No More


I’ll drop by, take your hand
Like a breeze that is fanned
Whisk you out, about we go
Don’t worry, we’ll start off slow
It’s okay for the world to see
Let’s just be, you and me
Crusin’ with the wind blowin’
Singin’ along to the radio playin’
Mumblin’ when we can’t remember lyrics
Laughin’ soothes the hearts wanting spirits
Take my hand, as we walk on by
Under clouds that float in the sky
Remember the time when you tried
To hold another, as they cried
Compassion is born from a heart of gold
It lives, it wants to breathe with courage bold
March alongside, young and old
Demanding what Forefathers told
Liberty is in the pursuit of happiness
To love, laugh, live in a world of peacefulness
Reach another, take their hand
Believe in the right to stand
Side by side, chant and shout
No more, no more killings found

Ax

Not Enough Coins In My Pocket


Reacquainted with the night, as easy as breathing
Shallow breaths that scorch, too much is this pain of living
Down by the river, the ferryman waits
Coins in my pocket I offered him, that he would take
Not enough gold to lower the plank, his silent stare looks past
Wading by the side, I’m knee deep in muddy flats
Begging for a ride to the other side, a one way ticket to never coming back
Still the ferryman gives no never mind as one by one the boat stacks
With every race that comes from this earthly swill
The sky begins to light as dawn begins to fill
The boat rocks, beached by the weight of life to die
My eyes cry the tears of want, that I too would vie
To climb aboard and stow away, hide below to decay
The ferryman waves his hand, points to the bow, I pray
Could he be, calling me, to grab hold and journey out to sea
No, the jokes on me
He wants a push, for me to toil the weight of agony and misery
That sweet sweet song, I sing along, alone to memory
Left behind watching the fog lift, I can hear their cries
The countless days in wait until darkness wakes my eyes
When I am reacquainted with the night once more
Coins in my pocket and songs of death from my core

Ax

A Grandfathers Heart


He can’t wait to see your nose
He can’t wait to count your toes…

Butterfly kisses waiting for you
The same given to another
Her mother
A fathers rose

A smell so new
Only heaven can brew
Sweet angels breath blew
Open your eyes, are they brown or blue?

Sleep in his arms
Feel the beat of his heart
Let it sync with hers
A connection would start

She’s still just a bump…
He can’t wait to feel your fingers round his thumb

Ax

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dedicated to Simone. A colleague of mine who will be a grandfather soon for the first time. He tells me about their journey and how excited he is. I don’t have family but in a way. I do. (avec amour Simone à toi et à la famille

Freedom, No Such Thing


tell me of your hatred singing words
that saddens hope with a heart filled with bile
pumping through veins held at will
driving you mad
insane.

freedom
a word overly used
by greedy politicians
there is no such thing
in a world dominated by their
corporations.

tell me of your hatred in a land of free
when we are all bound by an invisible chain
that rattles in our heads and hangs around our heels
tripping, fumbling
trying to make ends meat.

freedom
a word overly used
by greedy politicians
there is no such thing
in a world dominated by their
corporations.

tell me of your hatred when a church discriminates
using religion at casting stones telling us how to think
preaching they are right and others are wrong
all in His name but isn’t He the same
in all the universe?

freedom
a word overly used
by greedy politicians
there is no such thing
in a world dominated by their
corporations.

tell me of your hatred when equality is based on need
when and how, who and why
to fill the gaps at keeping quiet
those who stand to defend the rights
of every man, woman and child.

freedom
a word overly used
by greedy politicians
there is no such thing
in a world dominated by their
corporations.

Ax

Watch Them Fade Away

Memories created by action
every one captured like notes in a scrap book
We catalogue photos on a silver screen
that shuffles like cards on a rolodex
Sketching scenery out in the woods
paper becomes alive when art blooms
The sound when heard of a guitar strumming
to the howl of a lonesome wolf crying
Rabbits on the ground, blackbirds above
spring breeds, when mating season comes
Memories kept in a bottle
loses their lustre and throttle
Watch them fade away
trapped without air, dare I say

Ax

They Call Him Whiskey Jack


Bourbon and Rye neat,
some prefer it on ice and sweet
The burn as it coats,
running smooth down the throat
Leaving a taste of oak,
on the tongue spirits float
A buzz that spins the head round,
but not for this hare who is found
Rolling along in an open field,
where stalks of green yield
Harvest of plenty grown free,
row upon row as far as his eyes see
Handled with care,
fermenting the air
Filling the mind with a ride,
through galaxies far and wide
Grab hold of his tail,
each turn is a new tale
He’ll whisk you away,
dare you to play
Feel every slide,
euphoric, sublime
They call him Whiskey Jack,
a stoner wabbit, what’s up d’ak

Ax