Lambton Park
Oasis in the cosmopolitan swirl of city life,
An urban eden near at hand
Yet miles afar to questing boyish dreams.
Pillared oaks and lofty maples
Shading sparrows, larks and Sunday lovers.
This place, this place,
Pungent with pine and last year’s rot
Crackling beneath my careless shoes,
Spinning keys and acorn caps
Lay scattered on the grass
Sweet scents from exotic parfumeries
And colours hazed with dust
And summer’s verdant pollen.
The snap of twigs and distant river-rush
Was music to my ears.
The Humber, rushing, spinning,
Stones dashed together
Faint rhythm to the water’s rush,
Lazing in quiet foam-flecked pools
Pausing in a frantic rush to
The distant lake below.
Stones to pick up and examine
For hidden prints of ancient shells,
Stories laid down in layered sand
Compressed by time
And weight of layers from above,
Or send them skimming and skipping
On water’s mirrored surface.
Adventure Land, Tomorrow Land
And Fantasy that fed the willing minds
Of children bound, most days,
To books and chalky boards,
Sums and conjugations rattling
In their heads, crying for release.
Breathless countdown
To weekend fun and frolic.
Games of tag and hide-and-seek await
Where sticks and stones
Were not for breaking bones
But substitute for bats and balls
Perfecting hand and eye coordination.
The river marked our far frontier,
No bridge nor crossing
Offered access to foreign lands beyond.
The river marked our realm of make-believe
While to the north, twin ribbons of steel
Leaping high from bank to bank
Dared reckless fools to cross
And dodge the roaring engines
Drawing freight and faceless passengers
To unknown destinations.
Winter’s cold and snowy blankets
Marked the season of downhill racers,
Yelling, screaming, then pleading
To have their sleds or cedar-slatted craft
Ascend the heights and mount again
To race the snow and biting wind
In a swirling dash to reach the end.