9/19—Anatomy of Two Extraordinary John Prine Songs

11/19—Alien

This was "slam" written in ~5 minutes late one night. It was never edited.

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Alien, and yet part human
I can’t connect, something missing
I yearn for something, that will never come
But I try
Even when I am at my most intimate it feels like a fabrication
A creation, separate from this half-human abomination
Clever words, clever thoughts, poetry, prose, song
All part of a creation to feed my (pathetic) need for recognition
A temporary drug that feeds the beast but will never make me human
Will never make me able to feel real connection
How can anyone love me? Maybe they can love (so human) the creation
Created---how did I learn to do that?---to survive
To get a job. Hold conversations. Show off  
Sociopath (but one who does not want to be)
ADHD mind (that skates at once in all directions, gathering items
That are thrown back in to the centre where the directions collapse)
On the spectrum? Really? Maybe. (This is about my creation; not theirs)
Vicious when attacked
But I am trying so hard to be good. To listen. To change. Harder now than ever
This half human does not want to cause hurt

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7/20—The Dancer

For a friend of mine who loves music and movement. The 'one line' drawing comes from a photo of her playing her fiddle. (Some time after writing this poem, I decided to try setting it to music, resulting in this song.)

1/24—Shadows

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At that moment, the poetry stops

And the only players are the brutal facts

Beauty, itself, lays low in the shadows

Waiting as the hard edges rip through the fabric

Of our lives

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5/25—The Painter

This poem was written quickly, and finished on Mother's Day. It also provides the verses for this song with the same name.  

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The painter sets her easel, and looks out on her landscape
Which no one else can enter, and from which she can’t escape
And with her palette of lies, she paints her masterpiece
With her brushes of disguise, she casts her make beliefs

Tear a hole in her canvas, you’ll see there’s nothing underneath
Except the viscous fury, of a trapped and wounded beast
And she will then hate you, until the heavens start to flood
But she will keep on painting, with her own flesh and blood

She looks into the water, as the surface turns to ice
Her pale eyes staring, through the soul she sacrificed
And you worry that she might fall in, and the waters will pull her down
But then you remember, that she’s already drowned

I think she knew Athenia, named for the goddess of wisdom and war
The one who lowered her shield, and was lost for evermore
Somewhere out at sea, she sank below the waves
Maybe there’s no difference between the damned and the saved

I’m sorry but I can’t join in, what will be her last parade
You see I’m just too tired, to keep up this sad charade
I guess it's really true, that you can’t reap what you don’t sow
And the things that you don’t question, well you will never know

The clouds are slowly parting, so too their acid rain

And the sun is trying to break through, a balm to heal the pain
It feels like all the demons, have finally been released
And I will try to find the grace, to hope she rests in peace

~~~~

5/26—A Sketch circa 1974

I recently learned that my cousin Carla and her partner Rick have a sketch that I did when I was ~14 years old hanging over the mantelpiece of their home in PEI. The sketch was done when I travelled to PEI with them in their old VW van. They had just inherited a farm and were on their way to see it for the first time with the intention of taking it on, which they did despite having no farming experience. Carla sent me a photo of the sketch and I also found a photograph taken during the trip. A snapshot of Canada in the mid-70s. 

5/26—A Poem circa 1974

And to complete the picture—and since this is the Poems + page—here is a poem I wrote for a school project around the time of the PEI trip (above). My mother saved it and sent me a photo a few years ago. A little embarrassing. It is difficult for me to image what was going on in my brain at that age.