Searching for an Alibi
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
Here I am out on the road again
and it feels longer than it was back then;
when I was younger, man, it saw me through—
now it don’t do
what I want it to—
Too ra loo ra loo ra lady I—
I’m just out searching for an alibi
Too ra loo ra loo ra lady I
I’m just out searching for an alibi.
Shane
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
It’s been too long feeling sorry for myself.
It’s been too long with my life up on the shelf.
Sometimes wish that I was Shane—
shoot Jack Palance, and disappear again;
don’t have no one
don’t want no one
don’t miss no one:
living lonely with a saddle and a gun.
Zenmo Yang Ni
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
I lost the time I hardly knew you,
half-assed calling:
“How you doing?
Laughing at my hanging hay field;
I never knew the time
that tomorrow’d bring,
until it brung to me.
Yuan lai jui shuo: “Zenmoyang ni?”
Xianzai chang shu: “Dou hai keyi”;
Xiexie nimen, dou hen shang ni.
Xiwang wo men dou hen leyi
Dou hen leyi
Out of the Forge: April 6, 2017
by Fitz | April 11, 2017 | Journal, Out of the Forge | 0 Comments
Somewhere North of Bangor
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
Somewhere north of Bangor
on the run from Tennessee.
Lost in back scrub paper land
in section TR-3.
It’s hit him he’s an outlaw
a Georgia cracker’s son,
who killed a man in Nashville
with his daddies favorite gun.
It’s hit him with the loneliness
of wondering where you are
on a long ago railway
stretched between two stars.
Weekend Custody
by Fitz | August 21, 2014 | Out of the Forge, Songs | 0 Comments
Jesse calls up this morning—
“You can come downstairs now;
You see the grapefruit bowl?
Well, I fixed it all;
I fixed everything for you.”
Everything’s for you…
“Let me help you make the coffee,
Momma says you drink it too.
I can’t reach the stove,
But I can pour it, though—
What’s it like living alone?”
Winter in Caribou
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
I know your name. It’s written there.
I wonder if you care.
A six-pack of Narragansett beer,
Some Camels and the brownie over there.
Every day I stop by like I
Got some place I’ve got to go;
I’m buying things I don’t really need:
I don’t read the Boston Globe.
But I, I think that I
Caught the corner of your eye.
But why, why can’t I try
To say the things I’ve got inside
To you ….
The Queer Folk
by Fitz | April 18, 2016 | Journal, Songs | 0 Comments
Ring of Fire: The Power of Simplicity
by Fitz | March 28, 2017 | Journal, Songs, Teaching, The American Folk Experience | 0 Comments
Many Miles To Go
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
I see it in your eyes
and in the ways you try to smile;
in the ways you whisper—I don’t know—
and put it all off for a while;
then you keep on keeping on
in the only way you know:
you’re scared of where you’re going
and who’ll catch you down below.
Superman
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Dawghouse, Songs | 0 Comments
There’s a little blonde boy in a superman cape
Racing around the back yard;
Sayin’, “Daddy don’t you know I can fly to the moon;
I’m gonna bring you back some stars.
And after that I’m gonna save the world”
Cause I’m superman today.”
I scoop that boy right into my arms,
And this is what I say:
You don’t need a cape to be a hero
You’ve got all the special powers that you need
Your smile’s enough to save the world from evil
And you’ll always be superman to me
Essex Bay
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
This house makes funny noises
When the wind begins to blow.
I should have held on and never let you go.
The wind blew loose the drainpipe.
You can hear the melting snow.
I’ll fix it in the morning when I go.
I’ll fix it in the morning when I go.
Trawler
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
Leave the fog stillness
of a cold harbor town;
cup our hands
in the warm diesel sound—
leave while the children
are calmed in their dreams
by light buoys calling:
“Don’t play around me.”
No Dad To Come Home To
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Dawghouse, Songs | 0 Comments
Rain’s falling outside of Boston—
Thank God I’m not working tonight.
I’ve got six of my own,
And a stepdaughter at home,
And a momma keeping things right.
I wonder if they’re at the table
With their puzzles, their papers and pens?
When I get off the highway
And pull in that driveway,
Will they run to the window again?
Life Ain’t Hard; Its Just a Waterfall
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
You say, hey,
who are you to say that you’re the one
to go telling me just where I’m coming from.
You can have your cake
but don’t frost me ‘til I’m done.
I can’t be fixed and I can’t afford to stall;
because life ain’t hard it’s just a waterfall.
Joshua Sawyer
by Fitz | August 11, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Poetry | 0 Comments
I doubt I’d ever have taken this road
had I known how fallen it really was
to disrepair: driving comically,
skirting ruts and high boulders, grimacing
at every bang on the oil pan.
I tell you it’s the old road to Wendell —
that they don’t make them like this anymore.
No Dad To Come Home To
by Fitz | August 26, 2014 | Dawghouse, Songs | 0 Comments
Rain’s falling outside of Boston—
Thank God I’m not working tonight.
I’ve got six of my own,
And a stepdaughter at home,
And a momma keeping things right.
I wonder if they’re at the table
With their puzzles, their papers and pens?
When I get off the highway
And pull in that driveway,
Will they run to the window again?
Out of the Forge: March 30, 2017
by Fitz | March 31, 2017 | Journal, Out of the Forge | 0 Comments
Calvary
by Fitz | August 23, 2014 | Out of the Forge, Songs | 0 Comments
It seems like it ain’t been a long time,
But I’m damn pleased your coming by again.
It’s been a while since we sat down and rambled
About this and that and why and who and then
You said that you had to get a move on,
Move on and leave a space behind.
So I spent a while hitting all those old roads:
Old friends and kicking down the wine.
Last of the Boys
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
Come on over here
and I’ll buy the next round:
cold beer and some shooters
for the boys on the town;
Darby ain’t drinkin’
so let’s live it up
‘cause he’ll drive us all home
in his company truck
Jesus Christ, Jimmy,
man you say that you’re well;
I say we drive into Boston
and stir up some hell;
put a cap on the weekend,
a stitch in the night,
watch the Pats play on Sunday
and the welterweight fight.
That’s all she wrote boys,
there ain’t any more;
that’s why we’re standing here;
that’s what it’s for.
That’s why we all go on working all day
busting our ass for short pay:
~Hey…
Out of the Forge: April 13, 2017
by Fitz | April 23, 2017 | Journal, Out of the Forge, Songs, The American Folk Experience | 0 Comments
Ghetto of Your Eye
by Fitz | November 11, 2015 | Fires in the Belly, Journal, Songs | 0 Comments
Ghetto of Your Eye
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
I wrote this song back in the winter of 1989, in the dining car of a steam driven train, somewhere along the Trans-Siberian railway, after meeting a group of Russian soldiers fresh from battle in Afghanistan—that poor country that has been a battleground for way too long.
We stare together hours the snow whipped Russian plain—
rolling in the ghetto of your eye.
We share a quart of vodka
and some cold meat on the train—
you know too much to even wonder why;
I see it in the ghetto of your eye.
Garden Woman
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
I woke today and had my tea
and at the window spent the morning:
the same scene I’ve seen so many times
is each day freshly born;
from the ground I turn each spring and fall
come the flowers sweetly blooming;
you disappear among the weeds—
you are the garden woman.
Don’t Let Go of Your Soul
by Fitz | August 11, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
Sometimes yeah.
Sometimes no.
Sometimes it’s somehow somewhere in between.
Sometimes it’s somewhere that no one has been–
no, nobody, nowhere, no nothing can end.
So don’t you let go and hope you’ll find it again.
Don’t you ever let go–
Metamorphoses
by Fitz | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments
It’s something I‘ve hardly ever thought of:
this simple and rattling old diesel
has always gotten me there and then some;
and so at first I think this sputtering
is just some clog, and easily explained:
some bad fuel maybe, from the new Exxon,
or just shortsightedness on maintenance.
I’ve always driven in the red before,
and these have all been straight highway miles —