We’ve brought you dozens of blog posts about historical characters and events from our archives, crazy photos, and other Whistler stories. One thing that we feel we’ve brought you too little of is poetry composed by Museum staff. I’m sure you’ve been thinking the same thing. I can almost hear you thinking, “‘H – E – double hockey sticks’, when will Sarah, Jeff, Robyn, Allyn, and Myles write some goddamn poetry? A limerick maybe? A Haiku? Is that really too much to ask?”

Well, patient reader, the wait is over. Without further delay, here is a selection of poetry (mostly haiku) composed by the Museum staff (and friends).

Two mountains, strung with
cable- rise above this town,
this valley of dreams.

- Robyn

Seppo Makinen:
The mighty man among us.
His spirit rests here.

- Robyn

Stillness on Alta -
Alex Philip falls in drunk,
Myrtle shakes her head.

- Sarah

We love history.
We love Whistler’s Whistory!
Whistler is awesome.

-Myles

Extreme sports paired with
endless good times, paradise
is Whistler-Blackcomb.

- Robyn

Silently gliding
Through deep, endless white powder –
Another Whistler day.

- Robyn

Truth Hurts

Rainbow Lodge, Seppo,
Crazy Canucks, HISTORY!
Kids just want lego.

- Jeff

On hot afternoons
Molly and McGee nap on
While Freckles watches.

-Allyn

Outside is too hot?
Museum has two words for you:
Air conditioning.

-Allyn

There once was a Texan named Millar
Whose life was something of a thriller.
He first was a cook
But then two lives he took
So he fled here where life was much stiller.

-Allyn

There once was a pub called the Boot
Just next to the highway’s main route.
It had dancing girls
And drinkers who twirled
In a “ballet” of well known repute.

-Allyn

An ode to the archives

Last night I dreamt of a magical place,
Dreamers, doers and icons all shared one space.
Oh, to visit this land where our legends can thrive.
Why, it already exists, our almighty archives!

Our collections are vast, rich with ripe tales,
From diaries and drawings to bent, rusted nails.
All with the ineffable scent of the past,
A real-life time machine that’s built to last.

Archival documents in acid-free boxes,
Fight group amnesia from acid-induced memory losses.
Our fifty thousand pictures are worth fifty million words.
Fishing rods, ice axes, taxidermied birds!

We record more than elections, wheelings and dealings,
Our shelves carry facts, dates, but also a feeling.
Whistler’s free spirit – it’s impossible to fake it,
Live here long enough you’ll end up in here naked!

Cynics deride Whistler’s history as short,
But we prove that the truth is none of the sort,
Our peaks, trees, and tales are all very tall,
And we’ve done some big things for a town that’s so small.

Next time you’re curious of Whistler’s glorious past lives
Stop in (appointments only) at the Whistler Archives!
Thus concludes these haiku, limericks and jingles,
From the only folks in town still selling Boot Pub shingles!

-Jeff

Postscript:

All night long (all night)
All night (all night) All night long,
All night long (Ooh yeah)

- Lionel Ritchie