It was midnight in Manhattan and the cats were out
they donned themselves with their scarves, and their masks
the caper was set to hit each flat
cause boy were they hungry for some tasty rats
To be in The Feral Cat Club was as cool as it got
See -they'd developed a language that kept them on top
Hell, they ran that town like a bunch of Capone's
but they ran in packs instead of alone
There was Fatty, n' Johnny, and Frankie n' Joe
paired up with Sally n' Bonnie, and Talkie n' Moe
between Broadway, and 42nd they made their move
Meow, meow, meeeeeeeeeeeow,  said Fatty to Moe
(this was the call they needed to duck n' lay low)
It meant The Animal Cat wagon was passing by slow
Meow, mow, said Frankie to all
which told everyone he saw a major haul
Sally whispered she was tired of rats n' could they please try
a wonderful place they had all just passed by
it was the new restaurant with meatballs out back
(cause some lame waiter had thrown out a sack)
So they all had a vote, and the meatballs won
placing white napkins beneath furry whiskers for fun
They're all so glad that they've upgraded their style
Now when you see them they can do nothing but smile!

I have a one heart song
and, it’s dancing in my head
yes, it feels like a warm Spring breeze
and, it’s just around the bend
No, need to wait
let’s write our song
right now instead
we can add some Stars
and, we’ll add our own guitars
we can mix it up a bit
and,
add a string Quartet —

I think this world could use a song
about all that’s good not wrong
they’ll be cheering in the streets
and, dancing to our beat

The sun will begin to shine again
the wars will finally stop
n', end —

I have a song for you
about Red, White, and Blue
it’s about Uniting us
as one
including everyone
the old, the middle—
and, the young

And, they’ll be cheering in the streets
while they’re dancing to our beat

It’s a one heart song
Yes, where everyone gets along.

I can’t think of what’s been lost or, gained
all I know is things are not the same
I’m just standing in rain looking back on us again
wondering, wondering
when it all began to take a fall
was it that rainy night when I had called
and, it wasn’t the sound of you at all
I always thought we could beat the odds
it was gonna be you n’ me against them all
now our forever dream has ended
with just crazy lawyers n’ banks contending
sometimes I don’t even think it’s real
cause I’m so numb that I can’t feel

and, I can’t think of what’s been lost or, gained —
all I know is things are not the same —
yeah, baby not the same
there is no love that has remained
just shattered hearts in shattered glass
of all the dreams that we once had

I’m just standing in the rain looking back on us again
I guess that’s where I may have got it wrong
I guess it’s time for me to move along
don’t know where I’ll be going but I’ve got the dog
and, I’m a blowing
gonna stop this wondering now
this change was destiny somehow.

I sit on the step
And draw
The cold around me
Like a blanket,
Savouring the numbness
And the heat
That begins within.
Swallowed by the night
Drunk on wine
And stars.
Hot tears on cold cheeks.
Seasoning for
Chapped lips
Stinging
Bringing fresh tears.
I take refuge
In the silence,
Under the gaze of
Sympathetic eyes.
My friends.
My constant companions.
Drunk on wine
And stars.

Diaspora
From the Greek

When I heard the word I felt it
And I looked it up
In my old red dictionary

I could have used the Internet,
I suppose

But I like to run my forefinger down pages
Of words

I read the definition
And I felt it
Oh

Oh
We are diaspora.

Am I using it correctly?

We are a diaspora.

Diaspora
From the Greek

From the green valley of Ottawa
From Scotland
From Ireland on wooden boats

From the French village thirteen children
From the mines in the North
From Poland and from Germany

From the churches and
From the Blueberry patches
From the Island Manitoulin

From the dark lake Kagawong
From Kinburn and Arnprior
From Markstay and from Sudbury

From Waterloo
From Kitchener, Michener
From the Suburbs

Oh

From the Suburbs
From the red bricks, red currants
And geraniums
From green island cabins

From the desert

Oh

From the desert
From the potholes and pipes
From the salty wind
Cracked Caspian Sea
From the middle of the east of nowhere.

From the mountains

Oh

From the mountains
From the crystal water fountains
From the tram bells
On the cobblestone streets
From the torrents of the Rhein

From the white cross

Oh

From the white cross
On the green hill
From the river Laurence
From the French and from the English
Plains of Abraham

We are diaspora
We are a diaspora

Diaspora
From the Greek

How did it end up here on my tongue?

It is diaspora.
It is a diaspora
Diaspora is a diaspora

And I wonder if it misses its other pieces
The way that I miss mine

Ours

There is no
Roping us back together now

There is no
Home to go back to

There is no
Point of meeting
Of reunion

No
White steeple in our old town

No
Yellow slide in our backyard

No
Old folks on an old farm

No
Walled house on a hill

No
Luzernerring 93

No
Familiar riverwater

There is no
Ancient Greek anymore
Diaspora

Only fragments of fragments
Of roots of stems of words
In different dialects

There is no
Place for you to belong,
Diaspora

You’ve been sliced to pieces
And scattered
Into the wind

But
When people ask you
Where you are from

You say simply
From the Greek

Oh

From the Greek

And
When people ask me
Where I am from

I say simply
From the diaspora.