LyricSmiths
Inside the Shoal
(Mariners Memories)
Take fresh water off Peter point
where the rocks
are deep and cold
a toast to County Folk
who live inside the shoal
Psyche shoal that
ancient hole
soundings tell a tale
of a great crater n the soul
the spirits preach the
sailors teach
Charity's children up the Reach
fall asleep beneath
mountain lake
Somnus
sands with rampart hands
a dreamy cradle makes
Sweet dreams Wapoos
Sweet dreams
Sweet
dreams along your shore
Bob Robb ,aka Coolbelly, is a kids entertainer for PBS. has
recorded five albums and used to play with Bukka White and
Dunn
I'll ALWAYS SCRATCH
A POOR MAN'S ASS
by Jerry
I'll always scratch a poor man's ass, and live a poor man's
dream,
And never divulge my true feelings, and the world will let me be,
I'm a singer,
songwriter, poet, and I do have something to say,
But few stop to listen, they're
all busy gathering, their nuts for a rainy day,
So I sing to the few who will listen,
and I feel for the ones with no hope,
Everyone has a song, see the players stumble
on,
The lost men, the rich broads, the jokes,
I'll always find a pen and paper, to
light up dark corner's of my mind,
And I'll always scratch a poor man's ass, contented
in knowing, it's mine,
Just Like a Mountain
Be with me Lord, stay by my side
Through
this day and through this night
From the morn until the sum has set
When on my pillow
my tired head rests
Your love so simple and plain
Just like a mountain
You remain
All
of the years so swift gone by
Be with me Lord, stay by my side
For I am weak and the
river wide
That is filled wit h the tears that I have cried.
Your love so simple and
plain
Just like a mountain
You remain
As a child I heard your voice
Heard your call and
made a choice
Though I seem to lose my way
You stay beside me anyway
Your love so simple
and plain
Just like a mountain
You remain
Christine Donovan June 2008
Marked Grounds
Ploughboys,
crumblers, big and small
a width of dirt under the toes
between the feet, twixt nails
-
under tongues and into sweat
through woods and trees
and then beyond are
these
..and then again, beyond are these.
Coming on and going on
round hills, over rises
in
rows and rows and on
and going on
then down around the old -
the ancient rivers again
the
rivers that mark their own
and mark their own again
..and then again beyond.
Doug Foster
By Jerry
Peacocks to-
You can't hide your turkeys in
trees,
Got lost in a stump hole, by the light of the moon,
While planting my little
green peas,
Sipping raw wine, just 'cause it's dandelion time,
And I've got nothing
better to squeeze,
Picking berries to-
Won't you pass
the toast Mom please?
City folk they figure that I've got it made,
And a farmer's life
is filled with joy,
Like hoeing the beans, and picking the greens,
And chasing the
cows, oh boy!
And I shouldn't complain, 'cause we get no rain,
Don't a horse eat grass,
not hay,
Like a bee making honey, I'm just loaded with money,
And on a lifetime holiday.
Ugents and condiments
Rise up memories, rise.
An armoured tank on the other bank
Ride
me memories, ride.
Huge wens on the left chin
Flare up memories flare.
Thrown stones,
like old bones,
Shout out memories -
A grown man and a tossed can -
Fried them,
memories, fried.
Small souls in big holes
Ride me memories, ride.
Doug Foster -
Dusky mesmerizing Brazilian eyes
Cast down upon words
Lacking
concentration
Glancing frequently
Towards the entrance:
He is late!
Coffee drunk
Cup cleared
away.
And still she waits
Lips so full of promise
Pout inconsolably.
From another age
he comes
And with a kiss
Restores her girlish poetic smile.
doug forrest -
by Jerry
The wind was howling thirty knots, when we let the bowline fly,
I didn't
know if we could reach our nets, but one thing was sure,.... we'd try,
Whitecaps at
the Black River Bridge, filled me with apprehension,
When I gazed ahead, that all
changed to dread, at our wild lake's confrontation,
For the waves were dancing eight
feet high, at the mouth of the angry river,
Then we hit the bay, and with a face full
of spray, I felt an involuntary shiver,
For a mountain of water greeted us, and the
wind screamed, "Turn and Run" !
But the tug was, "The Final Edition", and Raymond
was at the helm,
You see ..., we had run our nets every day since May, and our fish
met the fish truck, still jumping,
It may not seem like any big deal to you, but to
us it was really something,
Some lifts were good, some were poor, and some weren't
even worth setting,
But the one hard fact about fishing this lake is ..., you're always
giving more than you're getting,
So we hung on, and we plunged and climbed, as on
a roller coaster ride,
I noticed a lineup of Salties, anchored off South Bay's sheltered
side,
By now the waves, all deadly gray, were fifteen feet and rising,
When Leroy with
his eagle eye, somehow spotted our jug out on the horizon,
A cord was pulled, the
lifter hummed, you could hardly stand up to the wind,
The first net was coming along
just fine, if the lines didn't snap, we could win,
My only thought was, "Once we have
our nets, We can get the hell off this lake",
About that time, as luck would have
it, our lifter decided to break,
It just hung there at a crazy angle, a shear pin
had let go,
I looked at Raymond, but all he said was, "And now she's going to blow",
And
sure enough, as if on cue, a demon wind came on,
And blew the tops of the waves off,
and roared an ungodly song,
But we had one net, and it held fish, and that reached
down to our fisherman, soul,
I forgot the waves, ignored the wind, grabbed a hold,
and started to pull,
The crashing waves, the pitch and roll, made this lift a difficult
chore,
But finally..., the anchor stone laid on the deck, and we fought our way safely
to shore,
I can't remember how long we pulled that day, but I remember my back did
ache,
I remember some fish were shipped that day, and we were the only tug on the
lake,
And I remember Raymond when we reached shore, and what he said to us with a
grin,
" It's the first time I've stood in the wheelhouse, and got soaked right through
to the skin",
The Alewife's are Dying
by Foster
The Alewife's are dying, big brother
is spying,
On the fishermen trying, to earn a day's pay,
The big eels are biting, they're
striking like lightning,
The fishermen delight in, good fortune to-
But on the
horizon, black cormorants are rising,
Soon we’ll be like the bison, the fishermen
fear,
For big brother is wishing, they'd all give up fishing,
And the fishermen are
wishing, big brother would disappear,
The red tape keeps raining, your restrictions
are draining,
Your quotas are straining, the fishermen warn,
And the Alewife's are
dying, big brother is spying,
On the fishermen trying, to ride out this storm,
by ..... Jerry Foster
I saw an old man, with a birdcage in his hand,
In the
birdcage he carried, a kitty,
At a bus stop he stood,
Leaned on a cane of gnarled wood,
By
his side layed a suitcase, it looked heavy,
His sunken eyes shone so sad,
Like two
coals from the living dead,
A bus stopped, but he didn't step on it,
Three more buses
passed him by,
Rain fell from the sky,
Still the old man just stood there, kitty mewing,
Where
are you going old man? Can I give you a hand?
He acted as if he never heard me,
but
then he looked me in the eye,
And said, "it'll come for me, by and by,"
"I'm waiting
for the bus, to take me no where,"
So I led him to my room, sat him down in a soft
chair,
And poured a little milk, for his kitty,
Then I made a pot of tea, He tried
to open up to me,
"Never mind" he said, "All that really matters,
Is in the suitcase,"
Then
the old man closed his eyes,
And he smiled a peaceful smile,
"Here it comes son, the
bus to take me no where,"
Then the old man up and died,
With his kitty by his side,
I
guess he's riding on that bus,
That takes you no where,
Where are you going old man?
I
tried to give you a hand,
In my room, I gently stroke his kitty,
If it's a bus as the
old man said,
That takes your soul when you are dead,
I'd like to think, that bus to
no where,
Will take ME some where,
And yes, I did open the suitcase ..... it was empty,
I
LIKED YOU BETTER
by Jerry
I liked you better when you didn't like yourself,
And you
didn't have much self-
And those demons were dancing around in your head,
And
your whole life was like a bad dream,
And you were spinning to the bottom of a whirlpool,
Where
I was waiting, for I was already there,
Together we fought our way to the surface,
And
for a while we breathed the same air,
Then you caught that wild virus respectability,
It
erased from your brain such love as we had,
Associations with lowlifes was not permitted,
In
your new world, you were good, I was bad,
So I disappeared like all vermin, into the
woodwork,
And fell back to my so-
I may be a hard hearted bastard,
But
I liked you better when you didn't like yourself.
Surface noise
on my nothingness
My stillness remaining centred
The cave in me empty of chaos
Hurricane-
Freeing a passionate creativity
Hurricane-
The
cave in me empty of chaos
My stillness remaining centered
Surface noise on my nothingness.
Palindrome
Pauline
Winkle
2006 c
Remember Me
by Brenda Rump
Remember me
And bare in mind
A true friend is
hard to find
And when you find one,
good and true
Change not the old one for a new
Some
Mothers Son
by Norm Doucette
A cold wind keeps blowin comes from the south.
My friends
have all gone
like the tide rollin out.
There gone to Alberta to work the Tar Sands,or
carry
a gun in Afghanstan.
Mother dear mother the bank took me boat,
No more will you see
here sail the East Coast.
For the waters are empty
no fish do they hold,
i`m off to
Alberta i`m
gone down the road..
Lower a flag for me when i leave home,
oh mother, dear
mother i feel so alone,
But don`t wrap me in it if i fire a gun,
In some foreign land
at some mothers son..
So wave your hand freely like the clothes on the line,
Wave at
the Grayhound as it passes by,
For hes off to Alberta to put oil in the drum,
he's
off to Alberta hes
He's some mothers son...
THE HERMIT
by Jerry Foster
In a quiet room
of shadows, lives the silent lonely figure of a man,
Yes, I'm still here, I know I
should be gone,
The icy breath of winter, runs it's chilling web of fingers up my
spine,
So hard to dream, through a frozen solid mind,
A bitter memory, follows me,
haunts my soul, it tortures me,
Speaks to me of wasted love's perfume,
It's her I keep
remembering, I see it all, as it was then,
We're dancing to an old nostalgic tune,
Fading
now, gone too soon,
From the lips of heartless strangers, came the words,
They had
seen her yesterday,
Still living hard, on the troubled side of town,
This heavy yoke
of sorrow, seems to weigh a little lighter through
the years,
My frozen mind, seems
to melt a bit , with tears,
Times rearrange, the seasons change, a falling rain, 's
spring
again,
I still can't face the world I've left behind,
So I'll remain eternally,
or till I find reality,
The hermit with the frozen solid mind,
If it's not to be, Lord
be kind,
HAZEL GOLD EYES
by Jerry Foster
I loved her then, I love her now, I guess I always will,
The time I
loved her most of all, was on a blanket atop a hill,
The scent of lilacs filled the
air, our world was so alive,
Before we kissed, I gazed into, her hazel gold eyes.
I
seen a windmill, a wagon wheel, an old barn aged with time,
Buttercups, for-
I seen green fields, and golden fields, late spring’s painted
sky,
Reflections from the deep pools, of her hazel gold eyes.
Then came the day, she
went away, through no fault of her
Own,
That twist of fate, was hard to take, and yet
I’m not alone,
For sometimes when I need her most, I still can visualize,
That special
time I gazed into, her hazel gold eyes.
A waterfall, a shrouded wall, butterflies
at play,
A crooked fence, an old park bench, a church steeple,
Silver gray,
The beauty
that I seen that day, I still can realize,
Reflections from the deep pools, of her
hazel gold eyes.
Once, an eighties road trip heading west, my child
kept
tugging at the skin round my right elbow
as I drove. Madonna’s virgin music
yearned
around the car as my pinched flesh
was then released; we’d watch it hang
in finger-
before skin landed in the place assigned
so many years
ago, when each cell
knew its destination long before its birth.
My daughter's skin
would spring back round
her elbow bone like ice atop a baby Matterhorn,
while mine,
an avalanche of crusted snow,
tumbled down. You must be getting old she laughed
and
I, avoiding roadhog trucks, could only grin.
But late that night, near sleep in some
I 95 motel,
I grabbed the skin around my elbow, felt
its thickness hold my fingerprints
alive before
it took its sweet old time to gently settle back in place,
a journey earned
with years.
And now, years later, amid our map of sheets,
I stroke your elbow, marvel
at the smoothness
of your skin and wonder at the way
we keep returning, gently drawn
into
each other’s folds of flesh as if elastic,
as if born to make the journey home,
to
take our sweet old time,
one more time,
before we reach our destination.
Roz Bound -
by Jerry Foster
I can tell on my nightly walks,
up to the hills,
beyond the streets,
Why the stars and the suns in the far Milky Way,
never meet,
Why the heavy hanging universe lies silent and discreet,
While the distant
roll of thunder to my ears rings bitter sweet,
Like a crystal goblet shattered on
a slab of cold concrete,
And in the quiet of the hour, I stand and feel this awesome
power,
And I try to tell myself, think nothing of it,
It was all here long before,
the coming of any prophet,
Where the grass is always growing, sometimes green, yet
never still,
I hear a song bird calling to it's loved ones, soft yet shrill,
As the
heavy hanging universe keeps hovering on the hill,
I pull my coat around me, for the
night is damp and chilled,
I feel the winds surround me, for they have no sails to
fill,
And in the quiet of the hour, I even hear the sleeping flowers,
And I try to
tell myself, think nothing of it,
It was all here long before, the coming of any prophet,
187
War
Games
Burning blazing bombed out hell
Is what the banzai pagans sell
You wanna to join
this crazy team
Then press the button, watch the screen
Blow the mothers clean away
That
is how you all must play
A million pixels all gone down
You tot your score, you wear
your crown
But will you be so willing to fire that gun
When you know you are killing
a real mother’s son?
When your brother’s limbs are all shot away
Will you run or stand
firm till you hold sway?
Will you be so eager to go there and die
When real bombs are
falling straight from the sky?
doug forrest -
My son called.
She
raised her head.
Up went the tail like a flag.
She galloped over the rise,
And down
the slope
As only an Arab can move.
Gray hide gleaming,
Silver mane and tail.
Flashing
hooves.
Into a high trot.
So light and airy,
As though she were floating.
Eyes flashing
in dished Arab face.
Bob Usher -
He had eyes to see
and ears to hear
And I thought of him as a wise man.
But when given a tongue to speak.
He
proved himself a fool.
Tom Abel,
November 11, 1942 -
He put
his life upon the line
He knew, as did we all, that
"If life is lost, it won't be mine".
There
would have been thick dust,
Noise, heat, confusion, fear. Skills
Learned from drills
took over as they must.
But odds were not to be for him, this time.
It came. They'll
say he never knew.
A life was gone, long years before its time.
And did that going
serve a useful end?
Was some one's health or wealth the benefactor?
T'was ever thus.
Some go while others send.
Bob Usher -
I am garaged
now; all rust and dust
Fluids leaking from unsound gaskets
Drip, dripping on unsound
wooden floor
My spark is gone; my tyres flat and perished
My once lively leaf springs
frozen, unresponsive
And you do not visit me any more.
Do you remember when we would
ride
For hours sweeping through demanding curves
Thrusting along hedge decked lanes
in near darkness
With roaring careless free abandon
Admired and envied in equal measure
And
how you would clean me with meticulous
Attention to detail, rubbing with gentle chamois
My
hard steel body till you were satisfied?
dougforrest -
Pebbles
I
toss my pebbles against her window,
As the first spear of sunlight enters the sky,
Her
light is on, and yet, stand in anticipation,
First a shadow, then her sweet face brightens
my day,
Smiling, always smiling,
Is it the fact that she's happy to see me,
Her keys
fall from the window above,
As I catch them, she's answered my question,
She waits
for my pebbles, my pebbles of love,
Jerry -
The Artistic Soul
by: Kathryn
Ann Johnson
Its something that defines your life
A feeling deep inside, a paradox of
mixed emotions
Those who do not have one, would never understand
Your soul is like
a gateway, to a truly promised land
You know that if you find it, how happy you would
be
Every heartbeat, every breath you take
Leads you to the place your meant to be
It's
hard to describe the passion
That runs deep into your soul
Mingling with the gateway
Only
your heart seems to know
Every love you have touches you
In a way you can't describe
And
the feelings intensify the pain
When love finally passes by
So learn from everything
you feel
From lust to love to pain, through music, art and life
And in life you'll
truly gain
The insight to the place you seek, a peace within yourself
That only you
can soothe by being true to only oneself
Copyright ©2007 Kathryn Ann Johnson
Blenheim,
Ontario Canada
A Tall Ship Sails...
A tall ship sails, the heaving seas below, bright
stars above
Billowing sails and masts that seem to reach the cosmic dust
Courses to
tops'ls and stays'ls set, she races proudly west
And we aboard the vessel sail with
her, because we must.
The ship's bell is rung, the watches change, and stars grow
dim
As to the east, astern of us, sun begins to climb into the sky
The ensign rises
proudly for the day, and thus we voyage on...
Her decks alive, the rigging taught,
the sea goes rushing by.
Aboard the ship we sometimes play, and always work as one,
Share
joy, and sadness, fearing nature's wrath when in Force Ten
Or content when seas grow
smooth, and gentle zephyrs blow.
Brief times ashore, then, where we belong, we sail
the seas again.
Ross Trant
Wellington, ON Canada
POINT PETRE
by Jerry Foster
It's the
proud county secret, Point Petre is king,
It's where the mist of the water, covers
every living thing,
Where the waves run high, and the seagulls scream,
I find a place
to reminisce, a place to dream,
There's a supreme force of life, on that lonely south
shore,
It is peaceful to some, to others it roars,
By the five stone dolphins, I swim
and I sun,
With a healthy respect, for the generations to come,
All the wild lake creatures,
are a part of it's soul,
Where the yellow perch play, and the northern pike prowl,
Living
and dying, each species survives,
They're part of the life's blood, that keeps this
great lake alive,
The Gods thump the clouds, and the rain pours down,
And the west
wind chills me, right to the bone,
But I just sit there gazing, lost in my dreams,
Contented
in knowing, that nothing has changed,
Far out on the horizon, a great ship appears,
I
watch the slow progress, till it finally disappears,
A small flower is growing, a
flock of bluebills fly by,
Accepting everything before me, and never questioning why,
For
I'm part of Pt. Petre, like that old oaken tree,
My spirit still lingers here, that's
how I want it to be,
For I can still hear the laughter, I can still see my friends,
Enjoying
the good times, one day we'll all meet here again,
c
William and Mary
For three weeks
Mary lay,
white, still and undemanding.
Sad eyed medics came and went,
but spoke no
words of hope.
Whilst sombre and mechanical,
William went about the croft.
Then, with
day’s work done
he’d sit upon the little wooden chair
where, for forty-
rested, day long, in careful folds.
Few words passed between them now.
She
had not the strength and he had not the words.
As darkness rolled its long shadows
through
that silent room she spoke.
“Tak doon dy fiddle boy and play a peerie tune.”
Slowly,
William rose and from the topmost shelf
brought down the dusty, wooden case.
Trembling
fingers forced the frozen clasps.
Hinges, long unasked, squeaked gentle protests.
First
he raised the bow, twisting the little screw,
And from habit drew it along the piece
of rosin there.
With care, he lifted up the long neglected instrument and paused.
In
times past its burnished body had glistened joyfully
Reflecting lights of many an
Island gathering.
Now only smooth, dull timber nestled in his palms.
Aged, gnarled
fingers strained to tune reluctant strings.
His ears, not dulled by time, demanded
only perfection.
For thirty long minutes he strove to find true notes
Then, satisfied
at last, he glanced at Mary lying still,
scarce breathing, the flicker of a smile
on her face.
From the recesses of his mind William bowed
a half forgotten air and frowned.
It
was not as he had once so deftly played.
He persevered. His third attempt recreated
the semblance of that
tune
and filled the tiny room and two hearts with an indescribable
joy.
From that small triumph sweet melodies flooded back.
With each tune recalled,
memories
of distant times
lit up two ancient faces.
A reel, once played beside a neighbour’s
hearth,
made a young girl dance and smile
And steal the fiddler’s heart.
The tunes the
boys so blithely played
That kept their wedding guests
in night long motion.
Then a
song she sang to rock the cradle of their boy
Robbed from them by heartless, cruel
sea.
That even now brought forth salt tears.
With tempo raised again William’s music
Spoke
of concerts, dances, weddings
and of many a year’s end.
With aching arms he stopped
and rested.
and looked again upon the face he’d watched grow old.
“Wan mair peerie
tune my Love!”
Her voice so faint he scarce could hear.
He would deny her not and so
he
raised his fiddle to his chin and recalled
that tender waltz she loved so well.
With
all his strength and skill he played
until its final note faded softly to silence.
Mary
sighed. The vale of peace
that surpasses all human understanding
shrouded her frail
frame.
But the gentle smile of the girl
he had married
still remained.
A solitary tear
rolled down the old man’s face.
Like the kiss of an angel, it landed soft upon the
fiddle
And played its final note.
William sat for a silent age, then rose.
By the hearth
he slowly knelt and laid the fiddle
There, amongst the glowing embers.
dougforrest
September
2002
"Really charmed me...a wonderful sad folk song...Mr Forrest
has fashioned his
own , a peerie tune he made me hear, he
made me listen..thank you" -
by Foster Foster
An ambulance of time and space,
Came down my way,
Choking
and coughing,
And breaching the curb – stopped dead,
An ambulatory gal got out – broke
out – shouted out,
Hey! .... You seventy?
Seventy?.... Seventy?.... seventy today?
Hey!
…. Birthday boy …. You seventy?
Well yes, maybe, I said,
[ I fought a convulsive cookie
toss up ]
It was her!
She grabbed!
Smiled!
It hurt a little,
It hurt a friendly hit-
She smiled a friendly hit-
And said,
“Get in”
cp
by Kathlean Pronovost
After another mind stunning session
With more science fiction
going to my head
I venture out into the twilight because I am home
And wonder as I
look up there is God as sky
If this is a world and I am on it
How is it that tonight
is so still?
Boy I wish I could send you these clouds
Smoking over the dimming blue
In
the heat of summers twilight
Curls and puffs of bluish, purple grey
Meandering alone
and beyond
So true to the life of a coming storm
Boy I wish I could send you these
clouds
I picture my home in them
I picture my town in them
I picture that I live among
them
You really know that you inhabit
An entire planet when you see them
Boy I wish
I could send you these clouds
Holding the summer heat in
Keeping the air so still they
cover me
Like a big piled blanket I hide under then
Battling now the millionth mosquito
Encouraged
by another bite I find my way indoors
Stunningly bitten by the bugs hidden under
I
ponder what God has given me
I compare the advent to the adventures that are won
The
soul of humanity in earnest showing off
Sciences collective in their learned heights
Keeping
secret what they know God has brought
"A lovely picture of why I love summer!" -
Now that you are sixty-
And somewhat over the hill,
We're giving you
this "Tree of Life",
With capsules, band-
We know from experience,
That
life isn't always fun,
But this little Imodium pill,
Will prevent you from having to
run,
We all have lots of aches and pains,
This arthritic pill is made for that,
And
these Amphetamines,
Will keep you from getting fat!
When you have an upset stomach,
There's
Tums that you can take,
And when your feet are swollen,
There's Diuretics for goodness
sake!
This little brown pill is not for you,
It's only for your cat,
We know you won't
have fur balls
To pick up from the mat,
When life gets a little hectic,
And you are
under stress,
Take a little Valium pill.
And forget about the mess,
If you lie awake
at night,
And find it hard to sleep.
Just take this orange Gravol,
Instead of counting
sheep,
If something has you constipated.
And you are in a bind,
Here's a pink Correctol.
A
remedy -
There's remedies for headaches,
And pills for backache too,
Drops
for sore and tired eyes,
And a flu shot, for the flu,
Band-
When
accidents occur,
Vitamins are good for you,
Tylenol is another sure cure,
In nursing
homes they crush the pill,
And put them in applesauce,
The nurse says, "Please take
this",
Your doctor -
For most of your life,
Your health has been quite
fine,
And with this "Tree of Life",
We hope you live till you're 99,
Love
Margaret &
Kathryn
"It's been said many times and many ways, "Old age is not for
the faint-
thanks." -
by: Kathryn
Ann Johnson
As I walk down the old deserted railroad tracks
The memories of my youth
come flooding back
Some forgotten over time
Most forgotten by choice
I remember them
carefully
For they bring back the feelings also long forgotten
The pain of growing
up
The fear of growing old
The hours spent daydreaming at the tracks edge
Wondering
if I followed those tracks
Where would they lead and if I did could I ever come back
And
now as I look off into the distance
Those feelings still haunt me
But now I know that
no matter how far I go
I can never really go back
Because time changes with every step
you take
And life needs to be lived
Copyright ©2007 Kathryn Ann Johnson
A Dying Man’s
Wish
Lord God I ask, please grant me this
Before I die, just one last kiss
One last
kiss and may it be
From those lips that so love me.
Then, in peace, I’ll slip away
And
await Lord God that glorious day
When we in heaven will meet once more
To love each
other till time be o’er.
Yet if this prayer can not be granted
Then give us one last
day enchanted
On Earth for us our passions to fulfil
Lord God I ask, “Be that your
will?”
dougforrest
Jan 2007
SIDE STREETS
I dream to touch and walk again,
Through the
old side streets of Babylon,
Rub cheek, saunter along the stoneways,
Press and savour,
the ambrosia of it all,
Enjoy laughter, love songs, and sighs,
Feel the winds, hear
the tongues,
Feed the beggars outstretched palms,
It's where moon and stars first begin,
Unfortunately
..... it's just my dream,
For eagles fly where doves once flew,
Red pigment stains
the stones,
Laughter is drowned by cries of despair,
Bushwhacked by lust, the destroyer
of souls,
A puppet reigns, big business gains,
A bucket of blood, for a barrel of oil,
Poor
Babylon, your beauty is gone,
Your fiery spirit will try to live on,
Unfortunately
..... it is written,
c -
Jerry Foster
"Jerry, I enjoyed it at the
open floor in Picton..but seeing it written
doubles my pleasure. Thanks" -
An old pine, alone on a mound of stony sand.
A white pine, one of those which built
this land.
This is not a clean limbed pine with a clear lumber butt.
Here is a rough
and wire butt log, tough and crooked as a walnut.
The main branches splay outward
toward the east.
The peak, ragged and rough, yet with a few green cones at least.
Points
with defiance at the sky, speaks not with a rustle, but a sigh.
This tree was here
a century long gone, solitary, lone.
To many of us yet, a sight which says : “we’re
nearly home.”
Bob Usher
February, 2006
SIX
What is the number six to you?
Perchance a quantity that appeals?
Half
dozen that audibly utters
EGGS! (or is it of the best?)
Maybe a
shape that insinuates
Sensuous, curves?
Or with two others
of its kind
Sinister message may unfold
Yet again, inverted, adjacent
Does erotic cliché interject?
Could it be that void
That
takes centre of stage
Around which is formed?
Perhaps that simple age:
Childhood’s adventures
and discoveries
That still smile within our memories?
What is the number six to you?
dougforrest
May
2007
HOPE UNDERFOOT
In the evening I took a light wagon and the Ford.
I would pick up
firewood left from winter.
There would not be much more than a cord.
The hay is off
now and the evenings cooler.
The dog trots ahead, a blue Aussie. Name Hope.
The nicest
dog I ever had. blue. Hope.
She sniffs at every footprint, cocks an ear,
Hackles up
sometimes, at what she thinks she hears.
Past the swamp, among the ironwood butts.
Here
in spring the male partridge struts.
One or two smooth bark hickory here, and
A slim
wild apple, reaching up between.
In the stubble, and a wisp of warm air
Hope trotting
ahead, has a much narrower view.
She doesn’t see a smooth doe grazing there.
Hope,
innocent, sniffs out a frog in the falling dew.
The doe! Up with the head, and over
the fence.
Hope for the soul. load up the wood.
Hope underfoot as she searches for
mice.
Home again, home, the sun going down.
Second growth alfalfa shining up against
the sunset.
All’s right with our small world.
Bob Usher
March, 2006.
BAD WATERS
by Douglas
P. Foster
Hidden shoals,
My heart's a boat,
Strong winds,
But still afloat,
High seas,
My
mind's a wreck,
Pounding waves,
Salt water's adeck,
Torn sails,
My soul's affire,
Raging
storm,
True love's a liar,
"Split screen, split forces, the nature
of the sea and the
nature of the human heart.
Truth is found in the analogy of the
two forceful images."
Foster
BRUBECK
by Jerry Foster
At the Colonial, when Brubeck played before the throng,
They
gathered close and sat dismayed,
Their stolid theories torn and frayed,
On listening
to his song,
The music held the doubters fast,
And like a dreadful magic, cast a lonely
spell,
Perhaps because the mood was right,
Perchance the truth had come to light,
But
in the power of the night, Brubeck had them all,
He cried at modern destitution, laughed
at vice and prostitution,
Lost the way to restitution, then laughed again,
He played
for this, his generation,
A love song, a sweet hallucination,
Weaned on lust, degeneration,
And
his was but a revelation, of pleasure’s pain,
The notes were hushed, the mood was
broken,
The ivory poet’s words were spoken,
The cover closed down on the oaken keyboard,
Silent
still, while they all sighed,
Such skill,
Late 50’s -
Copywrited Febuary
17th 2007 -
We are kindred spirits, you and I
Forming,
shaping, crafting, creating
Wordsmith and Journeyman on parallel paths
Of exploration
and discovery
Utilising God’s wondrous gifts
With imagination and simple tools
Seeing
the same world through different eyes
Images and imagery ; expanding dimensions
Developing,
amending, editing, altering
Till, in joyous unison we call out, ‘T’is done!
dougforrest
April
2007
LOOKING FOR A PARTNER TO DANCE
by Jerry Foster
A girl slips out of her hidden closet,
to greet the street light's glare,
She pulls her coat around her, her eyes a vacant
stare,
It's an old routine, and she knows it well, "Here I am fools, take a chance!"
"For
one hundred bucks I'll get you off, I'm looking for a partner to dance,"
How many
years has she done this? How many men has she known?
How much pain? How much shame?
How long has she been on her own?
How much booze? much blow? with never a day of romance,
A
car slows down, a potential John, "Hey man! looking for a partner to dance?"
A hardened
heart, growing harder, money's the name of the game,
Money feeds her addictive habits,
money keeps her wild demons at bay,
A hooker they call her, a woman of pleasure, you
know what she is at first glance,
Ah, she's landed a mark, the first one this evening,
she's found a partner to dance,
No need to think of tomorrow, for she burned her todays
long ago,
Now it's a matter of surviving, in the only way she knows,
This once beautiful
woman is free falling, lost, with nothing to grasp,
Used and abused, in her own little
world .... looking for a partner to dance,
copywrited /04/2007
THE TREE
Outside my window stood a tree,
Stately, beautiful and proud was she,
For years
I watched as the seasons changed,
The tree merely waited for the sun and the rain,
As
winter changes with the coming of spring,
On the tree's bare branches tiny buds would
appear,
Followed by leaves that quickly grew,
All the birds gathered there to nest
and sing,
All summer long "The Tree" a vision of green,
Cast long lacy shadows where
the sunshine lay,
It was nice to linger in the cool and the shade,
From the hot and
humid day,
Then came the autumn with her glorious gown,
The tree was magnificent in
colors,
Of yellow, rust, and brown,
I found myself wishing that it could stay that
way,
Then October's winds blew the leaves away,
Winter came, so cold and clear,
The
tree was covered with snow and ice,
"It's Fairyland" the children shouted with glee,
And
all rushed to gaze on the wonderful tree,
by Marion Longe
"In reading the poem, "The
Tree", I think that the poet has covered
the subject very nicely. is obvious to me
that she was on intimate
terms with the tree. Marion has provided us with a very
warm and
interesting poem."
Bob (the old Codger) Usher
FROM MY BALCONY
From my balcony
I look around me,
At all the things of nature that surround me,
The cluster of poplar
trees so straight and proud,
The willow with her long terdrills, like rain reaching
to the ground,
The poem "Trees" comes to mind,
In my heart I repeat in kind,
"I think
that I will never see, a poem as lovely as a tree",
Straight ahead through lilac trees
and bushes,
A vegetable garden edged with bluebells and roses,
A housewife with her
basket, is is gathering nature's bounty for
dinner,
To the right, on a lush carpet
of green, a young girl is sunbathing,
A delicious aroma of a barbecue drifts my way,
In
the distance, the soft music of a radio, soothes my senses,
To my left, a road leads
into town,
People are rushing, too busy to care,
Only intent in getting from here to
there,
No time to gaze on a lovely flower garden,
Or smile at someone gathering a bouquet,
It's
so restful to sit here with my book,
To see a robin strutting with a saucy look,
To
watch a butterfly fluttering by,
To hear the drone of an aeroplane high in the sky,
To
feel the tranquility of a summers day,
From my balcony,
by Marion Longe
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