Rainy Day

The soil churns around my feet
The muck, it pulls me down
I have my shovel firm in hand
And dig past green and brown.

I keep digging – hole or grave
or maybe tunnel of escape? –
But with no plan, I cannot see
through the earth I do reshape.

Each particle of damp dirt here,
clings tight to my damned clothes.
The further down I dig, I think
on how or where this tunnel goes.

For though it is my hand that digs
my arm that thrusts the spade,
I don’t control, nor ever have
The piercing silver blade.

To stab and slay this crying dirt
and throw away some living plants.
The weeping willow has turned over
Despite the native prayers and chants.

The weather’s wreaking havoc;
the wind has riled leaves
to fly about, and it screams and shouts
as it huffs and heaves.

The unmarked smell of freedom
is the sweetest scent around;
it’s fresh cut grass and old pine trees,
but here it’s never found.

The toil, it produces sweat
and beads drip down my grubby face.
The unearthed worms writhe all about
Where are the moths, the Queen Anne’s Lace?

One day I may learn to find the pleasure in the toil,
until then, I hold my blade and slowly dig through soil;
The grimace held firm on my face would convince you the worst
befalls me daily, so untrue; I bear no great burden, nor a curse.

This path goes down, a tunnel round, a steep and jagged trail;
one day I’ll stop this digging craze and rest in final peace.
I’ll find that thing I search for,
And from this mud: release.

Just Another Music Monday

As I wait for the next indie rock playlist to be uploaded to a much frequented website,  I put a few old favourites on my own fall playlist.  Check out these for a little taste of my Monday:

Raymond & Maria’s “The Fish Are Swimming Slower Every Year

Ingrid Michaelson’s “The Chain

CAMERAS’S “Break/Hands

The Rural Alberta Advantage’s “Stamp

Okay…I could go on forever!  But those are some tunes that can carry you through the rest of the day…and maybe inspire your music throughout the week.


A hand in the crowd

Is up, and up and up,

And a boot –

That big black boot, stomps that hand.

That boot is on a white, hairy foot.

And there is nothing you can do.

There is no voice you can use that is not your own

Even after your own has been hated.

There are no words you can speak

That will not be spilling from the mouth that is yours.

There is nothing you can do to replace

That you

That is inside you

That is inside you.

This is no Dr. Seuss book – though he spoke of truth

In rhyme and verse and nonsense speech

And coined the ‘nerd’ we hate to teach –

But there is truth in every letter of every word

Because it is written down and permanent

And cannot be taken back.

Memory can be transformed, muted, manipulated,

But cannot ever be taken away.

And the matter in life. Is.

What once there was, will always be

And yet cannot be ever again.

And I just have to worry about not being squashed

By a louder, bigger, whiter, stronger


But I will not trade in my heels just yet.