Walking on a Cold Winter's Night

on the northern prairie
the sun settles in sublimity
a gentle mother's hush
into the blanket of winter snow

it paints the december ditch bank
where the shouldered pines gather
while careful does slide beneath
the skirts on their way to pond

over by the farm, the rooster goes still
as the last gasp of light
dims through the break in boards
while the outside wind echoes the sun's demise

over where the bare trees
mark the fence line, there is one
small and final explosion of blaze
before the stalks and branches turn shadow

on this cold winter's night
old men will peek curtains
to redless thermometers
while the chimney above billows gray

the lake will crack sharply at midnight
and the freezing maple will reply
the owls will sleep, waiting it out
while the moon grows a holy shroud

it is here, in this harshest of times
when life is at its fullest
it is here i am most alive
walking in the silent explosion
in the warmth, of a cold winter's night

Murdered

i've been murdered
torn to pieces by the she -bear
here an arm, there an ear
as the bones rattle and break
flying through the trees

i heard of an old trick
just get real close and grab hold of her fur
-it doesn't work

i tried running but my legs became silly
so i smiled friendly, showing no fear,
but my weakness became her jerky

then i bluffed
pickett's charge across the grove
while the cannon shot my horse
from under me

so now i lie scattered
as the scavengers feast
and the she-bear sleeps full bellied

but this death is not the end
not even unbearable
for i am one of them now
in them, among them
and through them
i shall live

i shall see and taste life as they have
i shall also drink the blood as
flea on that she-bear,
too small to be torn

through the trees as wind
i shall roam free and haunt
while the flowers i once inhaled
will become my limbs

and in the winter,
i shall visit her in her silent den
dancing to her fat snore.
while blowing cold up her nostrils

i will swim with the salmon
sleep under mushrooms
become the slightest leaf
in the wrens nest
is this not life?

but if another man wander through,
though quite capable, i'll
warn him not
but watch, the twisted knot
in a silent tree

and there. in the shadow of his terror,
in the womb of her hunger,
i'll die in peace
while he may become
her April rage

ol carnegie

This is a song (which only i know the melody to) so that's why it will read like shit.

take a bow, take a bow, yeah
let everyone see
raise the roof with your playing
bring the crowd to their feet
cuz if you played the piano
just the way you played me
they'd stand up and cheer
back in ol carnegie

every note strikes a nerve
and your method's precise
the birds up in heaven
even stopped to look twice
your score was on target
your pitch it did soar
and it carried me out
while they came through the door

so take a bow, take another
let everyone see
the way you performed
and the fool that was me
if you played the piano
just the way you played me
you'd kick all their ass's
back in ol carnegie

and she came to me softly, when the moon was up high
she taught me her magic, she said i could fly
and for awhile i believed, just enough to take flight
but like the moon after sunrise, she's no where in sight

and do you ever get lonely
when the lights go down low?
when the curtains are drawn
when the crowd turns to go?
in the silence of midnight
when there's no one to hear
do you long for the laughter
but reach for your fear?

so take a bow, take it now
let everyone see
me left in the shadow
of the song in your tree

and if you played that piano
just the way you played me
you'd be raisin the roof
back in ol carnegie

take a bow, sing it loud
cry it out and be proud
the people are waiting, just look at that crowd
up there in the rafters, up front on their knees
they've all come to see
just how well you played me

wally's dementia

wally seemed harmless enough
and any crazy he had just seemed bluff
but the moon got so full
that he lost all control
and thus began all the stuff

mrs. jasper swears now she saw him climb naked up her apple tree at 3AM
and he took to washin his car in the rain
before mowin crazy symbols in his yard
while mumblin about arabs and nazis
-just a little quirky

he set up that crazy ass telescope in his back yard
and the shades started to fall at dusk, ever so slowly
and when his wife lefty town with the grocery boy
he didn't even notice for three weeks!

most folks pretended they didn't see him
sittin on his chimney at midnight
or jumpin in that frozen river
on that cold December day

they'd meet him in the store and say
"well, hello Wally, how you doin?"
and he'd grab an apple from their cart
take a bite, and say, "just fine"
before crowin like a love sick rooster
and flappin his wings

but this was a small town
and every one has their characters
to keep the talk alive

but he managed like most folks do
and the stories they grew wilder it's true
and everyone says the same
he mighta stayed in the game
if he hadn'ta flown on jetblue!

The Maverick

while the apple pie bakes,
all straw hat and suspenders
the amish come together as
an army of ants, raising the barn

at tuesday night little league
i see the proud parents
all bleachered together
shoulders up and pointing

there goes the rv of relatives
headin down to the state fair
passing that bus full of seniors
off to break the casino

would you like me to say i envy
their happy smiles?
is the lie to be advocated?

truth is, i ain't much for people
and their happy birthday sing alongs
or their vociferous chants of
all for one and one for all

i'm just not cut that way

oh, i like most people just fine
one at a time and mostly over there
but handshakes and huggin
is the horse that drives me to tall timber

see, i was born out of time
this i know, and it's my sack to tote

had i been here when i should've
i'd be there! in them clouds, on that clipper,
high and alone in the crows nest
eyein for, yet daring, the stormy weather

I'd be David Thompson in the rockies
swattin bears and skeeters alone
not Jim Bridger, tellin tales to fools

I'd be the one out there, on the
edge of the herd searchin
for the stragglers
and at night, when the others slept
i'd ride into town alone
after the piano player had been shot
when the saloon turns somber

i'll share ya my beans and share ya my poke
but rarely my fire or trail
-just say howdy, and keep ridin on

i'm the ghost, waitin for a train
but only to watch it pass
and this only to remember
i was born before the railroad
and i'll never raise a barn

Definitive

"There's more than one answer to these questions, pointing me in a crooked line
the less i seek my source for some definitive, the closer i am to fine" -E. Saliers (Indigo Girls)



i've been accused
so there it is
like a bloody piece of meat
on the butcher's table
or the bloody rag
she couldn't flush

the supposed crime?
pretending to be definitive
while being anything but

so, am i pissed cuz i'm guilty?
or indignant cuz i'm falsely accused?

the world would like me conclusive
my lovers demand it
and my conscience is dressed like moses

i've tried definitive, but
you've notarized my conclusions
and formed them into hammer

remember when you said this?
remember when you promised that?
remember when you said you'd never?
remember when you said you'd always?

yes, fuck yes!
i remember
you see to it always

but i'm not definitive
my heart, my mind, my thoughts
they are not locked in a cage
nor on exhibit at some museum

if a tree was defined by spring
how sad our autumns would be
if our days are defined by blue skies
should we feel guilty when it storms?

when i said i loved you
i meant it
when i said i'd stay
i meant it
when i said goodbye
i meant it

i wake every morning with a fresh heart
a song from the past opens a door to a future
and light comes in more than one shade

so, yes
i am guilty
guilty of changing
growing, learning
who i am
and which trail to explore
and which to abandon

i am not final
not black or white
sometimes hot
sometimes cold
most times
i don't have a clue

you, the salmon, swimming upstream
can't help but mock the small leaf
floating aimlessly downstream
getting in the way
but each of us will arrive
each will know
a destination
a purpose
maybe even
definition

Ed's Yard Sale

like a patch-work quilt
she had been stitchin her life together
gathering squares where she could
but they never seemed to blend well

so one day, when ed was having a yard sale
she went into his tent. and
see, now ed, well, he
had a whole lot of something
for those needing anything
especially for her

this ed, he's a gatherer by nature
who he lives in a tent
cuz he never could find home
except in the friend that
never could explain home

the mystery fascinated him
and his collection fascinated her

the first thing he would do
is put that old crystal ball on the table
as she gathered in her skirt
and leaned close

he never could tell her future
but by looking through the ball
into her eyes, he could always
tell her past

then he would make some smoke
boil some lizard tails,
tell her things were gonna get better
before giving her whatever caught her fancy
from his collection

when she left ed's tent, she'd
kiss him softly and his eyes
would sparkle as he watched her
carry away yet another part of him

the truth is, none of this mattered;
what mattered was, he loved her
she loved his loving her
neither judged the other
and in these quiet, occasional
little get togethers where he
played merchant to the need
she, for a moment, became
his home, and together,
they made a beautiful quilt