Plain text: The North Country Boy’s Letter by George Vukelich Dear Santa, Yup, this was the year my folks had another, so I’m writing you now for my new baby brother; he looks like a puppy, all curled up and funny, he can’t blow his nose and it’s always real…

Plain text: Untitled – City Street in Winter by George Vukelich There will be rotary plows on the city street – Doors and windows locked in sleet – You can bet your boots the storms will be whoppers And they’ll all be followed by belly floppers. Sleds and toboggans, skates…

Plain text: Watching My Son by George Vukelich I watched my son, hands in pockets, talking of frogs, talking of rockets. His eyes near rolling from their sockets, telling of wart hogs fleeing the lions. Ratfish were eaten by elephant seals. Lake trout bled by the lamprey eels. Accepting of…

Plain text: The Deckhand Dreams by George Vukelich The deckhand dreams of his women on the beach. The far-eyed girls his widow wife and child waiting. Beyond the breakers. Beyond the gulls. The movements of the pristine winds soft and swishing as rosary beads wound round the hands of young…

Plain text: Apostle Islands by George Vukelich Two billion years ago the Laurentian Mountains stood here and soared to altitudes higher than any of the world’s present peaks. Before there was man the great glaciers of the ancient past moved back and forth across this land like a man raking…

Plain text: Afternoon of Christmas Eve by George Vukelich There are men who walk this way hunting out places where rabbits stay. We wave and pass this special day. Out women are working out of sight preparing the church for the Christ Child’s night. Fresh cut pine in the dark…

Plain text: Trap Line by George Vukelich The winter man works through this slough trapping the mink and the muskrat too. This is lonely windswept land. Windrowed ice and frozen sand. The man will leave a deep shoe track packing out pelts upon his back. When the ice fields rot…

Plain text: Planting in Fall by George Vukelich We planted bulbs one day in Fall the north wind not cooling us at all. My son talking to each and all, Have a good sleep.  See you next Spring. The oaks now etched in bold relief. The winter coming like a…

Plain text: Ogoki Post by George Vukelich The Albany in flood at Ogoki Post. In the Hudson Bay store, our host the young Scotsman waits to be free. He hates this life and the loneliness most. Across the river, a village of Cree knowing the white man, waiting to see…

This poem was published in the June, 1974 edition of Poet: An International Monthly. Plain text: One Night, Fishing   by George Vukelich One night, fishing from the pier I felt a living presence near. Turning to see, turning to hear I saw the bullfrog on the beach. His marsh…

Plain text: Morning in the Midwest by George Vukelich The First Edition and the breakfast table. They are having floods in California Texas needs rain Closer to home some insane woman leaped to her death from a downtown hotel. Luckily it was not rush hour. Sawdust on our city street…

Plain text: Holy Places by George Vukelich In those days they told us where the holy places were. Mostly places with priests around and crosses sticking in the ground. In these days we don’t tell them where the holy places are. Mostly places without priests or crosses sticking in the…

Plain text: Finally, Faith by George Vukelich Finally, finally. I have learned one thing after all. If the birds believed they could not fly. Then the birds would fall.

Plain text: Flowage in the Fall by George Vukelich The old man has fished this place for years. We fished it only yesterday. One last pike for old times sake before the winter takes this lake. He was not too big but big enough. Still the old man put him…

Plain text: Deer Yard by George Vukelich Where the current is swift the streams won’t freeze. The deer will yard in the sheltering trees. In this valley all winter long the days are short, yet the sun is strong. With the temperature thirty on a windless day you would swear…

Plain text: Farm in December by George Vukelich The land lies sleeping in the snow. The farm now warm and tight and snug. Feather ticks and ticking clocks. A blue spruce tree and Christmas socks. Rich fruit cake and fat rum balls. A piney smell all through the halls. Mama…

For a South Milwaukee Voice Journal article which has a story about The Old-Country Man, click here.