip.
Poor dumb dumb me, poor dumb dumb Chris
The falls, the spills, it’s always this
At last he sleeps a peaceful nap
To wake and find another trap
That lures him to another rap.
While I pity him for his falls and spills
I think of the world and all its ills
It too just stumbles, creating pain
Hardship, misery, it’s all the same
As it was for centuries past.
Chrissie will learn to walk not fall
While the world will never learn at all.
Heather at the Circus
Will I remember when I’m old
The circus I saw when I was three?
The elephants, the clowns, the smells
A world so very new to me.
Will I recall the glorious sight
That made me clap with sheer delight?
The entrance way, the sea of knees
That cloistered in about my face.
The man who took our tickets
And showed us to our place
The boy who sat beside me
With candy fluffy white
And even though I smiled at him
He offered ne’er a bite.
Balloons that floated in the sky
Birds that twirled on strings
Lions that roared and coloured lights
And pretty ladies high on swings
The clown came by with a little car
His face was full of fun
And every time he did a trick
The crowd would laugh as one.
And when it was all over
The band it played real loud
And Granpa took my hand
And led me through the crowd.
His face was creased from laughing
At all the tricks and mime.
I’m glad I took old Granpa
He had a lovely time!
God and Me
Did you miss me at church today dear God?
Well here I am on my stream
Perhaps we could have a private word
The two of us unseen.
Thanks for a lovely week dear Lord
As you know, all things went well
And I tried to avoid most of the things
That send a man to hell.
But you know I was far from perfect God
and I lost my temper too
And I didn’t give when I ought to have done
And I didn’t give thanks to you.
Tomorrow starts another week
And I rejoin my fellow man
They’ll try me and vex me and give me my lumps
But I’ll do the best that I can.
A week from now I’ll be here once more
Fishing my quiet pool
Confessing to you my innermost thoughts
And the ways that I’ve acted the fool.
If during the week something carries me off
And I climb that golden stair
Please tell me God one little thing
Do you have a trout stream up there?
(June 1971)

Fishing Trip
I’m sorry I couldn’t call
Or come to see you at your place.
I’ve a hell of a cold and a temperature
That flushes my nose and reddens my face.
My voice has the rasp of a rusty hinge
My eyes are feverish bright
My cough sounds like the wail of a banshee
As it gurgles and startles the night.
If my condition rather frightens you
And makes you hold your breath
Just think of poor old me lying here
I’m really scared to death.
The TV news is sponsored by
a local undertaker
Their ad says they’ll do everything
But take one to his Maker.
I grab my thermometer, Good God it’s high
A rise of a point since five
With nervous hands I light a smoke
Perhaps I won’t survive.
The smoke brings on a coughing spell
I’m lightheaded, I feel wacky
Is that blood in my sputum?
No, it’s a piece of wet tobaccy.
The telephone rings, a friend calls up
Don’t tell me you’re still in bed?
Of course I am, you silly ass
Don’t you know that I’m half dead?
Too bad, he says, we’re leaving tomorrow
On a fly-in fishing trip
We’ve got your stuff all ready
Too bad you’ve got the grippe.
I’ve got to go, I can’t stay here
I’ll bet they’ll bite like hell
I’ll come and see you when I get back
Of course I’m feeling well.