Any other day
would have been fine

I would have
pulled out
the coffee ***

I  would have
served up
the sweets

and dusted off
the wing back chair

I would have
pulled out the ******
and told tales tall

Any other day
I would have
put the world
on hold,
turned off
the ringer

And given you
my undying
attention
but not today

Better to be a live dog
than a dead lion

Better to be a rollin' log
than a lumberjack cryin'

Better to be a drunkin' fool
than a junkies spoon

Better to be a happy camper
than a hurtin' unit

Better to be a fresh pamper
than full of ****

I'm not here
to testify

I'm not here
to mystify

I'm not here
to justify

I didn't come here
to classify

I didn't come here
for no donkey ride

I feel out-side
I feel outside

I only came her
because my dog has died

If you are going to ride my ***
you could at least pull my hair.

She was pushing 55 when the bumper sticker
caught my eye. She was at the controls of a disturbed
yellow Datson with Nova Scotia plates when the bumper sticker found my sight.

A combination of rust and bright yellow
sliced down the top, one wide strip of black,
heal to toe with tinted windows to boot.

1970,s Northern Canada, now a defunct country, hundreds of kids
thumbin' from east to west and from west to east.

I shared an Impala with two young ladies from Ontario
and the driver was as friendly as hell, as well as being deaf.

The Datson's bumper sticker now a distant memory...

Today there are not many hitch-hickers, there are some being unemployed, a few ex-cons and some dyed-in-the-wool Hobo's... homeward bound.
Plus those harboring severe drug and alcohol problems. You could say it is no longer safe.

My traveling days are over
I left them 30  years ago in the dust.

I really thought I had seen the end of those days
30 years in my past. Today when I leave New Scotland, it's not long before I return home. I always miss the ocean.

The Atlantic is my choice, The Pacific smells like dank wood, what, with all those firs and the logging industry.
Give me a campfire on a sandy eastern beach.

I'll wash sea-salt off my skin afore I jump into the sheets at days end. My skin being golden brown from the affects from a close enough star.

Any other day
would have been fine

I would have pulled
out the coffee ***
and greeted you
with open arms

I would have
served up the sweets
and dusted off
the wingback chair

I would have
pulled out the ******
and told tall tales

Any other day
I would have
put the world on hold,

turned off the ringer
and given you
my undying attention

Any other day
but not today

To my friends I say I'll bet you that I live longer than you
The problem is just how it is that I'm to collect my winnings

At my Open Casket funeral, it's in plain sight
They call it Open Casket because it's your remains to be seen

I've never had no problem giving a person his or her due
I give the respect they deserve, my respect I may just muster it up
But for most they only receive the utmost in common regard

I'm here to love this life though sometimes it's a pain in the ***
I hate when phony people and the wealthy 'ill eat' try to force
Their will on people or just plain buy them out

What is the plan? Are we too stupid to come up with one
Are we so self-absorbed to do more than just talk about some scheme, some ill conceived plan that makes sense to maybe a two year old

I don't ask for much, just don't lie to me, much less than try to force feed me a lot of *******. You know people are full of it when in conversation they ask you more than just one time 'How you doing'

They're fishing for some juicy gossip to spread just like a venereal
disease, a ****** cold sore that stays with you for life

Yes, yes, to be sure, evil does exist and it down right kills
Tell me please, why isn't it the cream that rises to the top
How come it's the dross, the slop that makes the piggy's come

I'd rather crawl my way towards the top. Filling this world with creation. I don't want to spend all my time ******* on the Government's **** just to feed and house myself
The Poor's they call us, how arrogant, how disgusting

Life may be at times strange but I'd have it no-other-way
And with that, all the best, I bid you have a good-day

An old tale of treasure spun through centuries
Of the ***** hid by Captain  Kid
With his slew of Pirates and captured slaves for labour

Story's of men's loss of lives through suffocation or broken bones
Pits dug where foreign objects marveled and feared Kid's crew
Bone chilling mystery so real, men wrote, and rumours flowed

The first where lucky and theirs lives where spared
Egg on face they travelled home empty-handed, head hug low
Oak Island, engineering marvel, apparent mind-**** to your head

Try it, you'll like it

Said the man in front
of the liquor store

Chain-smoking
filter-less camel cigarettes

Grinning through
nicotine stained teeth

Captured beneath
the low lying cloud

Rocking my world,

Let there be no
flags in the world unfurled

Summer sunshine
leaving behind

A low-lit world
giving us a sign

The polyester I wore in the seventies was itchy,
the equivalent of one of those hair shirts the religious
fanatics wear after rubbing it in a bunch of sharply pointed twigs.

The seventies were good times  and carried a bright future.
Introduced by hippies to a **** that opened my senses.
Some trouble began when at sixteen, while taking a trip with a friend, on some powerful LSD we began to get very high and the hallucinations started to freak my friend into a major bad trip.

There was nothing I could do and I was scared too. That night we stayed in a tent  and used candles for light, all the shadows  and the candle wax  melting looked like giant bugs crawling, while the flickering on the sides of the  darkened tent  felt so sinister.

Things were never the same for my friend, I mean he lost a part of his mind. He could still function but was never the same.

I on the other hand lived hard and fast for years. I did most of the drugs that I came across never giving it much thought. Just moving forward, integrating experience. Not thinking of death but not of life either.

Along side the old railroad track
A harsh breeze keep an eagle suspended
While the wind whistles
Through the massive power lines
The Fundy water red with clay
Although I've never been
I'm sure it's comparable to
The great Muddy Mississippi
Always seems to be an osprey in the air
and gulls and geese at low tide
Feeding to the delight of hikers
Come see us someday where there is
No politics in play
Just fresh air and clean visuals
Refreshing to say the least
Like a mushroom high