A Time of for Never Green

Once great forests filled the land
Fingers of towering, spruce, fir and pine
Stretched high, eager to receive heaven’s light
And when bright spring was new born
Mountain sides burst forth
In abundant, myriad coloured blooms

Vast meadows were planted everywhere
For all who cared to view
Filled with grass and berry bush
That well past knee high grew
Teeming with abundant, dainty life
Almost too small for naked eye to see

Our world was once upon a time
A place that was forever green
An Eden’s Garden of delight
Where man’s children in wonder played

But into this perfect, unspoiled space
That God in His great goodness gave
To be a home to all that lived
Mankind’s uncaring greed did intrude

Untamed rivers, lakes of deep sky blue
Where fish frolicked and grew fat
And little otter kitten’s played
Have vanished with the mighty oak

A dust bowl now in fullness resides
A great desert that will be for never green
A once bountiful land forever barren lies
Stretching out beyond space and time

The only thing that now sees
This land of waste and bitterness
Is the uncaring, naked eye
Of the for always burning sun

We Made our Own World

The tongue of the angry sea burns
as it licks away at the barren shore.

Flotsam and jetsam,
refuse of six billion people,
human waste of six billion,
poison the deep with filth.

Rotting fish turn white, sparkling sands
into a black, putrid garbage dump.
Sea birds in their thousands
flock and eat of this toxic bounty,
then add their flesh to the spoil.

Mother Nature’s forgiving nature,
can no longer nurture
the starving, devouring multitude,
with her once overflowing bounty.

Yet hopeful fishermen
still go down to the sea
in wooden sailing ships.
Still go down to the sea
in rusting iron ships.

The sea waits patiently
and gathers power in its loins.

Waves gouge at the land,
crushing all within their path,
under its unforgiving heel.

Sharp, barbed harpoons,
pierce deep into soft, quivering flesh.
A baby killer whale weeps
as it’s mother dies in agony.

Whale pods that use to sing
in the sunlight of the morning,
now scream in mourning
on this day of genocide.

Oil rendered without need,
oil rendered because of greed,
burns in ten thousand lamps
and beckons the bloody killers home.

Flabby tummies are now tucked in,
held fast in hour glass perfection,
by whalebone, torn from living things.

Ambergris, mixed with rose oil,
hides the odour of honest sweat.
Girls covered by this death guilt
announce themselves to the world.

The unending bounty of the sea
has now forever ceased to be.
A hungry, crying throng
stands upon the decaying shore.
They shake their upraised fists
into the empty, silent sky.
This ravenous, destroying multitude,
weep, weep and wonder why
trawlers, once laden
with the bounty of the deep,
once filled to overflowing
with the treasures of the sea,
come back to them no more.

Inner City Children

Everyone hurries by.
No one hears
their plaintive cry.
There is no gentle hand
to brush tears from the eyes
of the inner city children.

They grow old before their time.
But there is no reason,
there is no rhyme,
they shouldn’t have
the same chances
that other children do.

You can keep you riches
inside the bank
to mould and gather dust.
But if you spend a little
the children will start to trust
that someone really cares.
Hope me be born in the hearts
of the inner city children.

Reach out a helping hand.
Tell them that you understand
and that you’re proud
of all the things they do.

Each baby boy and girl
is worth far more
than all the money in the world.
Light a candle in your soul
for the inner city children.

Memories of Tomorrow

A heart that’s been broken
Can never be mended
A love that’s been lost
Can never be found

Love is more fragile
Than a butterfly’s wings
Love is far sweeter
Than sugar plum wine

I see your smile in the midnight sky
As my tears fall on the ground like rain
I want to turn my sad world around
And go back to yesterday once again

Back to the days
When our love was new born
Back to the time
When we built our dreams

We made our own music
And danced in the moonlight
Love light was brighter than stars
In the blue of your eyes

The mountains were taller
The rivers ran deep
Time stretched out past the sun
Love was the moment
And love was tomorrow

But the world goes on turning
And the years hide our memories
Love fades like red roses
When the winter wind blows

So I listen to my heart beat
Out memories of tomorrow
I listen to my tears fall on the ground
I miss you much more
Than I would ever miss living

Memories of tomorrow are for the living
Memories of yesterday belong to the dead
Memories of tomorrow stretch out beyond me
Memories of yesterday fade with the sun

A Time for Decision

The ballot box has been filled
With the anger of union members
Fateful hour of decision has passed by

A line has been etched
Into history’s unforgiving sands

How fast ascends the midnight hour
Men, women, resolute in their demands
Hold fast, the many picket lines
March in determination
Picket signs held proud and high

But the company holds tight
To their absolute, corrupt power

When two cultures, like titans crash
A community is caught within
The middle of this most un-winnable war
And is crushed like egg shells
Underneath boots with metal heels

Robber barons from a different land
Eager to force their ways down throats
Of the hard working, middle class
Desire to change union member’s minds
Desire to break a union’s will

Loss of things, quickly pile high
Loss of homes, of love, of dignity

Yet in some abstract way
Though shredded by a cultural war
Tattered, torn by political assault
Some remnants of self respect remain

But self respect does not buy bread
Does not put hats on small heads
When winter in its coldness eats the soul
And though there is a common thread
Among those who protest this assault
Upon living means and decent wage
Bone thin fingers are eager to point the blame
Mouths shaped by bitterness
Are all too quick to name
Each other as the sole author
For this decent into a jobless state

Perhaps at some point in distant time
Wise heads and minds will prevail
And this bitter war between two different cultures
Will end upon the point of some common ground

The Piano Player

Moonbeams stream
Through dusty window panes
Gleam on ebony and ivory keys
Polished by sweat and tears

Keys of black and white
Shimmer in soft moonlight
Fingers sculptured for music
Flow across them

Each bit of wood
Each bit of bone
Compressed, depressed
In the order of the tune

Though his mind
Has forgotten
Fingers worn by time
Half remember
The naked rhythm
Half remember
Who he was

He looks backward
Through Galileo’s glass
At who he use to be

A young man
Who owned the world
Who loved the homage paid
After each flawless performance

Fingers, manicured, perfect
Flow without effort
Across ebony, ivory keys

Keys of black and white
Gleam in soft candlelight
Women sigh and surrender
Tossed aside when
The music’s done

The glass dims
Time flows
Over the waterfall
Of too many
Forgotten years
Yet still the player plays
Though the piano
Is as out of tune
As he his

Memories of his muse
Dancing in the starlight
Still seduce him
With thoughts of glory

He rises, gaunt, broken
Smiles at the applause
From the audience
Who have been enthralled
By his perfection

Reflections of them fade
To be replaced by his own
Tears of bitterness fall
By this intrusion of reality

He smiles at the image aged
Far beyond his understanding
Hairless head gleams
As moonbeams stream
Through dusty window panes

A Beggar in the Canyons of Time

I’m a beggar
In the canyons of time
A soldier without a fortune
A dreamer who never dreams

I’m a singer of songs
A poet in my own mind
A poet in my own time
When the clock ticks
Far past my knowing
I wonder if I am being

Perhaps I am no more
Than small blink
An even smaller wink
In someone’s imagination

I’m a clown without a throne
A king without a queen of my own
A sailor on a ship without sails
A captain without a crew

Minute hands hold my fate
As the second hand inches away
The day breaks into
A dark cloudy remembrance
The night holds fast to my soul
The knight polishes his armour
With the blood from my flowing wounds

And today is no more than yesterday
But better than tomorrow will be
In my thoughtless way I blunder
Back to my beginning days
Back to promises I never made

What would the hours hold for me
If I had never been born
Will I ever be more
Than a ripple in time
Will I ever be more
Than a mite in God’s eye

I’m a beggar in the canyons of time
I’m a dreamer trapped by his dreams
A soldier without any guns
But I always have a war to go to

Looking Glass of War

I looked,
into the looking glass
of war.

And looking
back at me
through the misty eyes
of time,
the demented, decimated
faces of the dead.

Old soldiers,
who surrendered
their last breath,
on broken battle fields,
so many
years before.

I looked through
the looking glass
of war,
into distant
fields of green.
Into the eyes
of the young.

Young soldiers
waiting,
waiting for the call.

Do they think?
Do they dream?
Dream of
some distant glory?

Do they believe,
that a bullet
could ever
wear their name?

As they play,
on football fields,
on football fields of green.

As they play
in a time,
when tomorrow
is a thing
that’s never been.
Do they feel,
the bullet?
The thrusting
of cold
bayonet steel?

Do they feel
shrapnel from
a closely
hidden bomb?
Do they image
the medals
they will win?

Do they see
each comrade,
each brother,
each and everyone,
being welcomed
to warm wonder
of home?

Heroes of
a brilliant,
noble, victory.

Will they ever be,
ready for
the horror,
the reality?

I looked
deep, deep into
the looking glass
of war.

I looked long,
I looked intently,
until
I could look no more.

One Song at a Time

You tried to make our world
Our world that we live in
A far better place
For all the human race
Especially the hungry children

You sang with all your heart
You sang with all your soul
And you tried to change the world
One song at a time

You danced into our hearts
You danced into our dreams
With the kind of moves
That we had never seen before
We called out to you
To always give us more

You gave us all your love
All you had to give
For a little while
You were worshiped and adored
Yet even when we turned away
You tried to change the world
One song at a time

We forgot that you are human too
And when we turned our backs on you
Inside you must have cried
But still you went and tried
To change our world
With one tear at a time

You blazed like a rocket
Across our summer sky
And today we cry
But tomorrow we’ll try
To change the world
One song at a time

Red and Grey Cobblestones

Dappled shadows of leaves
From flowering crab apple trees
Ruffled by the summer wind
Dance on red and grey
Well worn cobblestones

A street troubadour plays for pennies
On an old broken down guitar
He sings of lost love and heartbreak
To all who pass him by

The weight of the new day
Did grow heavy upon me
The weight of the world
Is a burden in my mind

The smiles of those that I meet
On the busy city street
Bring a brightness to my soul
And I listen to life around me

The streets are awash with traffic
Flowers bloom in sidewalk cafes
Little children dance to the music
Of the street troubadour as he plays

His songs turn from sad to happy
Money falls like rain in his can
Clouds fade away into sunshine
The weight of the world goes away

I stop to listen for a while
And I watch the shadows of leaves
From flowering crab apple trees
Caressed by a warm summer wind
Dance on red and grey
Well worn cobblestones

Just an Ordinary Girl

She was just an ordinary girl
Dancing naked in the garden
Dancing naked in the moonlight
Red roses added color to her hair

She sang songs of tribulation
She sang songs of desolation
There was no absolution
No songs of salvation
No words of comfort
In the cold night air

The music was the wind
And a distant mandolin
She wished for a violin
To make her voice sound better
To make her voice sound sweeter

But the violinist
Had a broken finger
And he could not play as needed
So her voice was cold and ugly
And turned the world to sadness

The night gathered darker
And her songs became sadder
And the roses wilted in her hair
Her skin was blue and faded
Her eyes were worn and jaded
And she wished she was anyplace but here

She felt like she was a prisoner
To being just an ordinary girl
She longed for things beyond her
She longed for things unknowing
She longed for someone to love her
She longed for a lover to care
She longed to be wanted
To be thought of as a beauty
But she was just an ordinary girl

The roses in the garden
Became harder than any kind of stone
The night birds stopped singing
Leaving the ordinary girl all alone
The mandolin stopped playing
The night wind blew colder
The girl was now remorseful
For the things her songs had done

She wanted to go backwards
To the time of her beginning
Before her songs turned the world around
But clocks only tick forward
Towards the end she’d wished for
Not the one her heart wanted
Not the ones that filled her every dream

Just an ordinary girl
Made a difference in the world
With her songs of tribulation
The day would have ended better
If her songs were of salvation
If she had begged for absolution

She was just an ordinary girl
Dancing naked in the garden
Dancing naked in the moonlight
Red roses added color to her hair

She sang songs of tribulation
She sang songs of desolation
There was no absolution
No songs of salvation
No words of comfort
In the cold night air

Why Me

Why must I always be
At the bottom of the barrel
Why must my toast
Always be un-buttered
Always made from mouldy bread
Always burnt to crispness

Why am I the last
To be forever un-chosen
Why am I always picked on
And never picked upon
To take up a noble cause
Why do I never know
The knowing and seasons of others

When the whole world smiles
Why must I weep
Upon my own parade
On my own birthday clowns
On my own chocolate birthday cake

Why am I always rained upon
While the sun shines on others
Dancing in the street, two feet away
Why is my tea always cold
So un-flavoured from weak old tea bags

While others earn their burial urns
With pennies so easily found
I must dig for my richness
Among the dead, so long in smelly ground

I pick the pockets of the prophets
But they have less than I do
But why do others find the gold
That falls through the holes
Of un-holy and broken shoes

Why must I steal my words
From Wordsworth and word smiths
To paint pictures of lost birds
Who never loved or laid an egg

Why must I lay
Upon my death bed
While those older than me
Have found immortality

Why don’t my chickens lay eggs
So my family can be fat with meat
And not forever rail thin and hungry

Why must the seeds of wheat I sew
Forever fall upon un-fallow ground
Forever fall upon un-hallowed ground

I call all my questions out to the stars
Out to the moaning wind
Out to places I can never go to
But my questions return un-answered
And my dreams return un-dreamed
And my love spurned returns un-requited

Another Young Soldier

Can you hear the bugle playing
As they carry you to your grave
You are just a young many of twenty
But you were always very brave
You faced down every bully
You tried to right every wrong
Your country sent you to a bloody war
And now another young man is gone

Your mother’s cried so many tears
She can’t get out of bed
Your daddy is somewhere drinking
And wishing he were dead

Can you hear the drummer playing
As they lower you into your grave
You took up your countries call
Before you even had to shave
You stood up to the oppressor
And tried to right every wrong
You went off to a needless war
Now another young man is gone

You’ll never again make love to your wife
You’ll never watch your young son grow
You’ll never see him become a man
Do you wonder if he’ll ever understand

Can you hear the bag pipe playing
As they cover you in your grave
You thought you were doing the right thing
When you went away
You stood up to the dictator
You tried to right every wrong
You fought against all the odds
And now another young man is gone

Your body and mind were broken
Before your country brought you home
They left you to die like a rabid dog
On the streets all alone

Can you hear your friends weeping
As they leave you in your lonely grave
You are just a young man of twenty years
But you always were so brave
You faced down all the bullies
You tried to right every wrong
Your country sent you to an endless war
And now another young man is gone

A Troubled Man

Troubled thoughts
In a troubled mind
Of a troubled man
In troubling times
Will he ever find
His road to redemption

Or will he wander
In a never land
Filled with empty
And lonely things
Never finding
His way
Towards freedom

His music was his laughter
His music was his tears
And he never
Thought the years
Would ever change him

His music changed the world
His music shaped the morning
Now the world is in mourning
Because his shadow faded

Caught between
Being black and white
Caught between
Wrong and right
Was shame and guilt
His undoing

Did he live his dreams
Or did his dreams live him
Did we in someway
Lift him down
To be ordinary clay
Mired in the dark
That we live in

He could have been
Our light
He should have
Changed the darkness
But he lived in a land
Where he could
Never be the man
That we wanted

He never grew
Out of a child’s world
So he framed
His destiny
The way we
Frame our wanting

In the memories
Of our minds
He’ll be forever young
And we’ll
Always hear him singing

Children will dance
To his music
That he makes anew
In the place
Where he is going

His pain and sorrow
Are all gone
But our hurt
Is just beginning

Troubled thoughts
In a troubled mind
Of a troubled man
In troubling times
Can he now
Ever find
His own salvation

The Songs our Fathers Sang

In Selma Alabama a brave woman took a stand
A young black preacher led us to the Promised Land
He preached that equality and justice belong to everyone
No matter the colour of their skin
It’s time to sing the songs that our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang

Let there be an end to war and tyranny
Set all of the political prisoners free
Let love be the only word that’s heard
Let freedom be more than just another word
Let the strings of all your banjos ring
And tell all the little children to once more sing
Tell all the little children to once more sing
Sing the songs of peace that our fathers sang

From the Fraser River Valley down to the shining sea
From the snowy mountains across the prairie lands
Our beardless youth are called on to be men
When will the politicians ever learn in their hearts
That war is a bitter game no one ever wins
It’s time to sing our father’s songs of love again
It’s time to sing our father’s songs of love again

Pete Seeger’s and Woody Guthrie’s dreams go forever on
Bob Dylan’s songs of freedom are on the blowing wind
The causes are the same, even though the times have changed
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang

Rainbows and dew drops fade in the light of day
The old and broken soldiers just simply fade away
And young men die on the killing fields again
Will we ever learn to pray for peace instead of war
Or will we just go on destroying life as we did before
We need to teach the children the songs our fathers sang
It’s time to teach the children the songs our fathers sang

In Selma Alabama a brave woman took a stand
A young black preacher led us to the Promised Land
He preached that equality and justice belong to everyone
No matter the colour of their skin
It’s time to sing the songs that our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang

Pete Seeger’s and Woody Guthrie’s dreams go forever on
Bob Dylan’s songs of freedom are on the blowing wind
The causes are the same, even though the times have changed
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang

The Streets of Chi Town

Cocaine, death cold and snow white
Blood streams hot and rose red
Young folks are lying in the gutter dead
The streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children

Callie at fourteen, is a woman grown
She use to have a man of her own
Now her man is shot and gone
Because of the bad thing he went and done
And now she has a baby on the way

A dirty ally was Callie’s wedding bed
Now she’s just another mother that’s unwed
Because she never listened to a word her mother said
And the streets of Chi Town are flowing red
With the blood of its children

Her man was just starting to shave
But now he’s lying in a cold lonely grave
Young Callie is trying the best to save
A little money for her child

Being a street walker in the night
Can never make anything right
So she deals a little of the death white
Knowing that it’s not all sweetness and light
However there is no other game to play
Her belly is growing bigger every day

Because there’s a baby on the way
She has become a ganger’s prey
In her dreams, her man is still around
Instead of lying dead like a hound
In the cold and bloody ground of Chi Town

Her man James put the blankets on his own bed
And now his lying cold and dead
The streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children

After dark in Seneca park
Looks like all the cops have fled
And the streets of Chi Town
Are running bright red
With the blood of its children

The gangers own the town at night
The drugs they sell are a blight
Sapping the will of any who’ll fight
And those that stand for something right
End with an alleyway as their burial site

The ghetto streets are a war zone
A wooden box is the war lord’s throne
His warriors are less than half grown
But their faces are well known
In the ugly streets of Chi Town

Old folks huddle in the dark
Listening to guns go off in the park
And pray to make it through the night
Pray to live until the morning light

Young James was killed in a drive by
He never had a chance to say goodbye
Callie watched without a tear in her eye

She couldn’t take the time to cry
Because its dog eat dog
And only the strong survive
She knew she had to stay alive
Selling drug is hard way to survive
But that’s the only one game to play
When you have a child on the way

A young woman with child is lying dead
Two bullets in her pretty little head
And the streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children

Cocaine, death cold and snow white
Blood streams hot and rose red
Young folks are lying in the gutter dead
The streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children