Maeengan's Wolf Den

Where Maeengan is free to ramble on about his life in the middle of the Canadian praires.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

The Beach

The Beach
Maeengan Linklater
Wednesday August 31, 2005


When I’m back home,
There’s a place I like to go,
It’s a beach – my beach.

I’m alone.

I collect firewood,
Scattered along the shore,
And, I make a pile.

Underneath, that wood,
I place kindling,
Birch bark skin,
I make a fire.

I take off my shoes,
Dip my feet in sand,
Sand rubs between toes,
Gentle scratching.

Across the lake,
Sun sets underneath,
Over the horizon,
Disappearing warmth,
As twilight creeps in.

The fire keeps me warm.

I think about good times.

Swimming with my cousins,
When we were kids,
Spending hours in the water.

Parties as we got older,
Passed out in the bush,
When we had too much to drink.

My marriage ceremony,
Traditional with invited spirits,
Of my ancestors,
Speaking to the little boy drum.
I have memories,
Of that beach.

The fire brings them back,
When I’m back home.

Gathering Stones . . .

Gathering Stones
Maeengan Linklater
Wednesday July 21, 2005


Gathering stones,
along the beach,
it’s clear, calm, quiet.

Leaving footprints
in the sand,
zigzagging,
back and forth

It’s me and you,
spending time,
alone.

Making circles,
on the water.
skipping stones.

It takes time,
to do it right,
to get the angle.

But, you’ll do it.
Trust me.

When you get older,
it’s a memory,
for both of us.

Gathering stones,
along the beach.

Morning Breath . . .

Morning Breath
Maeengan Linklater
Wednesday July 21, 2005


I had a great sleep,
deep,
warm,
content.

I can smell morning breath,
when you first wake up,
Hair spray,
last night’s perfume, and
dry midnight sweat.

Last night,
you were eye-catching,
inviting,
gentle.

I had a great time.

I think you did to,
your arms on my shoulders,
sweat dripping,
hips grinding.

Just thought,
I would tell you.
I can spend hours with you.

Tangled with your body,
languidly.
Drawing imaginary pictures,
on your back,

(the small part)

with my finger.

Tracing a line,
up and down,
sideways,
slowly.

Do you have any plans tonight?

I thought,
we could see each other.
You know?

We could talk.
Talk about your day,
talk about the weather.

But, deep down.

I want that warm feeling,
tickling below the waist.

Anticipating,
as our tongues play together.
Fingers floating on skin,
nibbling on ears,

Anticipating some more,
unlocking buttons,
pulling pants from hips,

Before I go on.

Do you know what I’m talking about?

Call me.