Sing Your Own Song

what's be done is only what's become
the things from which we thought we'd run
cuz that's the only way we can see what's begun
and in the end where we've come from

if anything we should hope to understand
instead of look around and only reprimand
cuz that's the way we shouldn't really stand
without the honesty or truth of what we set to plan

if we had the time or morality
we'd be able to create what we want in reality
rather than drive our own desires into obscurity
because we're so caught up with popularity

magic doesn't happen overnight
without the thought of flight
with the the awesome sight
of how we'll make a "maybe" might

and even with this consideration
all we may have left is truly trepidation
cuz we're just full and often are mistaken
but how would you know without that revelation

to ask isn't to find
it's to look at what you've done and redesign
stepping outside in what you've come to mind
until you can look back and maybe see a sign

the image of perfection is something best left to reflection
rather than instant satisfaction
cuz you know it won't end with all that gratification
rather you'll see that you were overtaken

thoughts destroy and recreate
the things we swore we'd really hate
but how can you full comprehend the matters of late
when some foolish fallacy is given such a weight

flowers don't bloom in dead empty soil
and work won't get done without any toil
even so you need to see between the vinegar and oil
and reach right back down into that dark black soil

recite not what you were taught but your own song
cuz in the space of absence we have stood too long
hoping that some presence will hurry us along
but that isn't true; sing your own song

Big Blue Lake

big blue lake
kinda like the one we call crystal lake
sparkling starts dancing on the water
and all you can see is the big blue crystal off as far
as
you can see
wish somebody could be here
to share
the way things are looking
something special should be shared
not locked away in a vault of memory
sadness doesn't turn to goodness
not matter how much you apply the kindness
spring comes late here
hardy trees punctuate the rugged rocks
determined
they pine onward
no pun intended
one day i want to build a cabin on these big crystal shores
logs of cut pine
sweet smells of sap to wake up to
nothing better in the world
away from the traffic and the throngs
and all the things that can possibly go wrong
dancing sky
i can see for miles
the water beckons
for
a canoe to crest the surface
long ago memories come back
some things you just can't forget
no matter
how you crush them

the foundation's been laid
lumber delivered
sun shines down on the fresh cement
the old house is long gone
nothing will remain
it took a while to get rid of all the junk
maybe next week we will get the frame up
right now we can just wait
from here you can just see the road
not too busy though
soon the kids will have their own rooms
something to be said for a good sized house
maybe in two weeks
we can start the roof
lumber lies where the shed once stood
we will put another one up
one without mold
and garbage
you couldn't open the door
or garbage would tumble out

Feeling

what a magical mystery
of the things that begin and the things we rekindle
something to be said for the things we find alternatively
relationships fade and the weather does change
time goes by and the wind sighs
how we face the world realistically
the choice is yours
magic doesn't happen overnight
you have to work at it
Rome wasn't built in a day
or so they like to say
slowly our fears can edge away
and leave us with nothing but what we really want
something we can choose to mold and fold
the feelings and things we want to share instead of burdens to bear

Time and Time Again

rain clouds and electric razors shine reflections off the bathroom window
sunshine creeping through the clouds again and blue sky's on the way
somewhere a bus rumbles through the buildings
grass getting illuminated by the sharp shining light
traffic wines as the clock ticks the day by in seconds
on the desk the papers sit for me, ever-ready
waiting for that knock on the door and the eviction notice
sitting still no sound comes from the stairwell
everything's packed, set to be sent up north
back home somebody's waiting
counting down the days until the time is here
no more knocks on the door at ungodly hours of the day
while the time away
bare walls stare out with uninspired faces
all the photos of cousins and countless others are gone
sandwiched between books and breakables within boxes
duck tape keeps them all safe
sunshine day
clutter cleared and counters cleaned, gleaming
nothing remains, all will disappear
open windows sing to the wind, come in come in come in
time and time again
one orange moving truck idles below
boxes, bags and parcels make the descent to its bed
there they will remain until the destination
one last careful check to insure everything is gone
saying goodbye
returning the key one last time
the landlord isn't home, he won't know until it's too late
a stop at the bank to gather the well-saved money
soon, the on-ramp to the highway
no turning back

This Land

dark dank rain on the truck windshield,
onward i go.
clouds descend with ever-rising rapidity,
i laugh, and think of the times when these skyies were sunny.
west coast wet coast.
nothing between me and the empty highway except how many tonnes of metal they put in this truck,
cruising along between the evergreen gorges, the sparkling streams and the ferocious waterfalls.
up ahead, just another in turn in the road,
onward i go.
mist sits in the trees, looking down thoughtfully as i admire the its wispy mustache whinging its way between the boughs.
"just guy, on the lost highway"
cold night will set in before and after i have reached my final destination.
city born, country bred.
i dog the relentless reaches of the province,
and pound the pulverized pavement that winds its way wonderously throughout.
soon
i will load my behemoth vehicle of steel, iron and whatever else they are putting in these damn automobiles nowadays,
onto the wrought platform of a ferry
and coast merrily down the coast, past the reserves and resources
the dark evergreens everywhere.
so long i have longed for this land,
the mountains that open up their arms to pick me up and carry me into their hearts,
the currents in the ocean that twirl and wave their hands, beckoning,
the world where everything began for me.
the place where i have grown up.
there is no other place like it it the world.
though my ancestors come from lands to the east, the Metis in Manitoba and Saskatchewan and others farther still,
forever i will be here in this land.
this is where i come from.
i have been taught the ways of this land,
when i set foot in it i am able to understand.

Northern Highway

big brown bluffs
sand dancing off the road
wind waves the surface of the water
90 miles an hour down the highway passing town
sun setting in the west as the shadows start getting longer
soon dusk is here and the little golden lights can be seen from houses
before you know it the stars will be up in the royal blue sky blinking down at us
turn on the radio and listen to a station as sleepiness starts to edge its way after a long day
as more hours pass the later it gets and actually gets closer and closer, dawn of another new day
yawn and smile as another small country town goes flitting by in the blink of one drowsy eye
somewhere in the distance the light begins its daily transformation to day again
a bright blue line on the eastern horizon disappears behind mountains
higher it climbs as the road progresses steadily northward
almost time for breakfast today if you find a town
the sun crests the now rolling hills
new scenery and a new day
grassy golden fields