Sunday, 7 April 2013

It's been almost a year!

Looks like it's been almost a year since I last posted! Wow, how time flies!
It's been a productive year! I've been making lots of collages and written lots of songs and poems.
I'll post a few of those now and hopefully post again before next year!

Jack-Rabbit John

Jack-Rabbit John’s a bootlegger.
He’s an outlaw cavalier,
Ramblin’ round, from town to town,
with a barrel full of moonshine and beer.
He doesn’t need a rusty compass,
Or a tattered un-trusty map.
Inner drive’s keeping him alive,
With a dagger in his old tweed hat.

Some men search for diamonds
Some fools search for gold
Jack-Rabbit’s hoping
the demons chasing him
Never get a hold.
He’s just looking for a place
Where he can rest his head
It’s been lonesome vagabond driftin’
With a wet floor as a bed

Taken to the refuge
of his mind a thousand times
he lapses to the backdrop
of an old time vice
he keeps his spirits high,
driftin’ past his darker days
knowing that when he fall sback again
he’s the one who pays
He walks the railroad line
Hoping someday he’ll see
The right train so he can
Usher in epiphany.


                                           saw a
                                     tree once and
                                i liked it. it sme-
                                    lled green;
                                  it came to me in
                            a dream. it spoke to me
                          in the seams of some rec-
                     ollection of a tree. it came to me
                            in a dream. it smelled g-
                          reen. it spoke like an echo
                      through a root would, like a
                   windy forest wood. it smelled br-
                own and stood around when we went
            down-town. the tree played hard
                     when we went downtown. It
                   smelled green and dripped rain on
                 the dirt while it smelled brown and we
             were standing around, playing hard down-
         town, dropping seeds down, looking for syrup
       near the maples, spreading seeds and piling
     wood downtown, smelling brown and looking
           green in between the lumber-jacks down
         around, stacking wood below the homeless wee-
     ping willows, around the outer edge of the burning
      forest , barking at the paper- mill that hides the green
brown smell that can no longer be smelled around down-town…
Drunk Is a Lonely Occupation

‘There are too many cops and not enough partiers left,’
He said with a welcoming grin.
He had outlived his party.
Now he walks the streets.