Waiting on a Know Good Friend

Standing on a street corner

I got a leather glove over each hand

My green overcoat hangs,

The collar is turned up

With a black wool scarf tied around my neck

A fur hat lives snugly on my head

I am warm, but the snow is blowing--the wind stings my uncovered skin

My friend was supposed to be here soon, he said

But it is well past noon

Always a bad time to meet, when it is winter and the snow is blowing

I put a leather gloved hand over my face,

then pull the scarf over my frostbit lips

This friend has so much control,

I always bail him out when he can't pay his bills

Buy him booze, just the expensive whiskies

He never pays me back

Drinks too much,

Plays drum in bad local rock n' roll band

His own brother says he manipulates people, and thinks I'm a fool

Ten extra dollars in my pocket, waiting for a friend

I pull my fur hat down over my eyebrows; streaks of snow blind my eyes

No one is on the street, just me in a green overcoat

Where is he, probably snug in bed

Why I do these things, I don't know

I could be home, listening to Lou Reed

Maybe his song Heroin

The Velvet Underground

Play good music on my turntable

Instead of going round in circles playing the fool to a no good friend

I oughta' go home,

turn up the heat

When he calls, hang up the phone

I guess I'm addicted to helping everyone,

Women who know when to cry,

Smooth talkin' strangers, who lie about the seven seas

Good people

Evil people

Half dressed ladies sighing about lonely love

That's what I'll do

In five minutes, that's what I'll do...

Stop waiting for a friend 

Stop waiting for a friend 

I don't do booze 

I don't do drugs

Like Lou Reed says:

"I guess, I just don't know"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xcwt9mSbYE

Spring 

Remember when we stood at the end of the world. We walked a lost forest. Then ran through autumn leaves. The God of Winter cried icy through the hollow trees. Only our thin wool to keep us barely warm we inched to the earth's edge. The God of the Universe turned us round and pointed us home. Past the tall, cold grass--against the cold prairie wind we walked closer to our family. They didn't believe a word their two children said--about what's at the earth's ends. The God of the Universe is our friend. The God of Winter cries through hollow trees. We said its not so far: just over the hill and past the prairie grass is the lost forest with autumn leaves that touch the world's edge. It was getting late, mother fed us. Father read us the bible before bed. That night I harvested a far away dream. In months, together once again, we shall journey to feel the warmth of a Godly spring.

Key Largo

Once I fell a sleep at a picture show

It was cold out, 

I had nowhere to go

It was late at night

There was no home

Just a nickel and an empty pocket

So I went to the picture show

The marque lights blinked like dying eyes

Yellow to orange, one after another

The hours of black and white 

The smell of old cigarettes 

This was my all night home

A girl without a glance sold tickets

The stale balcony was always closed

I sat in a crooked row

I heard the low sounds of muttering 

Bottles somewhere broke against the concrete floor

The whirl of 35 film reeled

Bogart smoked, Bacall should of broke

Key Largo on the go

The screen turned to a heavenly brightness

I saw scatterings of the theater crowd

Their faces appeared as they seemed

Some were awake, some asleep, 

These were different people

All alone

One man smoked... he crazy-smiled to himself

He was no Bogart, he had no Bacall

I grew more weary

I had nowhere to go

It was cold out

No nickel in my pocket

My eyes weighed as heavy as pennies

That's when I fell asleep 

I fell asleep,,,asleep in the picture show

Oh, no

Oh, no

Oh, no

One man watches another asleep in the picture show

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGftnl0KtUY

Never Been

Like being nostalgic for a place you've never been

Like reminiscing about people you've never known,

Nothing to hold back your longing dreams

Nothing to hold in place your wandering thoughts

As long as you can think you are free

As long as you can breathe the summer air

Some day your long, lost suffering will end

Some day you and me will go home to that place we've never been

Hold the people we've never known

Come down from the mountains

Walk the winter plain

Hold tight against the desert winds

Some day our long, lost suffering will end

Some day you and me will go home to a place we've never been

God of Rain 

We the crazed spirits in flight. 

Scared Banshees screaming through the aftermath. 

The man made fire burned the mountain forest.

A million trees, a billion branches.

Swallows taken to flight from the flames of fiery hell. 

Wailing animals seared into the dried tears of soil.  

Mad souls we floated between life and death. The smoke and haze filled our eyes. The charcoal trees felled. The mountain streams drowned in ashes. 

Don't you know what we're thinking? Us crazy banshees. 

Taking a vengeful shelter from these human forms. 

Electric company sparks burned this family earth. 

We fly high, scream to our God of Rain. 

Replenish the soil with your showers and hail. 

Replenish the the human form. 

We fly in screaming judgement. 

Our spirit instincts breathe the smokey haze of these man made flames.

So Say

Working a field I saw clouds like worn sleeves.

The sky as faded and frayed as torn blue jeans.

I lifted my sweat stained straw hat. Dried my head with a rhubarb red hand kerchief.  

My eyes blinded by the sun.

I raked the pebbled, sandy earth. Small clouds of dust rose to my knees and floated  to the ground. Autumn rain would fall soon.

A weariness walked the calloused prairie soil.

The boss would let us go home early. I'd leave my clothes on a lake's shore and swim across the water.  I would sleep naked on the opposite shore. By early morn I'd swim to my old work clothes. The sun would take time to dry my rhubarb red skin. So say to the field: I am late. But I am as wise as worn sleeves and as smart as frayed blue jeans.

The Night
She keeps her shame under a pillow
Her honour tied up with stabbing sheets
The motel neon light burns brightly
Another man, another night
Desperate hours, drunken by time
Cheap booze
Burning cigarettes
Addicted to drugs
How else does a girl make money, but at night?
A motel clerk doesn't raise his eyes
Doesn't see the ball and chain, the needle marked veins
Room 9 has thick walls
No one to hear the moans mixed with tears
One night it's a preacher man
Another night the mayor's son
Some nights it's high school graduate boys, two and three at a time
By morning it's her rising
Thin toast and a sweet orange,
Fake names
Fake moans
Torpor veins awash her glassy eyes
Twenty more dollars and a lonesome walk into town,
By night another pillow will bury her shame
A cheap motel will be her home
But no mayor's son will know the dream buried with the shame