Monday 30 November 2015

Flyover



Levon…Black Dog
Rhiannon…God Bless The Grass
The classic rock
Drifts by as the counties pass

At altitude
No song stays in range for long
They slide away
Just when the signal gets strong

The hopes and dreams and baseball teams
Of these small towns aren’t all they seem

Ohio below
Checkerboard farms laid out neat
Prom Queens, Corn Kings
Seen from thirty thousand feet

Seger…Eagles
The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Songs forgotten
Now remembered as you land

The hopes and dreams and baseball teams
Of these small towns aren’t all they seem


Sunday 29 November 2015

Climbing Mount Popo In Boat Shoes




Three chavos leave Cuernavaca
Into the mountains, into the past,
Packed into a battered Renault Twelve
Losing the century fast

A land where no Spanish is spoken
Where the Old Ways still hold true
They passed a church draped in corn dolls
With doors no one ever went through

Climbing Mount Popo in boat shoes
It seemed like the thing to do
Climbing Mount Popo in boat shoes
They didn’t know what they’d go through

The ruts are deeper the closer you get
The mountain is candied with snow
They walked on the path to guide Simon
As he piloted the Renault

When they reached the Paso de Cortes
Where the stout man viewed the might
Of the empire he came to conquer
They camped and spent the night

Stout Cortes took a flyer
And burned his ships on the strand
Set off inland with his horses and men
To conquer a whole new land

He had 13 horses and 500 men
A creole mistress, a cannon or two
With this he captured the world’s greatest city
And we were Conquistadores too

The mountain loomed over us smoking
As we started our march to the plain
The women and children driven before us
And men just waiting to be slain

Moctezuma tried playing the long game
And he knew right away what it cost
His life was forfeit to Cortes,
His entire Empire was lost

Sleeping eluded the climbers
The altitude was too high
The headaches, and the ancient dreams
Turned them out of their bags before five

The path to the top is a long one
It curls round the cone like a snake
Taking fifteen miles round to achieve but four up
But the climb is too steep to take straight

They got as far as fifteen thousand feet,
Just three thousand feet from the top
Thin air, the cold, their sunburned tongues
Conspired to force them to stop

El Popo is one serious mountain
Fifth highest on the continent
They decided to climb it like children
No gear, no warm clothes, no tent

They were the Conquistadores of old
They’d burned their ships on the beach
To make sure the decision to return to the pass
Was one not easily reached

They knew now why the Conqueror
Had stayed in Mexico to grow old
He’s seen the greatest thing in the world
Heard the greatest story told

Climbing Mount Popo in boat shoes
It seemed like the thing to do
Climbing Mount Popo in boat shoes
They didn’t know what they’d go through






37,000 Feet

You can see every baseball diamond in Iowa
From 37,000 feet
At night they’re all lit up like gems
At the edges of towns so neat

It’s the same in Illinois, Ohio, across the Midwest
Islands of people and dreams
Each town crowns a Corn King
Each crowns a Harvest Queen

The lives they live now and forever
Are deeply engraved in the land
The forests are gone now, the plains will be too
But for now they’re making a stand

On the Fourth of July the night landscape
Explodes with lights far below
And each town becomes a sparkled brooch
Alight with an urgent glow

Joni Mitchell sits in the front cabin
A couple of rows from you
She smiles when you send a note over
And asks you over to talk to her too

You said there were fireworks out the window
She said yes, she had seen them as well
She wrote Amelia after a flight on this route
A story she needed to tell

You asked her about This Flight Tonight
Did she like Nazareth’s cover?
You talked of fly-fishing in Wyoming,
Your heads close together like lovers

The lights of Toronto in the distance
In the dark, descending over the lake
Are both hopeful and depressing
You’re home, but it’s the same place

Ramp, arrivals, a smoke and a cab
And you’re back in your life once again
The hopes and the dreams and the baseball teams
Of the Midwest are remembered in vain

You can see every baseball diamond in Iowa
From 37,000 feet
At night they’re all lit up like gems

At the edges of towns so neat

Friday 27 November 2015

Sailing

The boat is a live thing, she leaps to the wind.
You pull in the mainsheet, and she pulls back
Slip the mooring, feel her heel
Head out through the basin on the starboard tack

There’s good days and there’s bad days
And there’s wind and chop and squalls
But a day on the water's better than a day on land
Any day at all

Sailing, sailing
My troubles disappear
Sailing opens the eyes of my heart
And helps my soul to hear

I’ve been close hauled on the starboard tack
Black wind sign on the crawl
Knowing we have to get sail in
Before we’re hit by the squall

Crossed the lake, 30 miles straight
Rain and wind, with a lingering fog
Made our landfall by sunset
Just in time to write up the log

Sailing, sailing
My troubles disappear
Sailing opens the eyes of my heart
And helps my soul to hear

The boat is a live thing, she leaps to the wind.
You pull in the mainsheet, and she pulls back
Slip the mooring, feel her heel
Head out through the basin on the starboard tack



Bucket List


Walking through ancient timber
Roaring silence uplifts your soul
Finding trees as big as countries
The size of a circus tent at the bole

Biting the wind in a Rogallo sail,
Lifting, then gliding, then holding your breath
Floating in deafening silence
The ground slips by underneath

You've been filling up your bucket list
Making sure at your demise
There's nothing but good memories
To flash before your eyes

Hiking out on the gunwale
Wind sign on the crawl
Knowing you have to get sail in
Before you’re hit by the squall

Flying over the divide in a chopper
Snowfields bright in the sun
Bach playing on the headphones
Working on snowshoes is fun

You’ve seen the Sunlight Basin in sunlight
The Rockies in the snow
The deep blue of a hole in the Caribbean
Where the Parrotfish make a show

You haven’t got a lot to do
Your bucket list is almost done
You'd like to fly front on an A 380
With a bedroom and a shower to London

You've been filling up your bucket list
Making sure at your demise
There's nothing but good memories
To flash before your eyes