Arlo - Folk Fest 2015 poem #5

long white curls tell old stories with beauty and precision

drawing out drama and humour

creating rapt audience

out of loose collection of tarps and chairs

and then we stand as one

and sing an old Woody song about peace

and the bonds we share

call and response like a congregation

tears flow unchecked

unwiped

unstoppable

each salty drop

         a story of its own

Tyler (Dawes) Folk Fest poem #4

here by himself

alone

unassuming

no band

just him and his 

finicky guitar

and he waits/listens

‘til it’s his turn

and then with a voice

sweet as strawberries

and a song that reaches for the

ripest    best       truths

he moulds an atmosphere

of strong trees swaying in the wind

leaves rustling

and shade and sun alternating

until pact is formed

between listener and singer

an understanding of the delicateness

of life alone in a peopled world

Shred Kelly - Folk Fest poem #3

strings plucked

as though on

fire

and we move

headlong into

frantic dance of age and youth

the song both old and new

marshaling heads

to bob to the beat of pure joy

wide smile of the banjo

energises and illuminates

the heart

under this cloudless

prairie sky with

blazing sun setting 

RURA - Folk Fest 2015 poem #2

listen to the highlands sing

in intricate reels

soaring through intense heat

bagpipes and fiddle and whistle

trade the circular tune

these young men

playing love

reaching across centuries

to a time of tartan tribal tradition

and infusing warm weathered wisdom

which smiles and laughs life

into lowland souls

Dan Mangan sings "Basket" Folk Fest 2015 poem #1

button up shirt

guitar

short cropped hair

stubbled face

earnest with intent

it’s hot but we sit

in searing sun

gravelled voice lifting dust of his life

and we answer back

in waves of thought

placing puzzle pieces

on the grand

table of memories

our collective

experience

for who doesn’t have

something to add to the basket

when it comes around

each poignancy      each loss

dropped like a stone

and so we will

button on our armour

       and ride our steed

towering poplars

vertical wonders

line edge of yard along path

bend but do not break

smoke haze

can’t find sun

in grey white sky

not cloudy exactly

constant hazy reminder

of fires burning in

forests of the west

where it doesn’t rain

in this time of climate chaos

July of blue skies

and hot sun

slipping by in this endless

humid miasma of mind mixed with

a faint smell

of a burning world

house in Gretna

TV antenna

still rests atop

steep-pitched peaked roof

right above my bedroom window

looking out at the Busse house

through the line of plum trees

and the old sidewalk

almost overgrown with grass still

borders white-clad house resting

on cement foundation

remember

the time we moved the house

to dig a new basement

without a cistern

trees surround with

stately summer-green steadfastness

in yard and garden of TV antenna memories

which merge with

present panoply of

experience and concern

in this peaked childhood home

asparagus

spear straight

tip of seeds points

to sunny sky

reach down        grasp stem          snap off

fragrant green juices spray

fingers

dampened

eat tip first

fresh texture and taste filling mouth

with life

then eat the rest and survey rest

of growing garden

beans a mini canopy of giant leaves

potatoes poking out of black earth

row of beets reddish grasses

lettuce and spinach flourishing

tomatoes bathing in the warmth

taste all this growth

until the last

bite