snow silence

turned off the music
east of Cleveland
the quiet
invades

no early
Christmas songs
just the lights
and the snow silence

johnny cash

radio static
rare dark spot
up in these hills

one cd
tucked up in the visor
johnny cash
earnest
authentic
bringer
of smiles n'tears

truck poem 1

new music
a new song
singing
each sweet verse

travel guitar sits
 a silent passenger

lift my voice
alone
all along
these dark miles

wishing she was here
 near me
on this bench seat

manifold poems

wandered out of the forest
up into a shiny rig
open road
miles and miles of
miles and miles
gospel songs
mixed up good
with outlaw country

fuel
for manifold poems

rig prayers

click wheel spins
rolling through
three thousand songs

bass rolls out
over the rush hour cars
stuck
  just music
       and time
for traffic jam prayers

new rig

still rising monk early
stumbling for coffee
up into the warming rig
short city hauls
replace
long temple halls


Brother Ollie ~ Trucker Poet

swishy dress

dressed for a party
 long formal dress
fetching
for a big Montreal ball

"dolled-up" she called it

glorious night
lights, dancing, music
cute army boys

back home
to the north
on the 7:30 train
same swishy dress

memories
vague and beautiful





Big hiatus for the Tired Monk, but a few poems are brewing.  This from a little fractured tail my Grandmother told me about a night out in Montreal in the forties.  Her suitcase got left behind, so she partied all night, and wore the same fancy dress home in the morning...scandalous. 

kitchen concert

last hot dish
toweled dry
stacked neat
a strong cup brewed

novice brings
Brother Ollie his guitar
tunes it up good
strums soft
slow
feeling it out

songs come
 Neil, Gord, Bruce
build up big
power chords
gutsy blue rhythms

solid kitchen concert

power

dark dreams

the last knife finally drops
no longer pinning shoulder blade robes
clanks to the ground
     done
an era ends

then one new keen blade flashes
stabs to the face

 monk jumps up
bedding flies
               3:37

brews tea
waits by the window
for dawn

one poet

his robes
gone
shaved head
grown in
sacred vows
forgotten

paths
don't cross
songs
left unsung
jokes
undelivered

in community
no more
yet connected
by poems

lingering

the monk waits
leaves the key turned
to that one power click
just enough to keep
the radio running

parking lot lingers
'til the last strains
of a beautiful song

gather

drawer tossed notebooks
beat up dog-eared n'good

binders jammed with poems
coffee ringed beauties

rumpled ragged songs
guitar case gems

loose and worn
my fallen, folded words

 - she says    gather
          gather them all
and find
   the narrative thread

ax

hammering thunder cracks echo
out back of the temple
ax explodes into wood
            it is good you know
            timber splits nice in this cold

the tired monk swings
   and swings again
logs n'planks smashed to motes

on forest monks

bike path is choked
push on
climbing over windrow trees

looking for signs, clues
some remnant of the old forest monks
     friends

a few planks from a broken bridge
   tea pot full of muddy rain water weeds
a roofless shack, and a fallen chair

they've moved on
good as lost
beyond this forest deep

summer poem in winter

minivan roads erode
cut through the trees
swampy and stunted
  as they were
 now
town home rows
float on marshy soil
red wing blackbirds
circle
move on

snow plow prayers

blade crunches curb
snow plow rumbles past
shakes a tired monk awake
       rises from sleeping mat
prays

snow on the path

a gust
hood slips free
tousled toque slides
    stops
on the newly shaven brink

monk pushes
a few more scoops
  clears the path
straightens his precarious hat