Songs_

Calico Bonnet
2003

A calico bonnet hangs down from the wall.
A hurricane lantern, blackened and cold.
Linoleum corners curled up on the floor.
Newspapers poked through the cracks in the door.

Colours and voices go round in my head.
Diamonds and silver and lipstick so red.
Till angels appeared and away you were led,
to his holy kingdom, from our humble bed.

A ragged dolls sits in a cradle so quiet.
All sorrow and blindness where once there was sight.
A pentecost bible as black as the night.
Everywhere darkness where once there was light.

Colours and voices…

Oh death don’t you spare me, take me this time,
from this mountain home that treats me unkind.
Cover my face and wrap me in pine,
with gabriel’s hands encircled in mine.

A tiny box covered in velvet and shells,
a handkerchief folded flowers and bells.
A picture of you and your aunt Annabelle.
Your calico bonnet upon your sweet head.

Colours and voices…

Oh death don’t you spare me, take me this time,
from this mountain home that treats me unkind.
Cover my face and wrap me in pine,
with Gabriel’s hands encircled in mine.

Take The Patient Horse Away
2005

The first snow she ever saw, back in 1954.
Take the picture from the wall, take her radio and all.
Don’t expect me to agree, ain’t the same world it used to be.

Take the patient horse away, take her saddle from the wall.
Take the broken yellow gate, what do we get in return?
Surprise, surprise, a photograph, don’t expect me to abide.

You know I’ll never be led to agree,
or entertain anymore of this foolery?
I just don’t think that a photograph will do,
to stop the memories fading from view.

Take her auburn pompadour, rock and rolling on the floor
Take the patent leatherette, I can’t stand it anymore.
But don’t expect me to abide, won’t go looking out for her.

She’s always leaving the sink water in.
The smell of too much vaporub on her skin.
It’s just like peeling the flesh from the bone,
to counterfeit all, that we ever had known.

Take her lotions and cologne, take her letters by the bed.
Take away her medicines, go ahead and take it all.
Take her wind-up Sunday watch, take her doubt in god above.
Take her diary and her gloves, what do we get in return?
Surprise, surprise, a photograph, a counterfeit, more or less.

You know I’ll never be led to agree,
or entertain anymore of this foolery?
I just don’t think that a photograph will do,
just a paper thin whisper of you.

Charlotte Town
2022

The rain it pays no attention to the feelings of the dog.
The rabbit is of no consequence to the movement of the tides.

I went down to Charlie Town, want to get my fortune read.
Things I heard, I must confess, don’t believe a word she said.

A soldier’s life is full of woe, take my hand I’ll comfort thee.
Throw away all your uniforms, go and set your prisoners free.

Throw your canons in the fire, throw your cannon balls there too.
Throw your sabres and bayonets, alchemise them all anew.

Sweep the graves of your enemies and plant a weeping willow high.
As the cool wind blows through the leaves, listen to the mothers cry.

(So it’s) hot corn bread when I wake up, coffee in the bed I lay.
I’ll be dead a long long long time, but in heaven’s gate I’ll stay.

When I cross to the other side, with a broom I’ll sweep my way.
‘Til this soldier’s long dead and gone, I wanna hear the banjo play.

Hear the lonesome whippoorwill, Mississippi roles along.
Makes its way past Lake Pontchartrain, to the Gulf of Mexico.

I went down to New Orleans, gonna rent myself a car.
Ate a poboy at the Parkway, who’d have thought I’d come this far.

Lou Klepic
2019

Poor old Lou, you’ve lost your hat / You left your coat at the Persian Cat
Your knuckles hurt, temples pound / Your Timex watch in the lost and found

Poppy oil in the morning light / Thinning hair, combed back right
Pocket razor, snap it shut / Paper towel on the razor cut

Three nuns praying in the parlour / Three ducks flying on the wall
Three white roses on the casket / Three kids crying in the hall

Here’s the bus for poor Lou Klepic / The eight-o-five at Main and Coptic
Tyres snarl against the gutter / One last stogie, flick that sucker 

Mind your step Lou, lift them feet  / Take a ticket, take a seat
Hear that big old diesel roar / Coke can rolls along the floor

Three nuns praying in the parlour …

Pockets filled with scraps of paper / An IOU to chase up later
A photograph from Vietnam  / Your son and you, arm in arm

Jesus Christ says poor Lou Klepic / Three nights bent on beer and whisky
Goddam John Paul George and Ringo / Rest your head against the window

Three nuns praying in the parlour …

Morning fog and steaming grates / Junk mail at the pearly gates
Trash cans spilling on the ground / Men in hats, brims turned down

Time’s a bastard old Lou Klepic / Christ alone is pleased to see you
Wings of white to lift and guide you / Angel bands on high, to greet you

Three nuns praying in the parlour …

Ken, The Night Clerk
2022

Welcome to our hotel,
you woke me up when you rang the bell.
We sell chips and cigarettes.
We’ll even cash your giro cheques.

Soap and towels and clean white sheets,
praised by local prostitutes.
Complimentary mini bar.
Don’t forget to lock your car.

Breakfast lists sent in by four.
We’ll leave the tray outside your door.
Adult films come on request,
but don’t disturb the other guests.

Take the stairs I would suggest,
the lift’s unwell I must confess.
Strand’s about a half an hour,
and here’s a postcard of the tower.

Carbon Canyon
2004

A shot rang out in Carbon Canyon and split the silent air.
And echoed off the chaparral, of South Saint Gabriel.

She’d come out west from Omaha, she’d killed her dad and mom.
Was the 30th day of November, nineteen thirty one.

Well, she shared her bunk in an okie hostel with a bible and a gun.
The only two things she’d ever owned, and she’d stolen both of them.

As oil pumps in the distance, worn-out in the wind,
were minding their own business, like paid off congressmen.

Up past the sign a car was turning, in minutes it would pass.
The sandy edge of highway tar, was lit with broken glass.

Well she watched as dust and leaves confided, she held her rifle firm.
Commandments ticked off one to ten, at least the ones she’d learned.

Well she watched as dust and leaves confided, she heard the siron song.
Commandments ticked off one to ten, but whe got the numbers wrong.

She closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger, and all the birds took flight.
And wheeled away upon the wind and soon were out of sight.

The driver slumped and pulled up fast, skidded on the rim.
A flank of steel and running board and chrome and gasoline.

Ask any one of Carbon Canyon but don’t believe a word,
they’d say her brother had it coming, his debts were overdue.

But I just think our friend was part of nature come undone.
You start with bad directions and a trail of broken promises,
and the ricochet of reason, you got a killer in the sun.

The Day We Died
2006

Well it rained on the day that we died,
well it rained on the day that we died.
And the garbage truck couldn’t give a fuck,
as the moment of truth arrived.

Just one kiss on my lips I am sleepy,
just one kiss on my lips I am sleepy.
Hold my hand, stay by me, lay your head upon my knee.

Take us home to a place we belong,
take us home to a place we belong.
in the back of a car, it can’t be that far, about a half a mile,
we’ll be there in a while.

On the morning of our suicide,
on the morning of our suicide.
We made our bed and the cats were fed,
and we cancelled the telephone line.

And all that was cloudy went bright,
as each of our faces turned white.
But I must confess, as her summer dress,
went see-through in the light, it really was a sight.

Take My Palomino Horse
2023

Take my Palomino horse,
and dip her in a bucket of gold.
Give her wings so that she can fly,
and lead her from the stall.

Give her golden clothes to wear,
cause palominos love to stare.
Golden shoes with laces
made from golden hair.

Feed her on plutonium,
and let her bathe in cadmium.
Stirrups cast in chromium,
and reins of thulium.

A golden broom for her to sweep
the crooked path to heaven’s gate.
A golden bell around her neck
will sound the road ahead.

So take my Palomino horse,
and dip her in a bucket of gold.
Give her wings so that she can fly,
and lead her from the stall.

Eighty Seven Miles Per Hour
2018

Shiny car in the street, travel blanket on the seat.
Colour is a shade of brown, rubber tyres on the ground.

Take it downtown for a spin, park at 9th and Hennepin.
The bonnet has an ornament, made of chrome and slightly bent.

A naked girl with wings of steel, Lord I wish that thing was real.
Lord I wish that thing was real, at her feet I’d gladly kneel.

On the dash a ticking clock, up the back a kleenex box.
Bumper bar’s seen better days, sticker says ‘To God be Praised’

Sticker says ‘to God be Praised’, cause I know where salvation lays.
I know where salvation is, far from Minneapolis.

Cruising past the water tower, at 87 miles an hour.
All that chrome and all that power, at 87 miles an hour,
cruising in the witchin hour.

14th day of April may, well be ruination day.
far away from Hennepin, spotify Van Morrison.

All that chrome and all that power, cruising past the water tower,
at 87 miles an hour, at 87 miles an hour, 87 miles an hour.

Why Oh Why, I’ll Never Know
2005

Oh, why go out ridin’ the fences in the snow, I’ll never know.
Not a whisper, before daylight, why oh why, she’d ever go.
Well she left us an hour before daylight. Why she’d go I’d never know.
And her tracks lay under a blanket of freshly fallen snow.

Oh why, I’ll never know.
Why of why, I’ll never know.
Oh why, I’ll never know.
Why oh why, I’ll never know.

Well the brown owl and coyote saw her passing by, down below.
And the wind made no more than a ripple, on the feathers of a crow.
Will the wild dogs hiding in hollows hang their heads, not even bark?
Please oh please don’t ask her no questions, or catch her falling in the dark.

Oh why, I’ll never know…

Was another long day till they found her, black and frozen to the bone.
And a spider was camped in her bootlace, as they lifted up her coat.
Well, they found her way down in the old mine, as the snow fell like a song.
And commended her soul unto heaven, with her hands they made a cross.

Oh why, I’ll never know…

The Ghosts of Wylodine
2022

Come all you goodtime people, this tale I have is true.
If you ever had a beating heart, it will surely break in two.
Into that void my weary soul will soon be thrown like hay.
Cut down before it reached its prime, cut down before its day.

Was born one day in April or July, in 1824.
My mother swept the halls of Old Macheath, my dad he died in war.
I took to rambling at an early age, no adventure did I find.
Aggravation was at each and every turn, and a dark and troubled mind.

One day while I was wandering alone, in the town of Wylodine,
I spied a window open in the breeze, and through it, myself did climb.
Once inside, oh lord, it was a sorry sight, unnerved to say the least,
a mother, father, sister and brother, all recently deceased.

A bloody knife lay right there on the floor, a crimson tide of woe.
And somewhere in the distance, my mind told me to go.
Back when I was wandering alone, through that wide-open window.
But my feet were just like heavy lumps of lead, and everything went slow.

They found me sitting right there on a chair, I was peaceful and sublime.
They said my cool indifference was one of many signs.
And later in the courtroom, when sentenced for the crime,
they’ll say I’ll soon be hangin’ around with the ghosts of Wylodine.

A convict ship was sailing the next day, the judge said I would board,
And join my friends in sunny New South Wales, before I meet my Lord.
Hold on hold on, as all about me swayed, and the ghosts of Wylodine,
Accompanied me as I made my way, across ten thousand miles.

And once I was on Caanan’s distant shore, and once my hair turned grey,
No more had I a dark and troubled mind, no more my rambling ways.
Who’s to say what makes us joyful or serene, who’s to say what makes us cry?
Who will greet thy saviour hand in hand with thee, or everlasting fire?

Don’t Bury Me Down In The Cold Cold Ground
2022

Don’t bury me down in the cold cold ground,
just lay me on the trail.
And the wild dogs and deer and porcupines,
and the black bears will go by me.

Don’t put a stone with my name drawn on.
Don’t plant no willow tree.
Don’t let your eyes dine on an old grave of mine.
No hymns you’ll sing for me.

Don’t beat the drums slow or play the pipes low,
just polish my tall black shoes.
And make my belt shine, hang my clothes on the line,
and wear my old hat sometime.

Don’t wind up the clock or my best Sunday watch,
no need to tell the time.
And scratch off the name from my walking cane,
and lay it by my side.

And go down the stairs and saddle my mare,
and lead her from the stall.
And go out at night, in the starry moonlight,
and by me gently roam.

Put up a tent when the rains set in,
and the winds of winter bite.
Take it down when the sun shines so,
my bones will turn to white.

Put up a tent when the rains set in,
and the winds of winter bite.
Take it down when the sun shines so,
my bones will turn to white.

Ago, So Long
2008

The window frame has jammed again
probably in consequence 
of raining for years.

And all my savings have been spent
on telephone calls and weekly rent
now heaven sent.

And tape recordings of the day
we took a bus to Monterey
won’t even play.

The kitchen floor’s a sea of crumbs
of bottle green linoleum
in the sun.

The cupboard doors we leant upon
the masonite is lifting from
ago, so long.

The back verandah is, I’m told
hidden somewhere under mould
and marigolds.

And if I listen very hard
you’re explaining Jean Paul Sartre
in our backyard.