Porch Picker's Lament

3/4 G

We waited for bad news, 

cold there like statues. 

C

We prayed for so long on our knees.

D

How can I live?

How can I raise my kids, 

C

if they're closing down our factory? 

We closed up the gates for the last time. 

We talked of the times that we spent. 

We sat on the tailgates of our pickups.

We sang the porch picker's lament.

Am

First you roam, you roam,

D

then you find yourself a home.

Am 

You labor and you groan 

D

until the work is all gone,

Am

then you moan, you moan,

D 

you say you should have known,

Am                                    D                   

then you pack up your things and move on.

I'm kind to my neighbor. 

I trust in my savior. 

I've learned to rely on myself. 

I believe in we the people, 

and we're all created equal, 

or so says the papers on my shelf.

There are things left unspoken.

There are things that are broken. 

There are things that are just badly bent.

Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference. 

Sometimes it's easy to stay silent. 

First you roam, you roam,

then you find yourself a home. 

You labor and you groan 

until the work is all gone,

then you moan, you moan, 

you say you should have known, 

then you pack up your things and move on.

There's blue and white collars

both chasing after dollars, 

Slaves to things they think make them free, 

but someday all that gold

will pave the streets I stroll,

at least that's what my Grandma told me.

Until then we'll wander,

then cross over yonder, 

and figure out what it all meant. 

We'll sit on the tailgates of our pickups, 

and sing the porch picker's lament.  

A Walk in the North Woods

One night I thought I'd disappear 

and walk amongst the elk and deer.

I had a load of stress to clear 

as autumn's chill was ever near

I thought about a trail I'd seen

where maples mixed with evergreen, 

from Vanderbilt to Wolverine 

My watch said it was ten fifteen. 

The Army taught a few things right, 

like how to cuss and how to fight, 

and you don't really need a light 

when walking through woods at night. 

I made it to the trail at last, 

extremely high and low on gas,

so caution to the wind I cast. 

I checked my watch as midnight passed. 

I wandered down the trail a ways

enveloped in a creepy haze,

when shafts of light in colored rays

set the path around ablaze.

I'm not a man for tales and lies.

I swear that there before my eyes 

an object spinning in the sky

looked like a tin for cherry pies.

Now every Michigander knows 

they planted pines in even rows,

and even in my panic throes 

I knew exactly where to go.  

I ran between the rows of pine, 

but stopped and turned to look behind, 

and some infernal root or vine

around my ankle did entwine. 

I almost had a heart attack 

I tripped and fell upon my back, 

and landed like a tater sack. 

A flashlight tumbled from my pack

Not much out there frightens me, 

but this one almost made me pee.

When I was finally safe and free 

my watch said it was five till three.

I sat there in bewilderment 

and wondered where three hours went. 

I thought of how that time was spent 

until my mind was warped and bent.

Now people think that I'm a creep.

I live alone and moan and weep,

'cause every time I try to sleep 

                                       I hear a little beep...beep...beep...beep...beep...beep...beep. 

No Retreat

Counting years has become important to us, my love. You continue to flourish and flower in the midst, and I love every new aspect of you. I can never find the words to adequately explain how I see you, but perhaps I can tell it this way....

An angel found a soldier, she walked out of the rain.
His armor had been sundered, he was grimacing in pain.
She knelt there right beside him, and lifted up his chin.
"Your story isn't ending, this is where the fight begins."

He shook his head and stammered, "There's nothing here to see.
The fight in me is finished now, there is no victory.
You'd be wise to run right now, we have no earthly chance,"
but she refused to listen, picking up his broken lance.

"I will not surrender sir, I will not run away.
There's no time left for pity, we've one more beast to slay."
He cried out cold and bitterly, "I don't think I can stand!"
She took his splintered lance and firmly pressed it in his hand.

before them rose a monster, insidious and foul
cloaked in clouds of anguish, with death behind its cowl.
It screamed in songs of mourning, with teeth of sharpened knives.
Behind it stretched a trail of broken hearts and shattered lives.

An angel found a soldier who had lost the means to fight.
She grasped him by his shoulders, and heaved with all her might.
with heaven's help she lifted, and got him to his feet.
There was nowhere to run to, there would be no retreat.

They stood there both together, she held him calm and steady.
The plague of fear subsided, they were resolute and ready.
The creature howled its challenge, intent to lay them low.
She whispered, "I can help, but you must strike the killing blow."


Tony Lollio 2018

Waltz of the Pilgrim

3/4 G

I'm dirty from my head to my toes, I'm dirty from my head to my toes.

     C                                G

I'm battered and bruised and there's holes in my shoes,

        D

I have only a few more miles to go.

It feels like the winter is done, feels like the winter's all done.

When the drifters all awaken from their long hibernation

and head west toward the warm setting sun.

Times when I felt all alone, Times when I felt all alone

Like I fought and I failed, and the other side prevailed 

So I laid down my guns and walked home

But I met a man on the street. I met a man on the street.

He was robbed, he was beaten, no stranger to mistreatment

He had holes in his hands and his feet 

    C                       G

The waltz of a pilgrim, it plays on and on

    C                            Em

To the sounds of my footsteps as they push me along.

    C                            G

The mud stains my pant legs as I dance to the song.

    C        D                G

I'm here for a while, then I'm gone


Tony Lollio 2018

Seeing Clearly

Prophecy beneath a dying moon

Hangs in the sky like a smoldering coal 

You've slept and dreamt in Enochian tongues

And risen to see clearly 

Never dreamt of looking away

resolute, rigid and standing your ground

daylight that blinds and gives way as it fades

over hallowed dirt and the bushes ablaze 

Gone now the haze that shrouded your path

vanquished the ghosts that swirled in the darkness 

You focus your gaze on the endless, the vast

The tomes of the scholars lie open

You won't hold back the blanket of shadow

that falls like the finest of charcoal ashes

but bathe in the breeze, the mysteries whispered 

only disturbed by the brake light flashes

Eyes that betray the indomitable soul

Lamps remain lit and wicks remain trimmed

You've been to the depths of the caverns below

                                                         And risen to see clearly

                                                          Tony Lollio 2018

A Raven story for my love

 You do love your symbology, and the Ravens do always speak to you in a language no one else understands, so let me tell you a raven story from the native people of the Pacific Northwest.

There was once an old man with a particularly ugly daughter. The old man went out to fetch water in the days when the world was completely devoid of light, and darkness consumed the universe. You see, the old man was so afraid of the world seeing his daughter, that he fashioned a box to capture the light. Inside he crafted another box, and inside it yet another, on and on until the very last, and smallest box, contained the very spark of light that lit the universe.

As the old man walked along, a tiny needle from a mighty pine dropped into the water he was carrying, and he took it to his ugly daughter and offered her a drink. She drank down the water, and with it the tiny needle, which was no ordinary needle at all. For Raven, the trickster, had disguised himself, and now began to grow inside of her.

The old man's ugly daughter gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, and the old man grew to love and embrace his grandson. In fact, he loved his grandson so much, that he gave the child anything he asked for. And so every day the boy would ask his grandfather to open just one of those boxes, and every day the old man would agree. Every day a box, until one day they reached the last, smallest box.

Just as the old man opened the last box, the boy revealed his true self, and Raven, the trickster, snatched the spark that lit the universe.  As he flew away with his prize, light was released into the world.  

So once again you and I, my love, look at the raven through another perspective. Once again we find relevance in its many symbolisms. There is a duality in Raven, the trickster who brought light into the world. I was selfish and deceitful, and you brought light everywhere you went. I became a better man when I was with you, and together we became a force of creation.

The light that you bring into the world sustains me, and our souls will fly together forever. Consider the Ravens......    

One magical night

Was it a good concert? I don't know, I don't really remember it that well. The important thing was that I was hanging out with her. I had never really liked Ann Arbor before I met her. Whenever we were together, though, the city seemed to come to life; less strange and quirky, and more vibrant and welcoming. I didn't feel different and out of place anymore, she had that effect on me.

 There was a milk crate full of old vinyl records sitting on the sidewalk. We stopped and dug through the entire collection, even though I'd never heard of any of the artists, and neither of us had a record player. Everywhere we walked was an adventure, and everything we found was treasure. Whatever plans we made were always an excuse to hit the streets. It was the walk that was magic. The concerts, museums, and restaurants may all fade from my memory; but I'll always remember the walks, the streets of Plymouth and Petoskey, Traverse City and Charleston, Detroit and....Ann Arbor.

 The sky was heavy and gray as we turned down Francis St. She never seemed to mind the rain. I, on the other hand, had pride in my ability to always find shelter at the last possible moment before the downpour. I couldn't forget, however, the day at the coffee shop when she walked right out into the storm. She left me standing there, cowering under the awning. I decided two things that day under the coffee shop awning; this girl was something very special, and I wasn't going to let her walk off alone in the rain ever again.

 The drizzle got steadier and heavier as we walked along Francis, until it seemed as though we were the only two people left on the street. The sound of the blues drifted toward us from a tiny alcove, where an immaculately dressed black man sat on a stool with an acoustic guitar. With no regard for the pouring rain, he sat licking the blues to no one, like he had been waiting for us. Our own private show! Suddenly, the concert we had just seen was forgotten, and we were dancing in the rain to the blues.

 To this day, I don't remember much about that concert. When I close my eyes, however, I can still see that man's gray suit and fedora. I can still hear the Memphis style of blues from his guitar. I can still feel my wet pant leg against my calves as we stomped in the puddles.