Folk Singer

you used to be cute and be alright

playing your music in the coffeehouse all night

the young crusader putting up a fight

we were young and naive in those days

united in thought during that crazy phase

but destined to go our separate ways

you sang against society’s ills

your quivering voice gave me the chills

but there was too much booze and too many pills

you sang of love and sang of peace

around your neck were colorful beads

every now and then a run-in with the police

now lighten up baby lose that frown

now you just bring everybody down

once in awhile you should just go downtown

the songs just don’t matter like they used to

like when i’d turn on the tv and i’d see you

time has moved on that’s what it do

still you strum your guitar and sing your songs

you still think you can right all the wrongs

you long for the day you used to sing for throngs

you used to sing against the war

but even then you didn’t know the score

you don’t realize nobody listens to you anymore

Christmas No More

They’re not playing Christmas music anymore on the radio

it’s Christmas evening and instead we’ve reverted to the ‘hits of the 90’s and beyond’ 

like we couldn’t have stood going any longer without hearing the same crap

that they play over and over almost the entire year

so all that build-up and hype for Christmas is gone

now there’s nothing life but torn wrapping paper 

cardboard rolls that make great telescopes when you’re five or six

Brenda Lee, Bobby Helms, Mitch Miller, Bing Crosby no more for 11 months

now it’s get ready for amatuer night on New Year’s Eve

boring ass parties with boring ass people trying to be ‘fun’

people who can’t handle their liquor 

bad dancers, bad kissers, bad memories

I used to go to parties like that but I learned my lesson

I’d rather stay home with a bottle or two

there isn’t even anything decent to watch on TV anymore

I remember watching Guy Lombardo and his Orchestra

from the Waldorf-Astoria in New York with my parents---old people dancing to old songs

sometimes I’d watch Dick Clark on ABC and watch the ball drop in Times Square

but nothing ever seemed to change the next day

life went on as maddeningly tedious as the year before

all this crap about resolutions that people make and have no intention of following through on

I did lose 25 pounds this year but that wasn’t because of no silly resolution

it was because of a horrible picture I saw of myself and decided I needed to lose some weight

I quit eating spaghetti and cut down on the carbs for a while and weight fell off

I don’t watch the carbs so much now and I haven’t gained anything

so it must have been all the spaghetti I ate

it’s cheap and quick to make for us poor people so I miss that

I can’t say I miss the spaghetti so much

maybe I’ll go have a plate of it now for the hell of it and put on some Christmas music

Phillipe Petain

Here’s to old Marshall Philippe Petain     

The Lion of Verdun                         

French hero in the First World War                           

French traitor in The Second World War

in charge of the puppet government…

boo him…

it didn’t turn out well for the Generale as the French say

...after the war, Pétain was tried 

he faced a military tribunal 

that never turns out well

convicted for treason

...oh oh…

he was originally sentenced to die

but he was an old man

maybe senile

so he got a break

his sentence was commuted to life in prison

it was thought for a long time he supposedly said during WW1

“They shall not pass” 

a great quote about the German army

but now somebody said it’s said he didn’t say it

someone else said it 

poor old guy

history hasn’t been kind to him but I guess he had it coming

Christmas Week Walk

Calm cold December night, walking on the straight as an arrow sidewalks that seem to go on to Cape Cod, stepping over the occasional broken beer bottle that somebody tossed from a car...some punk...past the old cemeteries with spindly naked branches that lost their leaves in the past autumn...all locked up now...with graves that have secrets locked away in them like a diary that no one has the key for...graves from a hundred years ago and a week old...people who laid claim to some form of importance and some people who just laid claim to some form...but now their some form of something...all these forms are now gone, the formed has changed into the formless except for some old bones and dust laying in a very dark place, filed away like some old papers...now they’re all equal for as they say, death is the great equalizer...past centuries old churches that will be filled with worshipers and singers in a couple of nights for traditional Christmas services...for some people, the only time besides Easter that they attend church...it’s quiet and peaceful and a small plane flies overhead twinkling red and green lights...appropriate for the holidays......I keep walking...past the old white clapboard houses that are long in the tooth, some clean and pristine with intricate outdoor lights-others looking worn-out and shabby...peeling paint, shutters that hang with gloom...a pedestrian string of lights thrown in the anorexic evergreens in front of the house that stands in a patch of dirt looking like abstract art...even those places have the spirit...most of the homes though, they’re all dressed up pretty in Christmas lights sparkling and twinkling, and flashing like stop lights on a busy boulevard somewhere in Europe, and the lights are on with the people inside snug and warm, and the dogs and the cats too...and the little children along with the dreams that they dream and the innocence and wonder...already tucked in bed for the night...and the homes are looking all homey inside with the big trees in the large front windows and the ornaments reflecting the little colored lights hung on the tree...and plenty of guests inside eating dinner and sharing old stories and their plans for next year...maybe take a trip to Europe...reminiscing about what has passed and who has passed...remembering Grandma or Grandpa or both...making plans for New Year’s Eve while they refill their drinks in colorful cocktail glasses - I look up at the sky and it glows with the lights and reflections of the snow, and it’s quiet except for an old red truck that chugs down the street...the sidewalks are empty...-in the morning they are occupied by old couples leaning on each other, all bundled up and walking their small, chubby dogs who are all bundled up in their bright sweaters...young boys on old bikes delivering the morning newspaper with the latest news, and a forecast of snow for Christmas, horoscopes, society pages, Dear Abby, and last nights hockey scores...Bruins 4 Montreal 3, Chicago Blackhawks 2 New York Rangers 1...but as of now it’s dark and getting darker, getting late and getting later...I just got off work and just got off the bus and now I just want to get home...stick my cold hands inside the pockets of my thin jacket and keep walking...walk, walk, walk...past the clapboard houses and all the merriment to my little dark studio apartment with no cheerful Christmas lights, no dogs, no plans.

In Death As In Life

if there’s anything I can do I mean if it ain’t too inconvenient

let me know that’s what I mean but I don’t say

give me a call but I know you won’t

that makes my empty words easier to mouth

you’ll be alright if you’re strong as the breeze today

dead leaves fluttering—falling unto the grass of the dead

memories good and bad blowing in the wind

life’s short but sometimes it don’t seem that way

all those days of wandering crooked mean streets

all those days of wondering where you’re next meals’coming from

all those nights of chasing dreams deep into the unforgiving night

and in dreams that don’t come true

under cruel moons and indifferent stars

those days crawl by slowly on scraped hands and knees

the black limousines stand like sentries quietly and at attention

I always wanted to ride in a hearse and one day I will the hard way

unless I’m lost at sea or just lost somewhere in the world

a lost soul lost in a world that was lost to me years ago

I never found this one to my liking or vice versa

it was a beautiful day for a funeral

in the popular cemetery that people were dying to get in

dig a hole in the ground and cover up all your troubles with the dirt

the only people who ain’t got no problems

are under six feet of earth or a pile of ashes in an urn

I want my ashes to be spread in the cold deep sea

going a thousand different directions like I did in life

Marina Park Bench

late evening on a hard old wooden bench by the marina

chipped, faded paint no longer in fashion

bench dedicated to someone I’ve never heard of

yellow sun falling beneath blue water in the orange sky

people snapping pictures that they’ll look at once probably

boats slowly pass red and green lights reflecting on the glassy surface

old men shuffling along with their canes and english bulldogs

younger people being walked by labradors brown and gold

children with one last slide down the slide before dusk settles in

mothers behind strollers telling them it’s time to go

get ready for school tomorrow-unfulfilling jobs—empty afternoons

bridge stretching out from one side of the bay to another

white lights coming--red lights going

to fancy penthouses by the water, bayside homes

places I’ll never set foot in

park emptying out, lights white glow lonely

one last look and then mosey on along- no hurry

walk by the tropical looking bar next to the parking lot

live band catatonic customers dead atmosphere

not much spirit in monday nights

Party at Jim's House

party at Jim’s house

the guy at work who sweeps up

he seems alright to me

find a floral couch to sit on or a dark corner to sit in

I could be painting or writing poems

or watching the shadows on the wall if I was at home

but I’m watching a lot of drunk people get drunker

a couple of my friends disappear to whereabouts unknown

i’m bored so I walk over to jack in the box across the street

get a burger, fries and a coke

I prefer to do my drinking at home alone sunshine 

I walk back to the house--it’s cold and I see my breath

it confirms that I’m alive, ALIVE!

it feels good but I wish I was going home

but my friends want to hang around for a while

I rode with them so I don’t have much of a choice

I meet a swedish girl whose as bored as I am

we talk on the couch and she writes poetry

she shows me some but honestly it isn’t very good

I of course dishonestly tell her it is good

but it’s nothing but tired cliches

but I give her a pass--english isn’t her first language

my swedish wouldn’t be very good or coherent

that would be readily apparent 

I couldn’t even write swedish cliches whatever they are

we talk a little more and she offers me a ride home

she drops me off like a cough drop

we leave and I smile when

I tell my friends the next day 

that I left with the blonde swedish girl

yeah...like somethin’ happened later

Wishing

'Wishing' 

spent a lot of time wishing

shiny pennies tossed in fountains

dropped down dark deep wells

falling stars from the sacred sky

on rainbows that always seemed so promising

ain’t got nothing to show for it

a lot of heartache--a lot of nothin’

prayed at a lot of churches

tiny ones in the country

old ones in the city that have seen generations

of families born-live-die

all the pretty stained glass burgundy reds

bright blues, meditation greens, revelation yellows

all I got was a sore pair of knees

wish I could see some kind of sign

just give me some kind of sign

a lot of singing and hoping

around the corner there’s a bar

I feel more comfortable in there

and I confess and wish to St. Whiskey

and I get the same response 

although he makes me feel better

at least for a little while

he gives me a sign

I feel all warm inside and all is right with the world

at least for a little while

Country Road

the moon rose over the farmer’s field

harvested and waiting for winter’s snowfall

the cows sing their goodnight song

heading off to dreamy nights if cows even dream

sky yell-ooow orange red blue

watercolors all running together at the end of the day

I walk down the old road past mailboxes

hands in pockets--knit hat pulled down over my ears

my breath lingering in the air as I go

past the early american house

with a wooden swing on the porch that is inviting 

where they probably sip lemonade on hot summer nights

but tonight is clear and cold

chicken soup simmering on the four burner general electric stove

or maybe it’s chicken and dumplings and hot biscuits

lights on in the kitchen and living room and in one of the bedrooms

old pickup truck in the gravel driveway

I don’t know what kind it is, yes I do it’s blue

I laugh to myself and keep shuffling down the road

no invitation to dine forthcoming

to this unkempt traveler who keeps looking for home

You Never Learn

say your mantra put your head in the sand

there ain’t no hidin’ from the man

you just don’t seem to understand

ya think if you close your eyes it’ll go away

turn up the radio and let it play

it’s all so useless anyway

you can spend your whole day wishing

you might as well go fishing

with no bait on your hook

take off your rose colored glasses

you can keep throwin’ hail mary passes

but you’re never gonna defeat the masses

all your good luck charms and inspirational expressions

can’t shake this overwhelming depression

you’re not even payin’ attention to the 64,000 question

just plant your flag and defend your land

make a desperation final stand

on the shifting sands you stand on

I wish I could make you see

but you never ever listen to me

you’re singing by yourself in three part harmony

when are you gonna wake up from your dream

you could use a good primal scream

you’re writing a dissertation on the wrong theme

I guess I’ll just walk away now

I wanna do more for you than you’ll allow

I’m tired of wasting my time