Wednesday, October 22, 2014

"Harvest Moon"

Harvest Moon
On a song of the same name by Neil Young
Don’t know if it was the new meds,
But something had me off my feed:
Did I really love you so much
Or was it all a silly illusion,
My hormones going haywire
At the diminishing hope
Of one last great grab at love.
Then I was at the dance - was it a dream?
I, who never dance - two left feet
Was out on the floor. not hearing anything,
Expertly executing the steps,
A syncopated fox trot, I think,
How could I know? Weaving in and out
To the sounds of soundless music:
My partner, was it you or someone else?
I remember impressions, nothing distinct:
You’ve been so far away for so long,
I didn’t dare hope it was you.
Then I awoke;
Whatever happened got put on the shelf,
And my life once again began its quiet requiem
To loves that maybe never were,
Don’t seem to be now,
And probably never will be.
I was asked to find music, a song
To accompany a poem , verses
Written, on something entirely else.
I found this song
And before a word could be sung
I was back where my dream had been:
A harvest dance. You were there,
You were my partner, we were one again,
All the improbabilities be damned,
And I knew, because I’m still in love with you
I want to see you dance again,
Because I’m still in love with you,
On this harvest moon - together.

Chip Bergeron

Thursday, October 16, 2014

"Not a Happy Anniversary"

It’s an anniversary
Of sorts,
Macabre anniversary:
This very night
Twenty six years ago,
A Friday,
Details are unimportant;
What matters
Is the complete fabrics
Of everybody’s world
            Just about everyone,
Was ripped to shreds
Just as surely
As if I had put it
In a blender on steroids,
Turned it on high
And watched the knives
Do their work.

People say
I’m better off,
I should be glad it happened
Because it gave me time
    To grow,
        To reflect,
            To change,
Or so they say.
Sometimes even I
Swallow that Kool-aid.
I’m less dangerous…
Dangerous to WHOM???

The desperation I feel
Maybe makes me dangerous
To myself,
Not that I am capable
Of causing myself,
Or anyone else.
Any physical harm.
It stays
    In the head,
        In the heart,
            In the soul;
And on a night like tonight
I’d rather be the man I was
That damnable anniversary:
At least then
I wouldn’t feel
So awfully lonely

Chip Bergeron

Thursday, October 9, 2014


Have you ever looked beneath the surf to see what might be there?  Have you ever really wondered over hidden things, inaccessible things, things that should not be, but are?  Has your imagination reached to unknown realms that you have never seen nor known?  Maybe not, for such a thing is rare, such a thing is not often to be found, surely not in grown-up minds, for, in maturing, minds are firmly bound to things that are, that can be seen, that fit into the logic of rationality, and rarely move beyond.  But, ah, the child, who does not know what things there are that cannot be, to him such limits are not known, to him the world is filled with magic and with mystery, and, with enchanted fingers he, perhaps, may grasp the edge of what we know cannot be grasped, and lift the foaming liquid edge of this endless sea: to look beneath, to see beneath, perhaps, if he be bold enough, to crawl beneath and enter in to that impossible realm where who-knows-what may be and great adventures lie.

----------ed pacht