During my laureateship I have been invited to speak with students from across the country. My most rewarding work. The students were always receptive. Some were from troubled homes. I could relate. As a troubled child myself I knew that it was my art that saved me. From the book "it's howlin' time!" by PJ Yukon.

 

growing up in a foster home

 

growing up in a foster home

in a dysfunctional atmosphere

you learn not to say

what you think

not to express your feelings

you keep your thoughts

to yourself

 

my tremendous urge to be creative

is a survival technique

i learned early in life

you can go anywhere you want

in your mind

say what you want to say

be who you want to be

 

indulging in artistic expression

and sharing it with others

is my way of connecting

with the world around me

it is for me

the heartbeat

the very breath of life

 

©PJ Yukon

Poet Laureate of the Yukon 2024

 #yukon #poet #laureate #storyteller #canada #poetrycommunity

How many women were triggered by the recent P Diddy Coombs abuse situation? The trauma delivered by a violent ex lives on long after the incident. If you reported them it got worse. How many were stifled by fear? How many like me were stuck with the last name of an abuser?

 

I was forced to marry an adult when I was 16. He chased me down a hallway with a butcher knife. A friend grabbed me and pulled me inside. I have quite a few scars from abuse. The body remembers. The soul dies.

 

There was no one to help and nowhere to go. If I tried to call the police I was beaten. If the police actually arrived they just laughed it off as 'little woman having troubles'.

 

I was denied a childhood. I had no voice. I carried anger around that had nowhere to go. With time I slowly learned to believe in myself and began to lose the anger. I focussed on just being the best me that I could be with an aim to being there for others when they needed someone to speak for them.

 

It's the thing no one wants to talk about. They rule by fear and our silence enables them. Nicole Brown Simpson tried to speak out but it wasn’t enough to save her. Quite simply we need to speak louder.

 

Overlooking Skyhigh Wilderness Ranch Yukon. My mother’s final resting place.
 
I'm known as The Yukon Raven Lady. My mother ran a ranch in the Yukon wilderness. She was known as The Horse Woman. A poem from the book “it’s howlin’ time”  by PJ Yukon
 
"as i walk into the green garden"
 
and as i walk into the green garden
that is always dying
the faces
of the lost ones
still blossoming before me
like so many
brightly-colored flowers
that never fade
forever
 
my mother –
her old bones
asleep on the hill
overlooking the ranch
above a crumbling cabin
that echoes yet
with story
keep watch
keep track
 
as butter-fat wolf-pups
wrestle with the frosted ends
of snow-covered moose bones
and ravenous ravens
laughing like magpies
swoop down from stunted jackpines
to scour the boreal vista
vying forever for whatever leftovers
are left
 
my heart has memorized
the saddle-straddled coffin
and a line of sad-faced mourners
moving slowly forward
behind a rider-less Red Fox pony
escorting The Yukon Horse Woman
home
carrying her up that mountain
one last time
 
where goes the green of summer
when northwinds come
to howl away the sun
what’s left of the fatted calf
that once was life
that hovers now ghost-like
upon some foreign horizon
where do the living
really go
 
a sudden burst of wolf wind
thrashes through the buckbrush
quieting the neigh of gentle horses
caressing my friendless ear
as if in answer
and the sun rises higher
than God
as the sparkling midnight waters
begin to dance across the lake
 
©PJ Yukon 2012

#yukon #FishLake #SkyhighWildernessRanch #yukonpoet #poetrycommunity www.yukonpoetlaureate.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

July 26 2014: With fall coming time to dust off the snowplow.

With fall coming - time to dust off the snowplow.

Read more: https://www.yukonpoetlaureate.com/photos-2014/

I took this picture on July 26th 2014 at Fox Lake Yukon.

June 19th 2014 at at the Yukon Art Centre an exhibition of my friend Yukon artist Jim Robb's life works

   

I took this picture yesterday July 26th at Fox Lake Yukon.

Read more: https://www.yukonpoetlaureate.com/photos-2014/

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------         

 

"welcome to my fantis-phere"

 

the story of my life today

is written on the wind

it howls down the mountainside

it echoes like a sin

it dances with your memory

it hides inside your smile

it quivers like a heartbeat

come dance with me awhile

 

welcome to my fantis-phere

shake hands with all my grief

we’ll speak the foreign languages

that have no real belief

it’s all just words that never end

and dreams that never age

like schools of fish that flash and fade

and swim upon a page

 

you can’t deny your destiny

your edge is melting down

your bones are bent on ecstasy

but all you have is now

the flames of hell reach out to you

the snakes are on their way

the wind calls foul and strikes you out

there’s nothing left to say

 

you hunger for that mother-beat

that spoke to you in tongues

and wrapped you in its sanctity

and nearly struck you dumb

the hounds of hell are closing in

they’re nipping at your heel

to run. to hide. you can’t decide

there’s nothing left to feel

 

welcome to my fantis-phere

shake hands with all my grief

we’ll speak the foreign languages

that have no real belief

it’s all just words that never end

and dreams that never age

like schools of fish that flash and fade

and swim upon a page

©PJ Yukon 2013

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the 1970’s I was a young single parent living in a cabin in the Yukon wilderness. In those days there were many colourful Yukon characters about, one such being my old friend ‘O. D.’ Don Brown. With his shaggy grey beard and tattered old Stetson he was the quintessential image of a Yukon Sourdough. O.D was laid to rest in 1985. Sometimes I drop by to visit him.

 

"hey o.d. "

 

hey o.d.

just last week i saw you

hangin’ out on main street

in your tattered old stetson

with the word YUKON

blazed across the hatband

so busy tellin’ lies to the

salesgirl in Mac’s

you didn’t even see me

 

wasn’t it just yesterday

we were neighbors

livin’ on bannock and moose meat

out there in the bush

-you mindin’ the babies

so i could hitch a ride

down to the laundrymat?

well those babies they’re pretty much

all grown up now

 

but i still remember you

out there in your

old red mackinaw

standin’ by the woodpile

thrashin’ away like a

windmill in a snowstorm

you swung a mean axe, man

chopping wood for you

was an art form

 

then on cheque days

you’d barge in the door

a bottle-a hootch in one hand

a barrel-a chicken in the other

hollerin’

“where’s the party?”

“where’s the party?”

i’d find you in the morning

on the floor beside the woodstove

 

but then a cigarette

an’ a cup of coffee later

you were playin’ your harmonica

dancing with the dog

and laughing about the night

you broke the door down

with a frozen hind of moose

because you couldn’t find

your key

 

last friday at the T&M

i said “how ya doin’ o.d.?”

you just grinned

winked at me

and said

“i’m on my way out, y’know.”

“dyin’ eh?”

“i’m sorry,” i said

and meant it

 

sandy-

she’s mad as hell

said you’d wanted your ashes

spread over Grey Mountain

i said “well at least he’ll be

on the mountain”

she just walked away

never did have a

sense of humour

 

well i gotta go

it’s gettin’ late

you know you can

almost see the river from here?

it’s really not so bad

for a cemetery

hey o.d. you never know

place might kinda

grow on ya

 

time to hit the road

i’ll come by and see you again

sometime

maybe bring the dog

i’ll say hi to the kids for ya

and hey you old

streak a’ misery

try an’ stay outta trouble

willya?

©PJ Yukon 1985

--------------------------------------------------------------------

"faith is"

 

faith is a journey

to a place you’ve never been

without a name

 

faith is knowing

that the sun is always there

even when you can’t see it

 

faith is believing

god gave us the rainbow

because there is always hope

 

faith is hearing

the voice of an angel

in the prayer of a child

 

faith is pausing

to admire the beauty of a butterfly

knowing god made it

 

faith is waiting

for the salmon to return

because you know they will

 

faith is perseverance

pursuing your dream

when the world says you can’t

 

faith is sometimes accepting

that you must walk through the fire

before you can walk into the light

 

faith is an embrace 

that comforts you

in the howl of a storm

 

faith is a quiet voice

that tells you

you are worth loving

 

faith is discovering

that there really are

no coincidences

 

faith is an unlocked door

you choose to walk through

or not

©PJ Yukon 2010