Verses by JRF

RAPID WISDOM
Deep in the Barrens aft Hudson’s Bay,
Persist twin legends old and grey.
Sung there first by Voyageer;
Rubrics now, let all revere!

Scriven there they are today,
On maps n’ charts to guide the way;
Of those who brave water white
Ancient widsoms, writ up-tight!

Rendered there in single line,
Of Whitman logic, nigh-Divine,
Spelled out clear, loud and large:
“INJUNS SHOOT…ALL OTHERS PORTAGE!”

but should ye seek, wit more sage,
derived be this of that some age;
as Redman echoes, o’er Lak Lebarge;
“NO INJUN DROWN…ON HEEM PORTAGE!:

J.R.F., P.C.; 5/69




WRY BREAD

WELL DONE, WELL DONE,
MY SON, MY SON.
WE ARE NOT CURSED,
IN ONE SO VERSED.
YOU PASS THE TEST,
MY SEED IS BLEST!



PATERNAL PRAISE, PROFOUND AS THIS,
HAZARDS A GRAND HYPOTHESIS:
BREAD O’BARDS, THE WRY KIND,
FEEDS THE SOUL AND WITS THE MIND!

AT THE END, WHEN ALL IS VERSE,
SCORN THE EMERALDS IN MY PURSE;
PASS THIS PEARL, DOWN THE LINE:
TO HEIR IS HUMAN --- TO RHYME DIVINE!

JRF:12/77
(Oolamah to Fili)

Fili: First rank poet, hierarchy of ancient Eire
Oolamah: Teacher of fili, “ “ “ “





FAILLELURE
Far and alone he paddles,
Groom to that roaring stream;
Guard to trove and treasures,
Guide to the fabled dream!

Where eagles shriek dark canyons,
And bighorn hold the heights;
Where grayling streak bright rapids,
And grizzly win all fights!

May the snows eternal fall,
Down soft on Nahanni creeks;
May the lodevein never end,
Where his spirit ever seeks!

J.F. 1/74

Albert Faille lived alone in the 45,000 sq. mi. South Nahanni (Yukon Territory) watershed for 40 years. Hunter, trapper, prospector – he sought, but never found the fabled “Lost McLeod Mine”. He became a beloved wilderness legend. He died alone in his cabin, age 91, New Years Eve – 1973.




HAUTAUMAKI’S TAVERN
(on Paddy’s Day!)

Standin’ mute and compoundin’ me sins,
I drink surrounded by Swedes and Finns;
Not a harp upon a face,
Nor song t’praise the thirstin’ race!

Patrick on thy brave son smile,
Recall the pain o’yer own exile;
Cast hold light on pagan voodoo;
Green ‘em all ----- includin’ Urhoo!

A Northern Gael
From Exile: 3/74

Send in someone, don’t leave me forlorn
McBrien – Lynch –hell, even Steinborn!

Send in someone, heal the hurt
McBrien – Lynch – hell, even Kinert