Sky Above and Earth Below

The Fox and the Hound

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 05:52:00 +0000

You stood at the boardroom table
We gathered round
You sketched out some far-fetched fable
A tall tale of a fox and a hound

You said that the hound was eager
You said that the fox was sly
But the fox’s resources were meager
The hound was gonna sniff him out bye and bye

The sea of our empty faces
The ticking of ten thousand clocks
The sound of the hound being put through his paces
The hot breath of the famished fox

The trail of the unseen airplane
The white streak in a cloudless sky
The fox holed up inside his lair again
The dull glare in the hound dog’s eye

Your fist falls like a heavy hammer
The fur flies and the building rocks
Hear the whisper, hear the stammer
Who’s the h-hound, who’s the f-fox?

You declared that the game was over
You said that the good guys won
But that sneaky fox was seen rolling in the clover
And now there’s a hungry hound on the run…

Oww, owww, awoooo!

Owwoooooooo……

Ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff…….

I was going over some of my Remembrance Day material on November 11, 09, and realized I hadn't played this song in years.

Too bad. It doesn't fit my style anywhere, but I always thought it was a nicely veiled peace of writing, vaguely referring to the corporate doublespeak that surrounded Afghanistan and Iraq in 2002.

I Saw the Light

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 01:39:00 +0000

I heard the warm wind whisper in the wood
I heard the music float across the field
I saw the sunshine smiling in the sky
I saw the light in your eyes

Sunlight on the trees
Flowers in the meadow
Swaying to the breeze

I saw the mountains cradling the moon
I heard the treetops tickling the sky
I felt a river roll across the land
I felt your hand in my hand

Moonlight on the sill
Owls in the darkness
Calling from the hills

I heard the warm wind whisper in the wood
I heard the music float across the field
I saw the sunshine smiling in the sky
I saw the light
I saw the light
I saw the light in your eyes

I had managed to get a date with a Romanian girl and was all a-flutter in anticipation.

I looked up Romania on the World Book Encyclopedia CD-ROM and found beautiful pastoral images that flowed straight into these lyrics.

The date was a disaster but I've always been fond of the song.

Empty Sound

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 21:00:00 +0000

The summer hung like a fragrance
On the sweet air all around
Swore to God I would die
Before I left this town
Like the vandals, and the vagrants
And the Indian boy who drowned
Last thing you're gonna hear from me
Is bound
To be just another...

Huckleberry Island, you're still always on my mind
Can't believe I ever left this place behind
I hid my heart in the Hole in the Wall
And I still hear it pound
A never ending echo of that empty sound

Sun sank like an anchor
Rope slipped through my hand
God knows if I should drown
Or try to make a stand
If you see my girl please thank her
She was only trying to bring me around
God knows how I ever got so unwound
Tried to walk on water over...

(chorus)

Behind the big red boat shed
I took a notion I should wake the dead
I couldn't think, I took another drink
I fell asleep behind the hockey rink
Woke up to my bottle clinkin'
Empty...

Bike wheels on the gravel
Moonlight on the bay
I swore there was nothing that could tear me away
I took off to travel
Now I never touch the ground
Pretty soon I'll be an old loon
Flapping around
And I'll sing another...

(chorus)

I wrote this one when I started putting together songs for a live recording in Parry Sound, Ontario - my hometown. The predominant geographic feature of my childhood was the Sound itself, also known as The Big Sound, and Huckleberry Island was what I saw out the window every morning.

This jumble of images comes mostly from the last summer I spent in Parry Sound at the age of 17. Every one is layered with a dozen associations for me, many of them deeply emotional.

It's about 5 years old now and I'm just starting to grow into it.

The North is a Spirit

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 01:59:00 +0000

You know the North is a spirit
You're gonna know it when you hear it
In the cry of the loon
Beneath the waning moon...
You better try to understand it
And when you finally begin to
You'll see the North is a spirit
And the spirit is in you.

Waiting for Rosalie

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 20:37:00 +0000

I'd like to get out and run
Just like two kids in the sun
I'd like to hide in the woods
Fresh air would do me some good
I'd like to walk in the sand at the shore
And dance beneath the stars and the moon
I sure hope that Rosalie comes back soon
I sure hope that Rosalie comes back soon

I got up early like yesterday
Had my breakfast the same old way
Laid my cards out for solitaire
Sat alone in my same old chair
The kitchen clock sang that same old tick-tock
Til it finally gave up around noon
I sure hope that Rosalie comes back soon
I sure hope that Rosalie comes back soon

How much time have I spent in my life
Waiting for the friend of the day
Dreaming of games we might play
Hoping that maybe she'd stay...

I do alright on my own
I'm used to being alone
I'll be alone in the end
Meantime I'd sure like a friend
Someone to walk in the sand at the shore
And dance beneath the stars and the moon
I sure hope that Rosalie comes back soon
I sure hope that Rosalie comes back soon
I sure hope that Rosalie comes back soon
I sure hope that Rosalie comes back...

I was just looking through my catalogue for moon songs... turns out I haven't mentioned the moon much. As Leonard Cohen said, "I'm a poor lover of the moon..." But this one's got some good moon love in it.

I wrote it for my daughter, who was five at the time. We were staying in a cottage along the shore near Pictou, Nova Scotia, incidentally the place I'd written my very first song, back in 1988.

I think I'd written Sweet Babyberry Bush the day before and and she had suddenly noticed that I hadn't written any songs for her. I had to rectify that pretty fast.

She'd been playing cards waiting for the kid next door to come over to play.

I made it sad and lonesome.

Inhuman Race

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Sun, 10 May 2009 13:58:00 +0000

Chased by my ghost in a race against time
He makes the most of each hill that I climb
Scrambling boulders with fire in my chest
Look over my shoulder there's no time to rest
If ever I stumble, if ever I fall
My slim lead would crumble in no time at all
I'm lost if I lag with my ghost on the chase
When my feet start flagging - he picks up the pace

Every day my marathon
Against my ghost goes on and on
Tearing up that lonesome track
The breath of death upon my back
The breath of death upon my back

If I were an angel with heavenly wings
I would soar high above all these damned earthly things
Fly through the clouds full of glory and grace
Crying out loud with sweet joy on my face
But I am a man, I'm bound to the earth
Hounded by death since the day of my birth
Pounding the path in a fight for first place
Against my own ghost in an inhuman race

Every day my marathon
Against my ghost goes on and on
Tearing up that lonesome track
The breath of death upon my back
The breath of death upon my back

The Old Down East

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 20:35:00 +0000

In the time I spent in the Old Down East
I learned a lesson or two at least
It's always a famine, never a feast
But I made my peace at last
At least, I guess I made my peace
With my past...

I mean at least I managed to chain the beast
At least some of his wicked ways have ceased
Or at least they haven't been much increased
Except at night, when he gets unleashed

And he roams alone through my cluttered mind
Angry for having been kept confined
And I hate the mess that he leaves behind
But at least he does no harm
I mean, at least he does no harm
With his crippled arm....

But with his other arm, and his teeth and tail
His mighty legs, and his piercing wail
His fiery breath that stinks of ale
And his eyes like the holes in the door of a jail

He sometimes does get carried away
But I don't mind, he's just having his say
And I'm sure it will all turn out okay
It is my past, after all
And I'm sure that any damage done
Is small...

Except for the part he destroyed with a knife
About dealing with traumas and troubles and strife
And how to relate to my kid and my wife
And moreover, how to get on with my life

I must admit, that is one thing I've missed
But it's gone like a laundered old laundry list
And what's gone is forgotten, on that I insist
In memory's magical mist...

It's forgotten, except,
When my poor old past gets pissed.

I wrote this song a long time ago, when I first figured out that there is more darkness in the heart than in the night.

The Sweet Bayberry Bush

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 19:56:00 +0000

The north wind that did blow last night
And cause the waves to crash
As the sun was setting on the sea of blue
Is the same wind that did waft the scent
Of the sweet bayberry bush
To make me think so tenderly of you

Is this all that's left of me
A lone man staring out to sea?
Is this all you'll ever be
The wind that sails my heart?

The sunlight like your golden hair
Through clouds of grey did fall
The salt swell like your silver tears did roll
And the seabirds' cries upon the wind
Like lovely laughter's call
Did echo in the darkness in my soul

The bright stars that so soon appear
When stormy clouds have gone
They're all that's left to guide me dear
Yet still I must sail on...

But if ever I should gaze upon
Your darling cheeks a-flush
If ever you should chance to smile at me
Or if I should smell your perfume
Like the sweet bayberry bush
I never again would go back out to sea

Is this all that's left of me
A lone man staring out to sea?
Is this all you'll ever be
The wind that sails my heart?

(Repeat first verse)

The bayberry bushes along the Northumberland Shore in Pictou County, Nova Scotia inspired this sailor's song. The word "sweet" sure shows up in my lyrics a lot. I wonder why that is?

Sweet Molly's Eyes

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 22:56:00 +0000

I swear by the burning so deep in my heart
This world would stop turning
If we two should part
The moon would not wane,
The sun would not rise
Til I gazed once again
Into Sweet Molly's Eyes

chorus:

Sweet Molly's Eyes
Sweet Molly's Eyes
So bold and so brilliant
So wild and so wise
Clear as the mountain air
Blue as the skies
I live by the light of
My Sweet Molly's Eyes

The sea's silent waters
Are hardly as deep
As the silence between us
Each night as we sleep
I welcome the dawning
When all darkness flies
And I gaze once again
Into Sweet Molly's Eyes

(chorus)

In the spring of the year
When there's life in the land
I hold my Sweet Molly
In my two strong hands
But as winter approaches
And everything dies
It is I who am held
In my Sweet Molly's Eyes

(chorus)

This song was meant as lighthearted Irish ballad dedicated to the lady of my life, whose eyes really are inspiring.

But in the writing it got both more intimate and more extravagant than I'm comfortable with in a performance context.

I very, very rarely play it.

But this year it's a Valentine.

The Flicker and the Flame

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Sat, 03 Jan 2009 21:42:00 +0000

Do you still remember that old Chevrolet
The endless rolling road on that Victoria Day
The top was down the wind was blowing every which way
It only fanned the flicker and the flame

The times you spent a-strolling down the beach hand in hand
The sweet adventures of a loving lifetime you planned
Proud pioneers of a wondrous New-land
Keepers of the flicker and the flame

Then at last the big day came
Lovers joined in heart and name
Things would never be the same
When the flicker found the flame...

Children playing, neighbours saying How do you do?
Garden growing, breezes blowing, look at the view
Laughter on the deck around the old barbeque
The warm glow of the flicker and the flame

Happy times in pleasant parks (ville)
Doorway scratched with children's marks
Laughing loons, lighthearted larks
Looks like l love still gives off sparks!

Now what a wonderful couple you make
Your happy home and the crazy trips that you take
Candles glowing on your anniversary cake
There's still a lot of flicker in the flame!
----------
Do you still remember that old Chevrolet....

One for my Mom and Dad, whose greatest gift to each other and to me has been to keep on rolling together.

The Christmas Cat

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 17:07:00 +0000

The Christmas Cat was only a kitten
Hardly any bigger than a warm wool mitten
Lived on the scraps from the innkeeper's table
Slept in the hayloft over the stable
The sounds of the donkey and the cow and the sheep
Were her favourite lullaby before she fell asleep
She gazed at the stars in the Bethlehem skies
Through the cracks in the roof with two bright eyes

One cold night she awoke from a dream
A ray of starlight touched the wooden beam
In the corner in the hayloft, where she always slept
In that humble little stable where the animals were kept
A new star shone over Bethlehem that night
Bathing the stable in a heavenly light
And the donkey and the cow and the sheep were astir
And there in the manger right below her...

The starlight fell on a baby's face
Full of peace and warmth and grace
As his mother sang a lullaby of love
And his father looked to the sky above
As he saw the star and he caught the eye
Of the Christmas cat in her perch on high
And he gently reached and gathered her
And he brought her down by the babe to purr

And the Christmas cat and the baby slept
As the father prayed and the mother wept
Tears of hope for their baby boy
Angels came to share the joy
And local shepherds to behold
And wise men bearing gifts and gold
And the tiny babe and the Christmas cat
Slept all through the night like that

The Christmas cat awoke in the dawn
As the sunlight rose and the night was gone
She was all alone in the manger hay
And she wasn't really sure how she got that way
Was it all in a dream that she might have had-
The baby boy and the mom and dad?
Wise men, shepherds, star so bright
Over Bethlehem that night?

The Christmas cat was only a kitten
Hardly any bigger than a warm wool mitten
She wasn't much good at a mystery
And she didn't know a thing about history
She only knew what she believed
And she thought about that, and she felt relieved
And she listened to the donkey and the cow and the sheep
And she closed her eyes, and went back to sleep...

I've posted this before and then taken it down because it's not a song. But I recently performed it and someone asked where she might find it on the internet, not realizing I'd written it... and I decided I'd better at least put it where people might find it. When I get my poetry section up I guess it might go there.

Poor Dolly Monovan

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 06:05:00 +0000

Poor Dolly Monovan
Standing in the rain
Waiting for the working men
To pass your way again
They push you and they pull you
And they lead you down the lane
But they leave poor Dolly Monovan
Standing in the rain

Poor Dolly Monovan
You've had better days
You always were a working girl
Who works in different ways
You ease a fellow's burden
When he's carrying a load
But he leaves poor Dolly Monovan
Standing in the road

Poor Dolly Monovan
I pity you your plight
Alone beneath the lamp-post
In the fading evening light
Waiting for someone to roll you
Off into the night
Oh poor Dolly Monovan
I wonder if I might?

I actually wrote this song for my two-wheeled industrial hand truck, affectionately known as Dolly Monovan. I looked out my back window one morning, realized I'd forgotten to wheel the dolly into the shed, and literally said out loud, "Poor Dolly Monovan, standing in the rain!" I walked to work that day humming beneath my umbrella, and by the time I arrived I had this song.

Same Old Song

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 20:01:00 +0000

It's in my head now,
Same old song
I thought it was dead until you came along
If we go to bed now,
I can make it quiet
When all is said and done I still can't deny it

Chorus:

And if you hear the drums come rollin' in like a blast
Canon fired into an empty ocean dark and vast
I told you before I spent five years before the mast
Sailing the song of my broken past
Sailing the song of my broken past

I watch the clouds these days,
I smell the moon
There'll be a storm on the horizon soon
I might even change these ways,
I've done it before
Still in the distance I would hear that roar

(Chorus)

Feel the wind blow
Like a hurricane
I stand at the window and I feel no pain
Glass shatters around me
Echoes in the street
I hear the music and I move to the beat

(Chorus)

St. Michael Told Me So

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 20:00:00 +0000

It's a typical northern night
In a typical northern town
And the tips of the northern lights
Come tiptoeing along the ground
See the face of a ghost in the sky
Saints marching in from the south
Tears rolling down from my eye
And then I find that northern music in my mouth

It's a typical northern scene
We're gathered around the fire
Sniffin' that gasoline until we
Couldn't get much higher
And I feel like I've gone blind
But I hear St. Michael call
He echoes around in my mind and he says
Boy, there's a northern music in us all

Bridge:
Well spirit of that northern sound
Can you help me turn my ways around
I ain't so lost I can't be found
St. Michael told me so
Spirit of this northern land
Can you help me now to make my stand
Can you help me calm my shaking hand
I can, I will, I know
St. Michael told me so
St. Michael told me so

I'm gonna make myself a nest
In the shade of an old blue tarp
Gonna breathe the fire from my chest
Into my beautiful blues harp
I'm gonna drown these demons out
Gonna blow these blues apart
Cuz I can hear St. Michael shout
And he says,
Boy there's a northern music
Boy there's a northern music
Boy there's a northern music...
In your heart

A friend of mine was hosting an event for ArtsCan Circle, and asked me if I'd write something about the harmonica master Mike Stevens and the work he's done bringing music into remote communities in dire straits.

I based the images on stories I'd heard Mike tell and the videos he'd shown of his work on some of the most desperate of northern reserves.

The "saint" motif refers to the fact that a Marine Band harmonica - the first kind I ever played - used to come with a little instructional booklet that explained how to play "When the Saints Go Marching In."

Mike's too modest to think of himself as a saint, but I feel like saints hover over him like the northern lights.

Monday Morning Again

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 14:26:00 +0000

The alarm clock rings and the covers fling
Up and at 'em, got a million things to do
Hustle, bustle, the papers rustle
On the Monday morning train
Good morning Ted, Good morning Fred
Are you still shaking off that sleepy head?
Cuz you ain't even over your Saturday night
Now it's Monday morning again
Monday morning again
Clock on the wall says half past ten
Take a little break -
And then back at it again

Keyboards clack, the machinery hums
Would you rather be out on the street with the bums?
Or flipping over burgers in a fast food joint
Please pay attention to the powerpoint
Your position is clearly marked on this chart
Now don't upset the apple cart
Keep your shoulder to the wheel until you know when:
Monday morning again
Clock on the wall says half past noon
Tick tick tick not a moment too soon

And it goes like that for the whole damned day
Another Monday morning's just a week away
Tuesday comes, it's the same old show
Wednesday Thursday Friday to go
At the end of the day, at the end of the week
Get your pay and that's a ray of hope,
You're at your peak
But it's Friday night, Saturday, Sunday and then
Monday morning again

The alarm clock rings and the covers fling
Up and at 'em, got a million things to do
Hustle, bustle, the papers rustle
On the Monday morning train
Good morning Ted, Good morning Fred
Are you still shaking off that sleepy head?
Cuz you ain't even over your Saturday night
Now it's Monday morning again
Monday morning again
Monday morning again
Monday morning again

We Talk in Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 03:50:00 +0000

Annie only laughs in dreams
When the breeze is in the poplar trees
And the sunlight gleams
On the water out on Georgian Bay
Kids are building castles on a summer's day
And when I see you laugh that way
I know just what it means
But I can't hear the words you say
Even when we talk in dreams

Gerry's in the basement still
Scraping the old paint off the windowsill
Stopping for a glass of beer
Telling the old stories
And the meaning is so clear
And I can see your shadow fall
Across those wooden beams
But I can't hear your voice at all
Even when we talk in dreams

Times we spent out on the Bay
Just like the breeze they blew away
That birdhouse made of old scrap wood
Nothing left where it once stood
Memories like children grow
Memories like sunsets glow
Time will tell on all our schemes
Now we only laugh in dreams
Now we only laugh in dreams...

Morning came again today
Chasing all the visions of the night away
The sky was black and thick with rain
Now the mist is rising
And the world is new again
And as I watch those children play
They're acting out the same old themes
These are words we never seem to say
Even when we talk in dreams

Come September

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 02:08:00 +0000

The summer isn't over come September, please remember
I know you know that darling, but it's worth a wee reminder
Young Evelyn's off to school again with her pencil case and binder
But that doesn't mean the summer's gone away

I know the poplar leaves have started turning, brush fires burning
Of course I know that darling, and I hardly need reminding
And it's true the hay is in the fields and ready now for binding
But that doesn't mean the summer's gone away

The brook is still a babble, and the sparrow on the harrow
Is chirping, darling, merrily, and it sounds to me like laughter
I hardly think the sparrow's thinking of the cold months after
When the cold wind blows and the summer's gone away

The pumpkins in the empty fields are lying, geese are flying
The frost is on the roadsides, darling, that there's no denying
And cooler are the nights to come, with all the sobs and sighing
When the morning's dark and the summer's gone away

But now it's just September in the farmland, and this farmhand
Is begging of you darling, think of all the sunlit noondays
To come before those all-too-dark and cold and all-too-soon days
When it's cold and dark and desperate, love, and
The summer's gone away...

Written after last year's Shelter Valley Folk Festival, and originally posted here.
There's just something about September that brings a sinking feeling. It's really out of all proportion; September is mostly still summer, after all...

Back in Forest Glade

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 16:07:00 +0000

I wonder how this hound of mine ain't given up the ghost
He still tries to chew the line that ties him to his post
His hair has gone more grey than red
And he's half-way blind and deaf
But when that old hound dog is dead
I won't have nothin' left, I won't have nothin' left

(Chorus)

I'm busted as a man can be, the only thing that's left of me
Is just these faded memories of a rusted-out old life
One cool glass of lemonade my pretty cousin Clara made
On a front porch back in Forest Glade
Where I dreamed she'd be my wife

You see that old hound sawin' logs, hell even he's got dreams
But dreams of men and old hound dogs
ain't worth a lot it seems
He's dreamin' he's a handsome pup
Like he was way back when
And if he gets rudely woken up
What good are his dreams then, what good are his dreams then?

(Chorus)

Oh Clara my love, remember that Sunday
When we took the long way, the long way back home
Will we discover our paradise one day
In bright farmer's fields where dogs freely roam?

Bitter wind through tall trees hisses
Reckless dreams and reminisces
Worthless thoughts of careless kisses
Are all that's left that's mine
Lame and limpin', all alone
Life gnawed right down to the bone
Listen to the cold wind moan
And hear the old dog whine, hear the old dog whine

(Chorus)

I really was back in Forest Glade not long ago, and naturally enough started humming this song to myself. And then I realize humming was about all I could do - the lyrics were mostly gone right out of my mind after verse one.

Even typing it in just now, I had to cut and paste from an existing file. It's as if I'm looking up a song written by someone else.

Remember This

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 13:50:00 +0000

Please, remember this
The breeze and a tender kiss
The sky is pale blue
And I will never fail you
The way you run so wild and free
You touch the sun and the child in me
You're so young, so hard to hold
May the songs I've sung
Always enfold you

Will you please remember this?
The breeze and a tender kiss
Close your eyes, make a wish
Remember this, remember this

The roll of the ocean swell
It's like the toll of an ancient bell
I know that sound, it always lingers
As the time runs through my fingers
Tears reflect the sun
See the years see how they run
And like a fool I would try to save
This pool of tears the ocean gave me

Will you please remember this?
The breeze and a tender kiss
Close your eyes, make a wish
Remember this, remember this

Will you please remember this?
The breeze and a tender kiss
Close your eyes, make a wish
Remember this...

One of the hard parts of being a dad is watching the years go by, knowing that neither of us will remember it all, only wishing that those perfect moments would remain. You can never say to anyone "I will never fail you," but there are brief eternities when it feels true.

Once my daughter ran squealing into my arms across a green summer lawn at the age of six, and that was one such brief eternity.

Barefeet on a Gravel Road

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Tue, 20 May 2008 12:20:00 +0000

Barefeet on a gravel road
Chirpin squirrel, croakin toad
Saw a monarch butterfly leavin the coccoon
And it's barely even noon
Pileated woodpecker pounding on a tree
Humminbird hummin and a bumbley-bee
I wonder if I'll ever know what I once knowed
In barefeet on a gravel road

Barefeet on a grassy lawn
Got my little slugger ball cap on
Playin baseball with my kid sister
Let go of the bat, luckily missed 'er
Labrador retriever, bein a pest again
Not much of a fielder but she's our best friend
No grass was ever greener than what we walked on
In barefeet on a grassy lawn

(interlude)

Barefeet in a cedar wood
Soft enough for walkin and it smells so good
There's a cool little pool in a babblin brook
Let's stop to take a look
Buddy started clownin, he fell right in
Thought that he was drownin til I seen him grin
You gotta stand for somethin, there we stood
In barefeet in a cedar wood

Barefeet on a gravel road
Chirpin squirrel, croakin toad
Saw a monarch butterfly bein' born
On a sunny summer morn...

Another of the self-styled sentimental songs that have been pouring out over the past few years since taking up the ukulele. This one was inspired by watching a friend of mine walk to his car, literally in bare feet on a gravel road. It put me in mind of all those summers so long ago. We couldn't wait to get our shoes off when the springtime came, and we'd walk on the gravel wincing, knowing that by summer we'd be running across it without even blinking.

My Sweetest Memory

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 03:32:00 +0000

They all call me Sloppy,
But Joseph is my name
I'll flip your eggs and fry your bacon
An old-time jalopy
Is my only claim to fame
I'm flying when I'm making like I'm free

Trees, flowers
Birds up on the wires
Fade into a blur behind me
The motor and the muffler
And the rumble of the tires
Remind me of my sweetest memory

Eggs over easy, coffee in a mug
Load the loaves
And carry in the milk jug
Grilled cheese and ketchup
Coleslaw on the side
Studebaker waiting
For a Sunday morning ride...

They all call me Sloppy
But what is that to me?
I'm far beyond the reach of teasing
Driving my jalopy
Down the highway so carefree
With the breeze & my sweetest memory
The breeze & my sweetest memory
The breeze & my sweetest memory...

That's The Miracle

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 02:19:00 +0000

Oh the world is small and spherical
It's empirical
You can see it from above
It's a marvelous magical miracle
That's the miracle of love

At times I get sad and cynical
It's clinical
Go on put on your gown and gloves
And point me the way to the pinnacle
Of the miracle of love

It was written in the works of Shakespeare
What it takes dear
Not too much ado
Goodness gracious, heaven's sakes dear
Life is just a stage we're going through...

In times gone by and historical
Only the oracle could gather
What the gods were dreaming of
And in words that were mostly metaphorical
She'd say the miracle of love

In the scriptures and the scrolls of sages
Turn the pages,
It's woven through and through
Scrawled upon the rock of ages
The love that's up above is found around here too...

And the world is small and spherical
It's empirical
You can see it from above
It's a marvelous magical miracle
That's the miracle
That's the miracle
That's the miracle of love!

Sometimes these silly little ukulele ditties turn out to be deeper than I thought.

Funny how the ones that start as practically jingles wind up as something like hymns.

Carry Me Away

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Mon, 31 Dec 2007 04:37:00 +0000

In the cliffside, in the shadow
Where the seagull and the swallow
Pierce the sky with freedom's fearsome cry
Where the treetops slowly bending
To the ocean depths unending
Bow down their heads as the train goes rollin' by

Oh, the north wind blows down the channel
And the freight train howls in the tunnel
Sweet spring rain I will catch that train and ride
Carry me away, carry me away
Carry me away like the tide, like the tide
Carry me away like the tide

In the nighttime, where the river
Meets the sea that goes forever
The fog hangs down like curtains from the sky
Where the tugboats and the tankers
Weep for the weight of their anchors
The lighthouse turns, salt water burns my eye

Oh, the north wind blows down the channel
And the freight train howls in the tunnel
Sweet spring rain I will catch that train and ride
Carry me away, carry me away
Carry me away like the tide, like the tide
Carry me away like the tide

A couple of people I really respect have told me they like this song a lot.

I had to address the fact that I really don't know it at all. I wrote it, but I've never been inside of it. I decided it might be worthwhile to spend some time with it and see what happens.

The whole thing started with me holding the word "oh...." for a really long time and thinking how cathartic that felt.

Streetcar Named Despair

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Sat, 17 Nov 2007 16:03:00 +0000

On a streetcar named
Despair....
Among the huddled masses crowded there
There stood a sweetheart with a smile to spare
And sunlight sparkled in her eyes

She was an angel in
Disguise...
It didn't take me long to realize
Among the frowning faces, heaving sighs
The daily bread, the daily mail...

I took in every last
Detail...
The way she laid her hand upon the rail
A sack of silk scarves from some rummage sale
And the smooth sheen of auburn hair

I took a moment to
Declare...
How it just made my day to see her there
Perhaps I fumbled but I didn't care
She rose, and winked

And left
me
Standing there

Oh precious moment of
Delight
Amid the endless days and sleepless nights
There stood an angel blessed with
Auburn hair

On a streetcar...

Gordie Came Home From the War

noreply@blogger.com (David Newland) — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 22:24:00 +0000

Gordie walked out of the tavern last night
Ran into Robert, started a fight
It seems like that boy
Can't do anything right
Since the day he came back from the War

He's callin' his Katie a whore in the street
Then he's down on his knees
And in tears at her feet
Cryin' you could have at least been discrete
While I was away to the War

And all the blue-haired ladies cluck
When Gordie tears off in his truck
You'd think he'd show
Just a little more pluck
For a boy who'd been to the War

Why if Robert hadna cared for Katie
Left alone with Gordie's baby
She'd have gone completely crazy
While he was away to the War

Sunday morning, Gordie lurches
Past the crowds outside the churches
Throwin' stones at dogs on porches
On his way back to the War

Robert's gone to check on Katie
One tooth missin', left eye shady
He's holding on to Gordie's baby
Like she was the spoils of the War

Gordie stares but he keeps on walkin'
Through with cryin', done with talkin'
Katie's pretty knees start knockin'
Like Gordie's did in the War

Now Robert wants to talk things over
He's chasing Gordie through the clover
He says you know she never was my lover
When you was away to the War

And all the clouds go driftin' by
Like shells exploding in the sky
And now Robert, with his swollen eye
Is wading in to the War

And gazing into Gordie's face
He takes him in a man's embrace
Commits one act of mighty grace
And sends him home from the War...

I've never sung this song the same way twice. It remains fluid, the story changing and shifting with each telling. I still can't say definitively what the relationships are, written against the backdrop of this perfectly familiar town. I don't even know if Robert sends, or brings Gordie home. I only know that's where Gordie winds up.