Home
she’ll grab you
by the heartstrings
and never let
you go
she’s a haven
for your heartbeat
and a heaven
made of snow
she’s a harbor
where the midnight sun
never lets you
down
and the blazing
bright aurora
nails you to the
ground
where the beaver
slaps his happy tail
by the shores of
an alpine lake
and the river
runs right through ya
where the salmon
clear the gate
where the moose
calls out in the wilderness
to lure himself
a mate
and the air is
clear and the water here
is more than
worth the wait
where you can
walk across forever
and never see
another soul
where the trails
the moss and the tundra
ever beckon you
to go
where the
raven’s laugh and the grizzly’s roar
in the land of
the midnight sun
will always
leave you craving more
when a northern
day is done
some call her a
barren wasteland
some say she’s a
nowhere land
where it’s 50
below and the ice and the snow
are unfit for
the fittest man
some say she’s
an empty horizon
she’s really no
big deal
yet the gleam
and the glow of the natural world
clearly say that
the magic is real
some call her a
wonder
some call her a
drain
some wander and
wonder
and wander again
but she’ll get
in your blood
like a verse of
this poem
some call her
the yukon
but i call her
home
©PJ Yukon 2024
Howlin' Time
When the
haunting howl of grey wolf
cuts across the
arctic air
and you stand
beneath the mountain
and the frost is
in your hair
and your soul is
bent and bleeding
but there's
nothin’ you can do
you're awake and
yet you're dreaming
all there is is
god and you
it's howlin'
time
and you are part
of everything
and everything
is you
yet you walk
along forgotten
by a world you
never knew
and your life is
like a season
when the moon
has gone insane
and it shimmers
down your shoulder
comes to life
and dies again
it's howlin'
time
it's howlin'
time
when the spirits
of the lost ones
come to walk
with you again
it's howlin'
time
it's howlin'
time
when there's
only god and you
it's howlin'
time
so you wander in
the willows
and you cut
across your pain
and there's
magic in the treetops
and a raven
calls your name
and your eyes
are bright with sonnets
and you wonder
if you're sane
as the spirits
of the lost ones
come to walk
with you again
it's howlin'
time
and you ask
about your mother
and the child
that never was
as a thousand
answers leave you
but the question
never does
and you reach
out to your father
he's a million
miles away
he'll be gone by
monday morning
but by god he
heard you pray
it's howlin'
time
and you know
that he is dying
and you know
that no one cares
as you stumble
up the mountain
and the frost is
in your hair
and you hunger
for a reason
and you hunger
for a clue
and you hunger
for a season
but there's only
god and you
it's howlin'
time
it's howlin'
time
it's howlin'
time
when the spirits
of the lost ones
come to walk
with you again
it's howlin'
time
it's howlin'
time
when there's
only god and you
it's howlin'
time
when there's
only god and you
it's howlin'
time
©PJ Yukon 1993
“This Is Not A Holy War”
this is not a
holy war
this
sanctionless massacre
by evil-altered
minds
schooled in hate
and greed
tutored in
violence
led by monsters
and genocidal
maniacs
who will support
even the burning
of a child
in its bed
i was not
spoon-fed your
propaganda
that says
killing is ok
not brain-washed
to follow you
mindlessly
as you ride on
the coattails
of a mad man
bent on power
bent on
oppression
bent on a tiny
strip of land
where do the
souls
of the children
go
when they leave
this world
limbs blown off
screaming in
pain
their faces
reddened
and shredded
by shrapnel
so that only god
can know them
now?
where do the
mothers go
when there is
nowhere to go
when there is no
home
no family
when far beneath
the guns
the tanks
and the rubble
lie the ravaged
bones
of their
children?
how can you
sleep soundly in your bed
joke with your
wife and children
when you break
every law god made
is there
anything so compelling
about a strip of
sand that can justify
even the murder
of a child
that stone you
covet
was there long
before you were
and it will be
there
long after you
are gone
yet forevermore
beneath these
tarnished skies
below the guns
the tanks and the rubble
lie the innocent
souls
of the sons and
daughters
who once lived
here
now doomed to
remain children
for eternity
now little more
than a tear
in the eye of
god
this is not a
holy war
©PJ Yukon 2024
PJ YUKON
PJ YUKON: Canadian poet PJ Yukon was
invested as Yukon Poet Laureate in 1994. Known for her literary works and
advocacy for animal welfare, particularly for sled dogs, she is the author of
several books of poetry. Recognized for her contributions to Yukon arts and
culture she is known for her live performances and storytelling incorporating
music and spoken word. Her works reflect her connection to the Yukon and its
people. She is considered a prominent figure in Canadian literature.
Special thanks to publisher NilavroNill Shoovro
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