Rising Sparks (Poem)

Port of Chief Mountain
My first time in Montana we went down through Coutts
I was a ten year old Albertan wearing
Synthetic cowboy boots
“All of you Canadian?” the border guard said
Three of us were British
But he waved us on ahead

But now Port of Chief Mountain’s tight as a drum
Line-ups and passports
And “Where’d you say you’re coming from?”
Everything is changing and I’m getting old
But the mountain’s still majestic
Morning air’s almost as cold

We flew out to San Francisco
On a cold November dawn
I had poppy in my coat lapel –
A diamond in my carry-on

Our cabbie talked of hanging chads
And Bush and Gore
I didn’t care – I was proposing
To the woman that I still adore

But now Port of Chief Mountain’s tight as a drum
Line-ups and passports
And “Where’d you say you’re coming from?”
Everything is changing and I’m getting old
But the mountain’s still majestic
Morning air’s almost as cold

We went down to New Orleans
The following June
The guard asked “Reason for your visit?”
And we both shouted out “Honeymoon!”
Seven and the morning and a hundred and four
Our tour guide said :
“Someday New Orleans won’t be on dry land no more.”

But now Port of Chief Mountain’s tight as a drum
Line-ups and passports
And “Where’d you say you’re coming from?”
Everything is changing and I’m getting old
But the mountain’s still majestic
Morning air’s almost as cold

Port of Chief Mountain
Two kids in the back
The traffic was lined up
So we gave ‘em something for a snack
The older told the younger
“Better watch what you say.”
He’ll be ten years old at Christmas
Thinks that things have always been this way
This way, this way

Port of Chief Mountain’s tight as a drum
Line-ups and passports
And “Where’d you say you’re coming from?”
Everything is changing and I’m getting old
But the mountain’s still majestic
Morning air’s almost as cold

I'm sure you are teaching them (and us) well.

This is the Way (Our Story Unfolds)


I get into bed

And I turn out the light

I kiss you on the cheek

But you don’t say goodnight:

You have things on your mind

Like should I leave him behind?

We both know something is wrong

But we don’t say a word



So this is the way

Our story unfolds:

Staring up at the dark

Feeling lost and old.

Honey, is this the way

That our story unfolds?



You come home at night

And smile like everything’s fine.

You tell me ‘bout your day

And you ask about mine,

But I have nothing to say

Except I want you to stay.

Please tell me this ain’t the way

That our story unfolds



So is this the way

Our story unfolds?

Letting go of a love

That you want to hold:

This just can’t be the way

That our story unfolds



Dance me back in time to how we used to be

When you were still you, and I

Was still me

Was still me


So this is the way

Our story unfolds:

Staring up at the dark

Feeling lost and old.

Honey, is this the way

That our story unfolds?

Feels Like Rain

Daddy, you’re gone, but I know you hear me
You can see my tears, and you can feel my pain
Seven long years, but you’re always near me
But Daddy, it’s dark and it feels like rain

Daddy, it’s dark down deep inside me
Like a car full of coal on a midnight train
Daddy, I want someone to hide me
‘Cause Daddy, it’s dark and it feels like rain

Got two little boys, and one has your face, Dad,
Holding my hands, walking down the lane.
We go past the old house – how I loved that place, Dad –
Oh Daddy, it’s dark and it feels like rain.

Daddy, it's dark down ddeep inside me
Like a car full of coal on a midnight train
Daddy, I want someone to hide me
Oh Daddy, it's dark and it feels like rain

I know that you loved me
I know you love me
I know we’ll meet someday again
I know that you’re always right there above me
But Daddy, it’s dark and it feels like rain

I really like this one.

thanks!

Love your work!

Here is something I found on the www...For your enjoyment

APRIL

Autumn trees shed living done,
again the north winds come -
wet the suns leaving, the winter’s won
somewhere above the broken bark
a song to halve this dark with day
A little light through the churning grey
this tiny bird home away.

- Maya Grant

Poetry is music...real music.

Last Edited by Lips Of Lucifer on 11/23/2012 02:37 PM

One more...

Indigo

Where does the heart lie?
You child with the indigo eyes
Left alone under the hollow boom
The black stars and sallow moon
A guiding hand the leaden spirits fly
Over emerald fields the blooms limp
From grey to gay wisps
your laugh – misunderstood.

love this one...

Later.

He needs the light. He takes it, with but a promise. Who knows if this is good or bad. A lot risk it, most out of ignorance.