Frozen Heart – (song lyric)

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I thought you might be interested in another form of ‘poetry’ that I write – song lyrics. If you click on this link (it’s the fifth song down) you can scroll down and hear the song being performed (from my CD “Breathe”)

 

There’s a chill in the room

I put another log on the fire

But I know that the flames are never gonna burn much higher.

There’s a chill in the room

No need to wonder where it starts

It’s a cold wind blowin’ over my frozen heart.

 

The ice – began to form – – years ago

Like a glacier creepin’ through the snow

The ice age came then rumbled on

Freezing my heart like a mastodon

Now I’m ancient hist’ry, me and my frozen heart

This I Understand

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The world rushes by
every crisis jockeying
for my attention.

The clock claps its hands
to get my attention and
scoot me out the door.

Everyone has plans
that require my presence
except for the moose.

Outside my window
a moose browses willow buds.
This I understand.

 

the moose

The Chip off the Old Block

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You may think you’re a star, you may think you’re a freak
You might believe that you’re special and unique
But there’s a chip off the old block sitting on your shoulder
and you’ll act like your parents when you get a little older

Get a grip on your load
there’s a dip in the road
O’er which you’ll probably
trip in the road

There are roads to the left, there are roads to the right
and choosing which to follow can really be a fright
and the chip off the old block sitting on your shoulder
may be all that keeps you level when you get a little older

Get a grip on your load
there’s a dip in the road
O’er which you’ll probably
trip in the road

And one day when you sing this little ditty to the kiddies
Don’t try to give advice, don’t bother with forbidding
and the chip off the old block sitting on their shoulders
will keep their feet on the ground when they get a little older.

Her Joy

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Her joy will eventually  emerge
like a single blade of grass slicing
through slowly melting snow.

Winter’s frost patterns adorn  memories
of fond summers and soft falls
but her joy is starting to emerge.

Like velvet pussy willows bravely standing
in a pool of spring sunshine,
back to the wind, she emerges.

Strong, serene, one with the world,
at peace within her skin,
she emerges. Her joy emerges.

The Paper Edit

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So I finally had the book printed out. It weighs in at 184 pages but I imagine that might shrink a bit. It’s amazing how many errors you can miss when editing on a computer screen, mostly periods vs. commas so far, but nearly every poem has a little oops that needed fixing!

Anyone who knows me can attest that I’m nowhere near being a Luddite when it comes to computers, but I have to confess to a serious feeling of well-being when holding my book (even though it’s just a mark-up copy) in my hands. There is a committment to a book that just isn’t there in an e-book. Someone said “Yes, this is worth the time, effort, energy, and resources that go into printing a book.”  It also says “Yes, I’m satisfied that it is finished.” That’s the hard part. I know it will never truly be finished – I only hope I can abandon it in an interesting place.

This morning I’m doing a TV interview and I’ll be reading a poem from the book – I’m still not sure which one it will be – and the reality of saying “Here is the mock-up of my book, I hope to have it in print by…..(place date here)…” is both exhilarating and frightening!

Wish me luck… but if experience is any indication I know my hair will be doing something weird and although th camera may add ten pounds it also, in my case, seems to remove an undisclosed number of IQ points as well! 🙂

Here goes…

 

The Coat

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Some days I wear a coat of wet blankets.
It becomes me,
with its heavy, sweeping hem
damply swirling the world
into chaos as I pass.
It becomes me,
with its drooping shoulders draped
in a  moist muffler,
dripping paindrops from its tassels.
It becomes me,
with a strange, soggy, sincerity,
it becomes me.
And I know if I don’t take it off soon
I’ll become it.

Cover Art

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falling Awake midsized

Well, I’ve edited the book, proofed the book, formatted the book, named the book (“Falling Awake and other poems” in case you missed that post), now the cover design…

I’m leaning towards one of my own paintings as a cover. I created/designed my CD covers for my first two CDs so it’s not unprecedented.  I’ve uploaded a copy of the proposed cover art and would appreciate any input, just as I have appreciated the input you’ve given me on the poems.

Thank you for coming along with me on this journey!

 

 

A Biodegradable Old Bag

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A plastic bag hangs in a tree,
billowing and startling, popping and snapping
at every gust of wind.
No breeze is too slight to escape
her rustling displeasure. 

The constant buffeting tears holes,
deflating her, shredding her to ribbons
until, voiceless, she can do nothing but
flutter helpless streamers,
as though signalling for help
 
as one by one,
the bio-degradable ribbons
slough away, to whisper a while
amongst the sighing grass before
dissolving into silence.

Live Music in the Night

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I awoke this morning with music in my head.
Snippets and riffs from last night jangling
and dangling, misplaced quarter notes hanging
from synapses like clothes left strewn on the floor.
The tiny tintinnabulations telling me.
There is nothing as visceral, as primal, as right
as live music in the night.

 

Last evening, Bill and I attended the Chetwynd Coffee House – There really is no substitute for live music – no matter how good the recording or how wonderful the sound system – live music will always be an unsurpassably immediate and shared experience. I was also very pleased to have played a few of my songs for the audience and was grateful for their kind welcome.