Monthly Archives: July 2013

Picking a shovel-banjo

Picking a banjo
wishing
it
were a guitar
picking
at rocks
with
a shovel
song in
mind
the round mouth digging in
and the chords push
through the fingers
of blisters
needing the strings
of a guitar.
at night
winding out an evening
with beer
trading the banjo shovel
leaving a pen
on the
kitchen table
strumming a verse
picking out
the rocks
in the hole i dig
for
myself
with a guitar
that
wants to save
me………


Happy Perseverance from a Lawn Chair

There is nothing worse
for
a working man
but
to realize his greater
capabilities
v.s his
position in life
– the answer is caught but lost
flying on the winds of Christ

Sometimes….
I’d rather be happy
just
punching a clock
– Freddie Mercury self-pity

There’s paint on these
jeans
rip in the shirt of buttons
and I sweat sitting
down at the
stage
– sip a beer on Sunday and just listen

If I could play
guitar
you would hear the strain of
these words
an honest approach of
a stabbing
growl, desperate to
be more than my
self
– just ask Joe…………


Sound it Out part 4….


Sound it Out part 3….


Sound it Out part 2……


Sound it Out Part 1


A reckoning

when i am missing Hamilton
i
drink Megalo
over looking the Ontario
waters,
i listen to Doucet
or
read up on
Wilson
bitching how the
City is fucking up his
town
.
i think back on my last
summer
realizing it was
my first,
becoming aware finally
of the drive
over top Ivor
grown
green maple
down into Parkdale.
in
winter,
i will
remember
first time on
Main,
up Catherine
to
Hunter,
the TH&B
under
Christmas snow lights
blue
and white –
walking down book
stores on
James
and losing my
heart ,
discovering
a secondary home
in the cork
with
music
that danced
like
Stoco and Tweed
.
On the day i
left
i watched the
harbour
drove Canada
over
the SkyWay
past
our flag
and knew i was
country. i am a horse
on fields
running over hills,
i am
the explorer of
my grand
fathers
searching out
neighbour
hoods
and architecture
walking
the city and smelling
her steel
melted for
me.
.
.
.
……..the fiddle music plays
the wine over
Ontario tastes fine
and is found
here in Belleville
original Irish is grown
in the rocky hay of
Read,
and i dream i am
home –
open my eyes to
a horse
staring back
into
mine.


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