January 14, 2009 Bitterly Cold©

So… bitterly cold. Hmmm how bitter?
Three-lemon bitter, six-lemon bitter,
Ammonia or sulfur bitter?
Nose running, brass-monkey cold?
No smiles. Winter of our discontent?
Drivers’ thin-lipped determination,
Eyes locked on the short to mid range.
Potential streetcar passengers,
Shoulders involuntarily at ear level,
Breathing into scarves, sleeves and gloves,
So covered up they would not be allowed in some places,
Terrorists or tired…. of this?
How many have rumbled by so far?
Couldn’t get on.
Air so frigid it tastes like steel,
Air so frigid it smells like aluminum.
Too cold for jokes,
They drop to the sidewalk and splinters into a hundred shards,
A laugh turns into a cough.
Where’s the bright spot?
Tiny kid bundled up into a balloon figure,
Big wool tuque on top,
Giant wool mitts at the end of the blown up arms.
Cheerfully oblivious, never the less,
Bending at an available joint, steadying the big boots,
Scoops up a big chunk of freshly scraped sidewalk ice,
Slowly claims his prize,
“Hey mom. Look what I got?”
Is it my imagination?
Is it colder downtown?
Is it the city itself or just the weather?
Whatever.
Chicken and egg.
Forget it.
Omelet and soup is the thing right now!

©

Drunken Drummer©

Sand. In the mouth, hair, eyes. Each breath number 8 sandpaper. That wind is a drunken drummer. Tiny playful gusts of sand whack the metal sides of the mobile home with short buzz rolls. RRRRRRRR. Then quiet again.

The trailers, with their gap toothed porches, are lined up as straight as loose change thrown into a panhandlers hat. It’s the casual way of life. A job here and a job there mixed in with a generous helping of social assistance and illicit pleasure sales.

Two young kids, probably a brother and sister, amuse themselves by exploring, unconcerned with the older folks goings-on. They came upon an apparition. A row-boat in this tumble weed trailer town. Sitting on a lonely dune, abandoned. Squint and the long course grass is the missing water, slapping the sides; reminiscent of the garbage bag waves in a cheap theater production.

©

Deep Fall and the Penguin March©

Air is a wet sweater, dripping and hanging, weighing everyone down. The steam-ironed sky is the low tent over head. Don’t dare to stand up straight. Might hit the top.

Nature’s giant rotor fans crank up the breeze, giving a static shock of cool.

Crack of blue elbows its way in.

Hip carrier bag looped over the opposite shoulder. Narrow jeans tucked into her high leather boots. She looks ahead. Left hand is gripping the insulated coffee mug. Without changing her gaze, waiting for the light to change, the cup deliberately comes up to deliver. Inverted lips in distracted concentration.

It’s hot chocolate - the love drug. The muscular bittersweet takes her back to the night. Wrapped up in the duvet of her lover’s full body. His rhythmic relaxed breath is the hammock that lulls her into the stars. Drunk on the vibe and hormones she is reeling through the galaxy, into all knowledge. Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Cross walk signal rudely brings her back. Get a butt moving across the street before the light changes again.

Multi-colored penguins parade off the shallow sidewalk bank into the sea of traffic - momentarily parted. Shoulder to shoulder, not daring to look sideways. It’s bad manners for proper penguins to be interested in a neighbor; no matter how attractive. Maybe sneak a peek as far as the peripheral will take.

©

Song Lyric Ideas

My Friend asked me to come up for some lyrics for a song he was working on. The general idea was a man who went to the Yukon to search for gold, in the Gold Rush.

Here are some ideas that are in progress.

The high mountain air is blue
Smells blue
Tastes blue
Blue Cold and Hard
Taunting,
“You can’t breathe me”.
Each pick swing brings a laugh from the rock,
Calling my name; deep throated “Tom”
Sneaking wind conspiring with the trees.
Chorus of “Foooooool”
Coffee steaming on the spruce wood fire
The cold still grabs my ribs.
Back home my New Brunswick girl teased me
“Grow your whiskers, callus your hands.
Come back when you’re a rich man.
Two years I’ll wait then I’ll close the gate”.

Yukon gold on everyone’s mind
Feverish schemes of every kind
Dreams of gold in this gray land
Hoping for the one big find.
Go down to the river and wash my hands
Shout to the mountains from the riverbank sand
I miss that girl so bad it hurts
I’ll tell the world that you’re my girl.
I’ll show the world that I’m your man.
I’ll show the world that I’m your man.

Keep shoveling and picking and sifting for gold
My New Brunswick girl is waiting
With a glimmer of hope
Write her a letter and mail it on Monday
Tell her I love her; think of me Sunday
Tell her I love her; Keep the fire burning
Keep that gate open; I’ll be returning.

Go down to the river and wash my hands
Shout to the mountains from the riverbank sand
I miss that girl so bad it hurts
I’ll tell the world that you’re my girl.
I’ll show the world that I’m your man.
I’ll show the world that I’m your man.
I’ll tell the world you’re my New Brunswick girl.

Shadow

Inspired by Paul Quarrington and Alistair MacLeod;
Dark lined etchings of harshness,
with a coloured wash of compassion.
King Leary and No Great Mischief
Tried my best; might be over written – better than underwritten.

SHADOW
Stinky shadow of his former self
Leaves a dark abstract impression
On the sidewalk,
Unshaven, unbathed
Who knows what,
Or what not else.
Trying to hold his twisted body together
Steady enough to hold the Tim’s coffee cup
Out far enough for potential passer-by
Donations,
Sharp canyons; some lined up,
Some seemingly random,
Topography of a face
Informed by stormy brain,
Not a fog -
A ragging hurricane;
Rain, wind, thunder, lightning,
Distorting his face to the world.
He stands naked in his head,
A sailor without stars.
He hunches down with his back against the warm bank wall,
His shaky legs need a rest,
Is it Pay Day? Is it Christmas or some other holiday?
Only knows the metallic taste in his mouth from the hunger and the cold.
Pile of silver and brass building up
In his cup,
There is generosity in the air.
Plain mukluk boots, long puff coat, long undressed hair,
A woman stands in front of him
Fishing in her carry bags,
Finally a small change purse,
Two brass looneys from that,
Tossed into the change pile,
Delicate scales tip,
Unsteady stinky former shadow of himself
Teeters toward the sidewalk,
Cup is released to relativity,
Gravity takes over,
Silver and gold rainbow arches from the paper vault,
Metal tinkling on the sidewalk
Rain on a metal roof,
He wets his pants.

Acceleration and Deceleration

Acceleration and Deceleration relatively shorter or longer lines to punch out the idea. Make sure the system is complete or closed – no movement required.

First two lines from Pat Pattison

Accelerated
I’ve been playing cards all night
I’ll never get it right
Eyes full of sweat
Here’s the next bet
Lost my bike.

Decelerated
I’ve been playing cards all night
I’ll never get it right
Just one more hand and I’ll be free
That’s what I keep telling myself anyway

Accelerated
The last time that I saw you
Your hair was up in curls
Never saw you lookin’ quite so nice
Let’s go for coffee
What’s new in your world?

Decelerated
The last time that I saw you
Your hair was up in curls
Never saw you lookin’ quite so nice
Remember back when we were just friends?
We’d share homework and talk on and on
Let’s go for coffee and see if we can start something new.

Accelerated
Caught you lookin’
Dead to rights
Something cookin’
It’s your eyes
It’s your smile
Stay awhile?

Decelerated
Caught you lookin’
Dead to rights
Something cookin’
What’s that look in your eyes?
What’s the question that you won’t ask?
I’m here for you like a good book end.

Accelerated
Lost your love by playing hard to get
Tried to win and gave away the set
I dropped the ball
I crossed the line
Love to one
Out of time.

Decelerated
Lost your love by playing hard to get
Tried to win and gave away the set
I thought winning was the most important part
I forgot that it was all about your heart

Exersises - Balance and Movement

Here are some efforts based on Pat Pattison's book Songwriting: Essential Guide to Lyric Form and Structure.

When you see "Original" it is Pat Pattison's original to work from.

Unbalancing- taking away or adding

Original
I wonder who you’re seeing in your dreams
What fantasies you follow in your sleep
I’ll watch beside you till the morning light
While you go chasing shadows through the night

My Turn
I wonder who you’re seeing in your dreams
I’ll watch beside you till the morning light
While you go chasing shadows through the night

I wonder who you’re seeing in your dreams
What fantasies you follow in your sleep
I’ll watch beside you till the morning light
Watching your back; keeping you safe
While you go chasing shadows through the night

Movement – adding a line to vs 2 to move forward (possibly to chorus)

Original
Some girls have the restless touch
Way they hold you lets you know
They’ll get you burning for a while
Start you up and let you go

My Turn
Some girls have the leaving touch
The shiver of pleasure is short
They’ll hold you once and move along
It’s hard to keep ‘em satisfied
Morning comes and soon they’re gone