The Wall

I stare at the mortar that is quickly setting
And think of yesterday. Where did it go?
I feel the gritty wetness between my fingers as I touch the hard clay
It’s getting higher. The closeness once shared; gone
The panic within me tries to break it down; I have no hammer
I push, but it won’t fall. Helpless, I stand there.

Staring at the brick upon brick; funny how they seem to fit.
Where did they come from? So fast they have appeared
Silence is beginning to surround me; the loss overwhelming
It’s getting higher. My words ricochet off; they come bouncing back
The sting, how long do I continue? Let me in

It wasn’t there before; not this high. What can I do?
I feel at a loss. I try to talk, but nothing comes back
Do my ears deceive me? Do I leave it alone?
I feel cut off. This quietness, I hate it.
A light glimmers; a thought appears.
This wall,
Maybe it’s not yours
but mine.

The Road

To where this road it takes me
I really do not know
The twists and turns it makes
I sometimes wonder so

When at times the road seems dark
The rain doesn’t seem to end
Suddenly through the sky I see
A ray of light ’round the bend

A message of hope sent through the sky
Or maybe through a friend
Just in time when all else fails
A glimmer of hope is sent

Falling into Winter

A stillness is there in the mist
It sends out an echo through my soul
Everything seems dead now
Barren and cold, it send a shiver through me

What is to come?
Sadness seems to settle in
Where is the life that once was?
I search for something, anything

So many trees, yet they seem so alone
Do they feel it too?


I sit here with tears welling up in my eyes, and I ponder…
Where did this emptiness come from? How did I get here?
I feel like I’ve lost something so dear but cant say
I cant verbalize. I just feel…there is no one to tell.

Who will listen…who wood understand?
so many unspoken words… so many questions.
but no answers…is there really?
Just the silence and the sound of the stillness that remains
loneliness….the utter feeling of solitude
echoing thoughts…with no place to go.

All that once was thought… is gone now
left alone to dwell on the innermost sanctum
that somehow goes nowhere…
the once comfortable place is gone…
pulling away…who wants to be near

So I’ll withdraw… it’s simple that way.
Who wants to be near such turmoil
like a deep dark void…that sucks life out of life
better left in the dark…retreat to its home
and live alone in silence once more.

The Tunnel

Hidden deep, in Conception Bay; there is a spot I love to go
A town called Brigus, beside the sea; a place I really know
The little English tea Shoppe’s and museums full of history
Along the narrow little streets, a tunnel you can see.

In the summer of 1860, for four long months I am told
A miner formed holes with steel spikes… through solid rock so bold
Filled the holes with black gun powder… and blasted all he could
And made a tunnel to Bartlett’s wharf… so to unload Abram’s goods.

Near 80 feet long and 8 feet wide; an engineering feat for sure
It is eerie walking through the dark graded walls… to reach the visible shore
A past it echoes through the walls… you hear it all around
One thinks of what treasures where loaded through, as you tread upon the ground

Must have been something in its day, the bustle of ships coming in
Unloading their wares an and traveling through, the tunnel again and again
Go see it in Brigus, a must to see, it will take you to days in the past
Where Newfoundland people used the land and sea… blasted in stone to last

The Fog Horn

Listen… do you hear it… the fog horn it does sound
Through the mist it searches, for some familiar ground
Calling…wailing… for some unseen there boat
To safely guide it through the fog, a special private note

The house it sits an watches, safely calling home
Out to those ships passing, for fear that they may roam
The stillness….the loneliness….the horn it does cry
Then out of nowhere a sound… finally replies

I hear the call… it cries to me…my homeland far away
The mournful cry doth call me… the light…a hope…a ray
My heart its restless, an yearning, indeed I dare not roam
One day I will return, as the foghorn calls me home

SS Kyle

In Harbour Grace there is a boat, that’s moored for all to see
The SS Kyle… a Labrador service… a ship in history
The seaman’s ghost…..nar to sink…sits on display for all
The adventurous life it once did live… and some folks still recall

You could tell her from shore, in her day, the smoke that billowed from her
The burners that burned deep within, the ice people hunting, saw from shore
There’s many a story, that’s told for sure.. an one I know too well
Me Great Aunt Cis worked on that boat, the stories she did tell.

From the foggy banks of Newfoundland to the coast of Labrador
She had her load of freight and mail.. and folks who lived on shore
The life it carried… the times they had…remains in some still today
Ex passengers are getting older now, and stories get lost long the way

To look at the Kyle as it sits there today, echoes from the past
You wonder what stories are locked within, and if many of them will last
The ship once full of life… sits there now… but alone
To whisper a past, rich and full, never more to roam

Piece of Home

Drivin along one of Newfoundland paths, many sights we all can see
The beauty and splendor of nature cut, through rock and land and sea
The untouched marvels ones does view, stop now, and take it in
An gaze with wonder, absorb it in, you may not pass that way again

For life is short, an times dus fade, an beauty is all around
If one looks deeply long enough, you’ll feel the nature sound
It’ll touch your soul, you’ll know the depth, of why it is so grand
An come to love our piece of home we all call Newfoundland


The house it stands so barren now… no life therein does dwell
Only the remnants of what use to be… echoes there to tell
The outport living alive and well, lives within my mind
And takes me back to Herring Neck, my days of childhood time

The vast openness of land and sea all around… the sounds of nature I hear
I lean upon the post an stare as my eyes well up with a tear
Oh how I wish I could turn back time and live there once again
To be here on the rock, beside the sea with family and friend

NWA Strike

The church it stood once long ago
No evidence now remains
Only those left can remember in their mind
The unrest of that strike of 59

Outside that church the loggers met
They wanted to be heard
but life changed that night for all you see
A turmoil of hurts just stirred

It took years to help get the camps cleaned up
and a bit more wages for the men
But the scars left from that terrible time
will remain in the hearts of woman an men