A Welder’s Son (poem/song)

A Welder’s Son

I am a welder’s son
Whose mind wandered
And found itself a home
In the word
And the way
Talk to each other

(Chorus) But I am a welder’s son.

I am a welder’s son
And every now and then
I need to remind myself
Of the hard, hard labour
Of the hardest craft in the world
One of them
At least


I am a welder’s son
Whose life wandered
The machines
Beyond the massive
Weight of steel
The blinding arcs
And the burn of torches


I am a welder’s son
But there is a life beyond it
He has earned it for me
Lived it for me
And now I share words
With the world

But I am a welder’s son

I am a welder’s son.


The Humbling of the Climb (poem)

The Humbling of the Climb (Poem)

There is something
In the way you can’t cheat it
You can’t rage through it
You can’t clench your teeth
And power through

There is something deeper to it
It forces you to look inward
If forces you ton listen for a change

To yourself
Your strenght
Your balance
Your body
Your centre

And the centre is everything
It reaches into courage
And self trust
As you start to hang
More and more
At angles that defy logic
At the very tip of
Your fingers
and toes
And it feels like
Everything is about
To snap
But you breathe
And you hold

You hold

It forces you to think
And plan
And move in new and impossible ways.

It humbles you
It humbles you like nothing else
As gravity
I now know
Is a strong deterrent
For pride

You will fall
And hurt yourself
Feel your arms
Lock and block
Feel your back ache
Till you can’t climb no more

And then that very last attempt
But just for fun
There is no winning this one
And you knew it
There’s a little bit of ego
But isin’t it part of the game as well?

And then she calls you
Back to the ground
You have nothing left in you
In the best way possible.

So you smile
And look at the wall
Or the cliff
For a new path
Or a way
And yourself.

“I’ll get you next time.”

And don’t forget
To say your thanks.

Man in the Mirror (poem)

*this is one of the hardest thing I ever wrote (and I wrote hard ones). I’m not sure how comfortable I am sharing this but as an old rule of writing of mine “If you felt it to be true one day, then it may be the truth of someone else as well and it needs to exist.”

Still not comfortable about it, but here goes.

Man in the Mirror (poem)

I look at you but I can’t figure who you are
I just can’t

The shape is close enough
The beard
The skin
The hair

But the eyes are gone
The face is famished
There is an emptiness in the stare
There is a haze
Between you and me

The man in the mirror

I am in cat town
I am in 1Q84
I am here but I look

And there is an image alright
It moves when I move
It stares back at me
As I am staring at it

But I can’t tell
For the life of me
Just exactly…

God damn

Who the fuck are you?

A Family Man (Poem)

Trying to find solace in solitude
Was never for me
I needed the big family
I wanted the little struggles
Before putting them to bed.
The baths
And the teeth
And the song
Or a story
And then the brief moment to yourself
For coffee
Or a poem
A game of something

Or just sitting in silence
Just enough cuddles
Or a little bit of a talk
In peace and quiet
For an hour
Never more
Or not that often anyways

6 AM will come again really soon
And the kids will be jumping around
Asking to be fed
And cared for
Taken to school

All the small
Things of life
You didn’t know
You needed
Till you didn’t have then anymore.

A quiet evening
Food in the pantry
Bills are paid
And someone in your bed
Looking for
That little heel hook
That puts you to sleep at night.

A family man.

A Yet to be Titled Song (Poem)

A Yet to be Titled Song (Poem)

Break the truth

Into a shallow pile

Of words




Typing in full

A coming of age

In an atmosphere

Of shallow talk

Of shallow cuts

And shallow graves

Of the mind

Slow death of language

And love

Or passion


And I’m standing on a road to somewhere

I’m standing on a road to nowhere

I’m standing in a place for me.

And I’m right here fucking losing my mind

This time, It just might be the last time.


Cause I’m standing on a road to somewhere

I’m standing on a road to nowhere

I’m standing in a place for me.

And I’m finding what it takes to break me.

I’m finding only love can kill me


Cause I’m standing on a road to somewhere

I’m standing on a road to nowhere

I’m standing in a place for me.

Got lost into a wonderful breakdown

Then lost into a pitiful breakdown

Until I’m just done

With everything

I’m just done.

One Not So Solitary Writer (poem)

As spring finally comes
To save me from myself
And the dead of my first
As a broken home

I sit at the corner
Of wooden counters
Reading a book
And having coffee
We can be heroes
Is playing in the back

And you can’t make this shit up
I will swear to that.

I look up accros the street
Former red light
Quartier latin
Theatre Sainte-Catherine

Twenty years of my life
Around these parts
It has to mean something
Or I would have moved away by now

So I close my book
Genevievre Lefebvre
And Samuel Archibald
People who can write
Like motherfuckers

I smile as the sun hides away and
The city lights mix with the hues of
The blue hour.

I realise I am at peace now
Where young, eager students
Mix with social workers
Aging artists

And one not so solitary writer

A crowd like no one else
And Montreal Franglais

I smile
After the massive crash of winter
And all that was said and done

I am happy here

I am home