Monthly Archives: February 2016

A Good Rock Song – A Decent Poem – A Lyricist….Forget Words…..Feelings


involved – air
clear the thought

the wait

the worth

this song
lyrics full

my bride

distance – not distance

distant near

near distant….


these words swirl
a sentence tethered

thought provoked

meaning clear

you are the forest

i see you for the trees

-don’t worry about the sentence structure

feel the words – they are not words

these words


Jazz Dreams

a new york rain

a hamilton rain
brick red

a montreal rain
french catholic

pouring down the windy corridors
of suit and tie construction buildings

not natural grey
rain grey

(jazz pellets bouncing streaks off windows
down onto the sidewalks)

i’m spiderman
a cartoon figure leaping from number to number

i’m on 5th ave

i’m on king

i’m spinning a web over mary down cathedral

i am joining new york to
grey – red brick – catholic….

(a montreal travelogue
missing steel rafters over the harbour)

pour down you rain grey
the living room radio dreams my madness into the bedroom

am a trombone

am the bass

am spiderman….


Get me to the vet man

the vet? –
the vet is cliche man

just take me to the vet
– Man

no –
no way –

that’s not even a bullet wound….
more like a cat scratch….
what you need to do is see my man
the taxidermist…..
basic same
needle and thread anyhow

The taxidermist!
go forget yourself

what? why…
he’ll stitch you up good –
won’t cost you near as much neither

Man know how to keep his mouth shut?


What we got on him?
Not like he got a license to  sew squirrel –
worry about losin’

no –
but the man do run a moonshine still
where he hunt those squirrel

And he wouldn’t want no one special
finding out about it?

see –
better than a medical license
anything of that nature….

Does he offer a taste
help numb the pain
while he stitch two-time-low


Butterfly –

might –
probably cost coupla bucks more….
besides i told ya –
that ain’t no bullet wound
barely a cat scratch…

Daddy Jazz Traveler

“What are you listening to Daddy?”

“That’s the wrong question my child – it’s not what am I listening to
it’s – where am I traveling to”

“Where are you traveling to Daddy?”

“I am spending a day in Paris with Mr. Clifford Brown.
Come child – dance with me and watch the scenery spill through his sounds.”

“Have you ever been to Paris Daddy?”

“Yes. Right now.”

“For real Daddy.”

“Child – for real.
I just left Montreal and I plan on going to New York next.”

“How you gonna do that Daddy?”

“By putting on another record baby girl.
I’ve got Wynton Marsalis at the Vanguard.
He’s on deck.
I’m going to close my eyes
and he’s going to remind me of a summer day on the sidewalk
with your mother.”

“How did you get to Montreal Daddy?”

“By train baby.
Came in underground and by foot
I danced my way into a club in the old town….
Hungarian place – with a Hungarian saxophone.
Horse drawn carriages out door by the St. Lawrence.
The saxophone was the right price – and it was richer than a carriage ride.
I danced your mother around a beer glass at a carved up table
before strolling through China town and hooking a left down René to our hotel…”

“Why do you keep your eyes closed Daddy?”

“So I can picture your mother.
She’s sitting atop a piano
and I’m playing the keys looking into her deep star gazing blues.”

“Daddy – where is mommy today?”

She is behind you child –
step aside so i can pull Daddy away from the piano….
Clifford has a solo and I want to walk along the riverside.
You can walk with us and hold my hand while I hold Daddy’s.
This record is never going to skip a beat.”

Jesus is Speaking

i want to sing
while Jesus speaks in my ear
let the words roll onto typewriter paper (uninterrupted)


but i can only speak one
rolling off my tongue in nothingness accent
hoping to translate what i hear onto a modern scroll
at the tick – tack – type-writer

‘speak softly Jesus’
‘speak up!’

this tongue of tongues rolls loosely amongst the heavenly clouds
while here on earth
the world is growing deaf and arguing to itself on media online

stick to the typewriter ‘i say’
it will not cloud your judgement
or ring in stupidity

….and the clickity clack
steam engine of fingers
rolls along



The City of Ice Cream Headaches

the sidewalks of ice cream headaches
40 km/hr winds – Valentines Feb

we hold mitten hands in Montreal
searching Catherine and Crescent

saintly roads connecting streets to hi-way
as we dodge little stores for warmth

bobbing around – bowing heads in
Basilica of Rome – falling down dusty museum
where crucified Jesus cries off in ceramic pain
a little red room to the side calling for ‘Mary’

-bundle tightly my love
we will crawl under ground to Bonaventure

separate body – our dogged hearts asking ‘why’
Sunday is setting off and your bus travels to Richelieu

my train back to Belleville – lonely Belleville…..

– note*

4 couples in line wait and chat

‘she married him – and he was all Catholic
but in her heart, her soul was Anglican….. you know
not like here – but how it is back home’….

my torn tired body focuses back to you
we live on faith my love

you are in my heart….my soul is all you.

Lee & Ray inside Liuna

beautiful tom-tom whisk
brush over hi-hat snare,
foot pedal pounding out war cry
hear the heart beat rhythm
chant beginning through floor,
lungs a voice on two legs
taking tremors through
vocal cords and strings.
-this train station is awake
hibernating tracks, vibrate out doors
earth pebbles, bounce on steel
richter scale heartbeat, tick tapping
a passengers ticket.

dear VIA
hear the sounds of the steel skywalker
and come home to us
the world of Canada sings inside and outside
these doors……

-where more can we travel? – leaving home.

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