Words by Peter McPhee
1. Ultrasound
2. Dylan’s dream
3. First Word
4. Six Pounds Four Ounces
5. A Gift
6. Senseless Violence and the Long Weekend
7. Don’t Sweat the Details
8. Osmosis
9. Streaking Through Windows
10. Machine-Gun Thugs Grab 500 Gs

In the future of your dream

ultrasound
in the future of your dream
there is a moment
there is a motion

a music lives

may your labours lead you
where the melody is clear


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       Dylan’s dream
before there is light
there is music
a beat
it remains your rhythm

(genetic code)

do you hear
your father’s fingers
early to bed

serenity rests his palm
within your grasp
is all you know

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First Word



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Six Pounds Four Ounces
you arrive early already you’re laughing
we’ll always know you for the reason why
the planets’ spin music for the stars to dance
the sun holds a place for you within the sky

is the world about ready for the songs you are singing
is the future’s whisper promises you hear
is there any light brighter than the early morning rising
where will we be now that we've been here

living a diary of the dreams you draw
a present dissolving a breath into air
for wisdom we offer a few notes of awe
it’s all we can hope you get your mother’s hair

is the world about ready for the songs you are singing
is the future’s whisper promises you hear
is there any light brighter than the early morning rising
where will we be now that we’ve been here

so softly your sleeping alight in our future
your music our breathing your laughter your cry
your brussels-sprouts are growing cold (we don’t like them either)
the secrets we'll uncover the knots we will untie

is the world about ready for the songs you are singing
is the future’s whisper promises you hear
is there any light brighter than the early morning rising
where will we be now that we've been here

Peter McPhee


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A Gift
How far will we see the eclipse by now
(the evening’s edge while buffed with frost)
and curling in our over-stuffed
drinking something hot and thick
a recipe of my concoction
(and after all I ever wanted)
to find behind your ear
the music a breath might make
if breath is a second wet snow

a thumb tip silver tinder box
open it
            free the cool blue light
            of animated moon
 
(over so many years)
and I never should have promised
what I hope for
 
softly
may I return the senses
to chocolate and smooth skin

may I untie
(simple as the ribbon you wear)
how you send me
                    open
                            to begin

Peter McPhee

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Senseless Violence
and the Long Weekend

Good Friday the thirteenth
cool for spring
partly cloudy
I will not visit the sick

hospitals are ammonia
I have a bottle of chlorine bleach
a gas mask
and an interest
in lingering habits
 
 
      (from Suite: Mustard, 
      reprinted by permission of Coach House Books)

Peter McPhee

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Don’t Sweat the Details (Don’t ask Me)

                                         what did I say
                                         who were you with
                                                     where will we go
                                           why are they here
 
I heard a story could be someone told a friend of mine
concerned a guy who maybe knew about another time
when everybody gathered over round a little square
and played on something kinda wild and kinda everywhere
 
          donít ask me to remember the details
          why treat me as if I was there
          dum dum dum
          dada da dada da da
 
a broken window in an alley’s only three feet wide
it’s not a stretch to shake their hands and think they might have lied
to add some spice  to give a little flare
the sort of answer that you wonít find on the questionnaire

          donít ask me to remember the details
          why trust me    as if I could care



I canít remember was it yesterday or on the bus
and was it you and I or was it really all of us
and did we dance and sing and did we where the funny hat
and is this party really all that happens where it’s at

          don’t ask me to remainder the retail
          why treat me as if I need care
           ...
           ...
                                       why did they dance at the club
                 where do we find how to park
                                       when will you know what to do

                                              ...
                                              ...
Peter McPhee

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Osmosis

I can’t say which comes closer to my centre
the hunter’s moon I soak in
this night we might have been
or the eyes that wake me sudden bright

only that through you are the paths the stars have tried
and the expression on the moon is of surprise

Peter McPhee

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Streaking Through Windows

one road town
a sunburst melting snow
drains along the oil pack
a bead of salt
dripping with my spine

from your seat
on a last stalled train
you won’t see me

streaking through windows
I board
reflect your lips for attention
and can almost taste the trust in your eyes

if anything I ever said had been true
I wouldn’t need words or paper

too young to sit quietly
I dance circles through the aisle
spill coffee on a fat man’s lap
steel the rattle from a child

I am invisible   a liar

and like all liars then and now
compelled to convince you
of my truth

that’s why I read to you from endless notebooks
and why you sit beside my empty seat
listening carefully
never believing a word

Peter McPhee

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Machine-Gun Thugs Grab 500 Gs

The Hs were already taken
traceable
I not worthy
the paper headline
full stop at the F flat

we're driving north
one wrong turn you’re part Precambrian shield
and off the highway dangerous
Dave rolls down a window
Pete what's that smell?
        I think that’s fresh air Dave
away clean

north of Superior and on the lam
Dillinger and Baby Face Nelson
road blocks and a scare in Wawa
three fat sisters and a bad idea
if you can’t say it all
better to not say anything
no one writes letters anymore
Walter Hampten as Bogart’s father in Sabrina
The 20th century? I could pull a century
from a hat   blindfolded
and come up with a better one
and you remember the chauffeur
there's a front seat and a back seat
and a window in between

and out of the woods
the wind is a beaten sidekick
trouble rides a fast horse
the prairies announce themselves
a radio that only plays
the saddest song you’ll ever hear
the hole in the wall gang
one of those old photographs
with everyone waiting
wondering what we look like before duotone
when we were young
there were only three primary colours
sun    sky   iron rich clay
turning back was never an option

and ten miles out of Moose Jaw
a hundred years ago ain’t far as Crowsnest
the path that's got no for’s not likely to end
you hitch your trail to a flightless bird and head west
I rock   whittle the porch     
point in the wrong direction
watch you ride into the sunset for three days

Peter McPhee

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