my bro

spending money buying food
no-one cares if u cant afford to pay for food
8 bucks an hour ain't exactly fun
pretty sh*tty job all in all
money that should be spent at the mall
but i gotta save it all
gonna go to college in the fall

working long hours every single day
wished i had a job like my bro
carefully saves up all his hard earned dough
already knows where hez gonna go

my little bro spends all his money on weed
it aint sh*t that hez really gonna need
uses that sh*t up like chiken feed
im just glad he doesnt use speed

i dont like school that much
the teachers there are pretty f*cked up
the kids who like it there are just messed up
seems like they do nothin to get a buck

i wish there wasnt all this insanity
keeping us down and out with poverty
aint got time to look for clarity
aint gonna take no fuckin charity

every day it gets harder to go on
watchin my older bro makin sure he can get beyond
the shit u find at the bottom of a pond

Sardine Minnow

bought a new coat
sold the old one on a steamboat
when we were goin down the rippling stream
it had a torn inseam
but the man who bought it was mighty keen
said it was the nicest coat he'd ever seen
said it was the colour of a sardine
we passed the statue of the queen
with it's heavy gleam
making the forest round look pretty green
and the water below pretty gray
with a somber glow
and just down low, I could see a little minnow
swimming in a little grotto
hidden in the granite
which was coloured russet
shiny as a silver bullet
hidden away just like a secret
coloured just like a sardine

St. Peter and St. Paul

Didja hear the story
about St. Peter and St. Paul?

Goin to Saskatoon
with gold fields in the fall

Hitchhikin with strangers
trying to get there fast.

Didja hear the song
about Mr. Fournier?

Left erelong,
Sold his family farm

Walked along,
gone to Fond-du-Lac.

Didja hear the tale,
about old Mrs. Williams?

Walking to the town,
past the old windmills

Goin to talk,
to old St. Peter and St. Paul.

government secrets

gov'ment buying time from the damn people
selling land like it's christmas presents
sending out churches to help the heathens
hoping to spread help
mission impossible
gov'ment chucking dimes and nickels at the wall
paying attention to their own downfall
keeping information to themselves
keeping the secrets up on high shelves
spreading out the settlements
watching their sacraments
gov'ment spending money on sh*t
wear the glove if it fits
making sure we all looking the right way
sending all the indians back to jail
making sure we don't know what we ain't been told
social services ain't got no money so they gotta fold
gov'ment taking taxes for entertainment
selling out to some British economist
poverty and abuse running loose
asking for helps like making your own noose
forests going down to the pulp mills
excavators diggin up the massacres
gov'ment been lyin to you all along
hidin history from those they been hurtin all along
since before dominion they been destroyin the land
makin sure everyone don't know what they banned
Kuper island is a prime example
if you want more like that we got a handful

Aerospace and Plastic Hedgerows

Aerospace is closing in
falling upside to supper through Texas
and you asked me
would I be free
to take tea
with thee?
On a Saturday afternoon
when we
have
just considered the outlines
that linger from the clouds dotting overhead.
But, like I said before,
aerospace is closing in
sending sparks through people's plastic hedgerows
that
are really
terribly
infested with badgers.

Alone

When I went away,
did you laugh,
did you cry.
I never thought about
not seeing you
with me.
True,
it was a whole summer
ago,
and I'm already
wishing
that you were here,
with me.
Those soft and blurry
memories
of you are fading
away
into smudges
in my brain that I
wish I could refresh
by seeing you.
I loved you,
and I still do,
these memories the greatest
treasures I hold dear,
locked away from the touch
of others,
a gift.
I miss you,
and only the sweet summer sun,
can re-etch
those feelings back
into my head.


I don't feel well. At all.... there's nothing I can do about it either really. The songbird outside the window with the stained green glass, overlooking the gently sloping gray dales that are covered with the ancient purple heather we walked through [do you remember yet?], ever the wind which goes over the top of them and comes down on the other side, like a laughing kite, diving, soaring, whistling through the huge valleys in between. I miss you, my hands are cold and I am alone among my peers until I can see you again, be with you again. Your lovely brown eyes are pressed into my thoughts, I want to talk to you rather than rely on a memory of you that is wasting away, succumbing to be eaten by time itself.

Sightlines

Faraway,
the people say
they came to rest
upon the shore, one day
blown away
from homes on best,
of lands they came from faraway.
a group of men,
tall, each like a mercenary,
the final icing of defeat
none too strong to massacre,
the living and the dead.


Did you ever hear
of them
those
who came
stumbling
along
the back lanes
like
rusting bicycles
that
creak
with every tensing push,
and
shudder
beside
the lone gray
hedgerow
that
creeps

beside
the
path.


And then, heaven opened up like wildfier
on a cool summers night,
invasive,
not taking any chances with the luck.
The sky, all glowing of amber shades
the eyes of men,
glazed in porcelain hues of white
and red.
Hearts, made of flesh and feeling,
all turned to dust,
with divine intervention,
fly away.
Created from the flotsam and jetsam,
all great things come to pass,
from the smallest grain of sand,
to the largest fire in the sky.