Born in Scotland in 1944, Jim McLaughlin and his wife, Joyce, emigrated to Toronto, Canada, in 1969, two days after they married. He worked as a systems developer in the Department of Justice for six years and then became Administrator of the Ontario Police College. They moved to Calgary, Alberta where Jim had been appointed Regional Director of Court Operations, and Chief Sheriff. After retiring in 2004, they purchased a lovely Casa in El Parque, San Antonio Tlayacapan, where they spend most of their winters.
Fair and Lovely
She was fair, and she was lovely,
She came awhile to stay;
With quiet step she crossed the floor,
And sweetly with me lay.
Obscuring darkness filled the room,
Yet all of her I knew,
My every sense with hers entwined,
No eye could see so true.
No sound disturbed our wakefulness
And little did we speak,
I only heard the soughing breeze
And her breath upon my cheek.
Her heart beat fast against my own,
No less was mine becalmed;
If this be sin, and God offend,
Then let my soul be damned.
Across the fields a clock tower’s toll
Presaged our last caress,
A harbinger of coming morn,
And thief of happiness.
She was fair, and she was lovely,
And sweetly with me lay;
The darkness brought her to me once,
The dawn stole her away.
*****
Hope
Response to the dozens of peaceful demonstrators who were slaughtered in
Peking’s Tiananmen Square on June 4, 1989.
A world so filled with cark and care, each day brings tidings grim:
We kill, we rape, we soil the earth and follow every whim.
What hope is there for all of us who fret and know distress,
Who wonder how our children’s young will cope with all the mess?
That crime is rife and morals lax, that caring’s out of style;
And family life is under siege, beware the blackguard’s smile.
We cannot hearken to the past, that time was wicked too,
Though surely we can strive to learn and know what not to do.
With threats of war and civil strife, and storm clouds rolling in,
What silver linings can we find, when will the good begin?
To hold that man is good and just, that all of this will pass;
Can we dare hope for better times – how can we wish for less?
When politicians flaunt our trust, their tongues turned inside-out;
When lawyers cloud our daily lives, no wonder that we doubt.
And now withal, so sad to tell, Evangelists must join
The list of sordid ne’er-do-wells who worship only coin.
Is all so lost, is all forlorn, must we surrender thus?
Where is the friendly, honest soul? – perhaps in all of us.
Each one must search within himself and surely he will find,
A wise and simple graciousness, and love of humankind.
*****
In Praise of the Sonnet
Pinnacle of vaunted inspiration,
The Sonnet – fourteen lines of true noblesse;
No shibboleth, like thirteen’s reputation,
Its pristine form a triumph of finesse.
Shakespeare was the master of its genus,
All others doomed to vie for second best;
Fourteen lines to wax, or treat of Venus,
Of love, or loss, or of a world oppressed.
So hie ye, poetasters of the nation,
Aspiring to the rank of Sonneteer;
This world so lost in digital fixation
Awaits another Spenser or Shakespeare.
Embrace the call and grasp yon idle quill –
Now pen thy fourteen lines with right good will.
*****
Infinity – A Sonnet
What is this life, its purpose and its cause?
What power can sate a universe so vast,
Expanding ever outward without pause,
Uncharted in its progress and its past.
As if from nought the quondam monster sprang
In fiery leap, a bang perchance, but then
Ordained by rule to stall and boomerang,
Regressing to a pea-sized orb again.
And not content to rest, once more ‘twill bound
Far into dark infinity, unchecked,
In seeming endless cycles, round and round,
Throughout a timeless void; to what effect?
And we, our earth-bound passage swift and bright,
A momentary flash, that fades to night.
*****
Nightfall
The warming light ebbs gently with the day,
And like a shade descending by degrees,
From dusty gold to pewter’s sombre grey,
The darkness falls behind the cooling breeze.
Uncertain shapes of objects lately known,
Their forms a threat to man’s insipid sight;
The creatures of the land, to them alone
Belongs the world of darkness and of night.
*****
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After he retired and moved to Sedona, Arizona, he taught literature at Yavapai College in Clarkdale, Arizona.
He and professional artist Bev Kephart bought a small motor home in 2003, sold most of their possessions, and traveled the U. S. for seven years. After visiting Mexico several times, they settled in the village of Ajijic, joining the ex-pat artist and writing communities.
Mel’s writing has been published online and in print in The United Kingdom, The United States, Mexico, New Zealand, and Australia. He is the author of three novels, a book of short stories, and several books of poetry. He and his wife now make their home in the village of San Nicholas de Ibarra.
- Poetry Niche – April 2026 - March 31, 2026
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