Life Preserved in Word

Ride a pig, ride a cow. It don’t matter what or how. Whirlin’ twirlin’ spinnin’ grinnin’ Goin’ so fast you think you’re winnin’. Rawhide, scrape the side of the fence, Take a hit to your pride – raw ride. “Mount that piggy, crank its’ tail Like an old ‘model-T’ it never fails.” Off so quick nearly left my rear behind Seems my authority’s been undermined Rawhide, scrape the side of the fence, Take a hit from your ride – raw side. Fall in, roll in and commin’ to a stop in slop. Can’t see no sky – got some sty in my eye! Up my nose, all over my clothes, Need a good rinse with the rubber hose. Rawhide, scrape the side of the fence, Fly through the sty – raw slide. Trade that pig in for a cow It’s much bigger than a sow Jump on from behind when she ain’t lookin’ Got a hard ass seat and now she’s cookin’ Raw ride came without a mane Odds imply there’ll be some pain Don’t take long...

A haunting reminder which I cannot forget nor even temper arrives  annually on the crest of the cyclical ebb and flow of a season when  the chameleon maple leaves aquiver succumb to nature's  inescapable jaws as they detach from maternal roosts and gravitate  to the composting wasteland of the dead and dying below the  shameless naked trees from whence they came. I bear a poled flag cradled in a scabbard not dissimilar to the ones  used to carry guns or swords prior to brandishing for slake of the  bloodthirsty.   It digs into my thigh as the wind battles my youthful  frame for the right to parade our colours and the driving rain  wreaks havoc with my grip as fingers morph into frozen talons.   I  have read the unfamiliar names on the cenotaph before and some  of  my friends know uncles and cousins who are unfortunate enough  to  be one of the many so...

Woo is me.  Woo is you. You woo me.  I woo you too. Woo are we. Up we grow as does woo. It’s startling to learn that the life of woo Can al so be a life of woe. If woe becomes my row to hoe Woe is me.  Woo are you? I can wear my woe and wail aloud ‘til I’m six feet under rotting and proud. Or I could toss out the ‘e’ and take back the ‘o’. Woo is me.  Wow is you! I woo you.  You woo me too. 2woo is 2be. © David Girard  16/09/17

Not a thing, something, anything, everything? Outa’ sight, terabyte, megabyte, Bud Lite? Younger, hunger, think freely, wonder. Middle aged, work for wage, family stage, Be a sage or in a rage and off the page. Now older you’re the survivor, much less a conniver. Do more of what you want and think Less of should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. Reflect on the past but focus on the good. © David Girard 01/04/15

If right is right what’s left is to fight. This right biased world can be very unfair To the ten percent of us that do not share  The desire for starboard when we just left port. Way out in left field? Perhaps I could be as conformity bleeds abnormal for me. © David Girard 29/03/15

Spur of the moment, will it sink into you? Horses have shoes, we’ve got them too. When the shoes they are four, no spurs to see, But if only two they readily fit those who sit On the beast with a bit Of a problem, spit it out Like a volcano spout and spew. If you draw the short straw Your lot is the horses’ rear And in front is the behind of a peer. Spurs kicked in again and again, Oh what a pain in the ass! Spur of the past, I’m free of you! Spur of the moment all shiny and new, Spur of the future please steer clear As I need to take a coveted break for the sake of my hind quaters! © David Girard 26/03/15

Adorable pup ugly mutt Trixie is a new gal pal for regal tabby Ginger.  Mom gets mad  at Ginger for spraying on the clean laundry.  That cat must be smart to work the tap  and hose but kind of dumb for spraying the wrong pile of laundry.  Day after hour  Trixie barks at the scavengers of the sky and can’t do tricks like big sigher Rex from  next door but maybe his friend Granny can teach Trixie tricks.  We should have  checked if she could even do tricks before giving her that name.  Someone called  Trixie an ox eye Mormon.  Dad said the Hutterites and Mennonites are nice so she  must be too.  A few months later Trixie dropped some litter and a bunch of puppies crawled out.  I  looked at them all but could only see the one with a light grey coat, somewhat familiar  face and blue eyes that speak without talking.  I want Smokey to be my dog.   ...

It’s time to retire to the recliner and ease into retardment. What a colossal achievement to reach this impotent millstone. With a creak and a groan, the occasional moan. Gravity becomes us in all the long places. No effort required to make monkey faces. The parts that we know will continue to grow, And reduce us to tears are the nose and the ears. Who would a thunk we’d run low on spunk. Awesome mammaries shrunk and stowed in a trunk. Relic the thought of yesteryear, With some wonderful times, the occasional tear. One busy day that’s a dance and a song I’ve been searching for my glasses all day long.  Where have they gone? Climb into bed. Hey what’s on top of my head?…..damn….! How sweet it is! ©  David Girard 12/03/15

After I became an adult I was fully exposed to the horrors of the holocaust And the realization of how evil People can be to the likes of you and me And of the anguish and pain We gain by just knowing. It’s almost impossible to comprehend So block it all out instead Of allowing this atrocity in And populate your head. Some people say the holocaust did not occur. Does this concur with you?   © David Girard 27/03/15

Faith!  Not understanding! Not understanding faith. I will accept you when I see you. Will you accept me if I’m blind? I suffer a great deal and want it to stop. When will I meet  you? Of you I cannot see, hear,  taste or smell. Senseless are we? You stir and move me as I speak of you in song! Through a litany of sins I sing my best for you. © David Girard 05/06/17

Seldom is as seldom does. Show is biz and fuzzy was. Folk meet folk just because Loneliness can’t bear the need to share. Alone I step outside my lair and hunt for peace in the air. Stand tall, stretch and expand Then relax and loosen up to become very still. Draw into my lungs as much air as I will. Air is not a pill nor a hope to be But an extraordinary gift of necessity That’s available to all and entirely free. Sometimes you must be alone to see. © David Girard 25/03/15

For Joyful Voice many hats you’ve donned. Under the hat of conductor you've truly shone, To effortlessly transform and transport us along As all Joyfully sing ‘round this orb and beyond. Able to take a look at ourselves after obvious mistakes Thanks to ‘The Man in the Mirror’, laughter, belly aches. If not for you what would we do?  We comprise a quirky instrument with a dash of naysayer. You are the optimist, maestro, cheerleader and player. It all comes together when it's time to perform. Heartwarming applause has become the norm. © David Girard 19/03/15

Dark is night. How can that be? Persistent and immutable are stars   Well-fount of light in or out of sight Behind sky-blind clouds too dark to see in the dark or eclipsed by the sun-star to leave us stupefied as they shine on forever for someone somewhere. © David Girard 25/03/15

Chew the fat, eat the stew, A one dish meal you grew up on And it grew on you. Conversation is great and the peas are new. One would suggest the meat tastes the best. Ingest to digest as time eats the rest. © David Girard 25/03/15

I look in the mirror face of ambivalence. Take it or leave it.  It’s only a mirror face mirror not face truth.  Mirror the mirror image for all to see, Flawed I reflect when you gaze upon me.  Some say it’s therapeutic to look at you And say “I love you” but I won’t lie.  Inhumanity makes you unhuman. Mirror love mirror.  Shard on you! © David Girard 29/04/15

Do, do and live. Don’t, don’t and fry. Finite is life. Reality may bite. Truth may sting. People may slap. Finite is life. Friendship cherished in the moment. Belly laugh and tears are rare. Lost baggage is a bonus on this precious trip. Life is finite. Finite is the key to eternity. © David Girard 15/02/15

Difficult is bitterness a pill to be swallowed The palate objects but the will is shallow Gravity works and it hits the jerks gut To cause a huge stir in the cauldron of gall-a-bile Still enough time to extract from the slime With great effort spew forth Send it way back up north and out Flush it down the drain to the place from whence it came But if it remains in your gut it must go slow via butt To eventually work its’ way out unless your reaction Is gas compaction due to cranial contraction Indulge in a guilty pleasure – brain fart   © David Girard   09/12/16

Some see and value beauty over and above all.  I see fleeting beauty resonate in one and all.  Expectations and interpretations fluid So disappointment may not be.  If I free beauty infant What shall become of me? Teenager in vain? Adult figure a parent? Middle ages of crisis? Age old wisdom? If I preserve beauty infant I shall cease to be. © David Girard   14/03/16

This old world sucks me into a vortex Of delusion, confusion, exclusion, retribution. Utopia is a noun that can never be found, Imagery of mind is where no sense resides. Eden’s earthly paradise no longer exists So there’s no point to search thru the fog and the mist Just to find yourself broken at the base of a cliff. © David Girard 09/06/15

When your memory is fried Eggs and burnt toast scrambled reside Where that gray matter of fact stepped aside And went tripping somewhere Freedom a waft where on earth can I find Out of the blue my mind… © David Girard 26/03/15 

Arise from bed on cue of dawn to don two shoes   with pep in your step jump feet first into spring not too far or you'll breeze right on by the blue summer sky that cries as it’s past over then free fall to see fall and land as the bare assessor to see two shoes sans accessory © David Girard 21/03/16

Of Peacock Hill and Beacon Hill Park Are they merely a stroll and a lark? The peacocks stalk Beacon but not their own hill. A famous resident of Beacon Hill Park is Queenie The powerful towering work horse Whose dark knowing eyes draw you right in With desire to be petted and it happens of course. And there are all kinds of animals so it seems like a zoo to be. I see something unusual that captivates me. It has a trunk and sparse branches all barbed with thorns, The only tree monkeys can’t climb or so I’d been informed. What’s wrong with monkeys? It’s very puzzling to me. Why can’t they climb up that stupid tree? I begin to search the entire park grounds But there are no test monkeys to be found. I cross paths with some peacocks who boast of elegance and colour With plumes that spread out like an oriental fan Or cards neatly sorted in a player’s hand. I’m closing in to take a good look When suddenly m...