In the deepest places
we are hesitant to travel
Fearful of what it is we may find
Wary wingless travellers
tread soft upon your path
One thing always leads to another
Traveller
Eddie’s blues
I remember us singing sad old blues songs
how I would watch your lips for a cue
You would assure me by the look in your eyes
tell me I was doing well
And you played your guitar just like an angel
followed my voice in harmony
You played your guitar just like an angel
You’ll always be a part of me
Your daddy never did understand you
Said you never learned to be a man
Put your music and you down as worthless
Left you for lost he was a broken man
Night after night you played your heart out
Your fingers gave your soul some release
I know now that you were never meant to get old
I just hope that you found some peace
And you played your guitar just like an angel
followed my voice in harmony
You played your guitar just like an angel
You’ll always play on for me
I am not a fighter
You’d think with all my strength and will
I could break free this flimsy cage contains me waiting
You’d expect I would try
But conditioning takes effect
And you being such a convincing master
Instead I pace my allotted circle wide eyed with expectation
I comply with temporary surrender
Bravado Fear Submission
Seeing the basket meant to carry vegetables or flowers
A joyful attractive thing not a container to save you
The unsavoury experience of splatter
Your authority soiled by my blood.
Cheers to the moon
Here’s to the garden man
raises a sign on country road
hopes some passersby may come
buy vegetables
He digs deep his rich garden dirt
while his dog sniffs up your walking shoes
Here’s to his beaten chair
worn from sun baking
contemplating how long must he wait
for good news
Here’s to hours after midnight
gazing up at silent skies
listening to solace rolling through
still as art on the wall
Here’s to the moon
shining bright like a headlight
take a breath take it in
let down your delicate within
for now everything feels alright
NATURE
You can tell
looking through the hole of life
You can predict
what may happen
You can change
but only for good reason
You can slip
so easily these days
You can cry
though no one may hear you
You can wish
though no one may care
You can change
but your steps leave footprints
You can slip
so easily these days
opening
There’s an opening in the sky
bright like idea clouds over head
Watch out for tall trees
Watch out for wind in rain drenched leaves
Watch out for burdens
taking up too much of your waking time
Pull me close
Pull me over to the side of this road
when you’re speeding
I will pass you through
My green will slow your heart down
Review
Who will I write my letters to now you’ve sailed away
Who will answer from the distance of your wandering footsteps keeping time
Who will play the melody to my songs when finally I sing again
Who will recollect the pictures when so few occupied spaces in your mind
Who will I believe you’d become over hardened years
Who will I invite for our reunion when will and courage align
Who was it I imagined could hold on to some thinning thread between
Who was it in the room to notice your slow graceless fall
Who was it you liked to call your only friend
Who was it called your number disconnected
Who was it arrived to knock at a pale door where life had fled
Who is it hears your song playing long and wan and deep in the after
Who is it captures your drawings in this wooden frame
Who is it plants white lilies on your lonesome grave
Who is it remembers the proper spelling of your name
Aftervillage
Amid quiet crumbling beauty
we tread with light deliberate steps
watchful for what could happen
for some unexpected opening in this damp and fragile earth
into which we may fall
Here lies evidence of possibility
we see through our sunglass obscured eyes
all there is to see of what remains after abandonment and its aftermath
decay in slow motion
a death in silence
What will we have learned having come as witnesses
to imagine what was and then what has become juxtaposed
And can we say with conviction in our voices when we emerge
from this moist sinking landscape
to walk again on the even ground of modernity
that we understand
Who left first and who was the last to cross the bridge
Who won
How shiny was the prize?
Ledge
Between grey waters
where heavy matters pass through
Our home on a ledge
Man Without A Face
There is a man without a face
I saw his portrait on a wall today
His hair is black and all in place
Don’t know his name
Don’t know his trade
Don’t know the reasons for his fate
I think a lot about him
Wonder how it feels to vanish with no trace
What it’s like to be a man without a face
