cannonimages-blog

[cannonimages-blog]

Alive

(for the audience)

(Piano intro)

 How I wish to see you again

Before the flames whisper quiet, quiet, quiet

Before the piano stops playing, playing

It’ your love, your love

That breathes life into me, 

This warmth surrounds,  surrounds,

 And enters this heart, this soul, this soul, this soul

Igniting it alive, Inspired with you,, to you, by you!

 (to the crowd, pointing)

 So long ago, I protected my heart, 

Unbreakable on my part

And as a candle that had dripped, it dripped 

Into the wooden floor, hardened, hardened, hardened

Embedded ingrained  the footsteps, of regret

Finally it wore through

 It worn through for you

Only To feel your spirit in me now 

The flame once gone, now lit, now lit, on fire now

Burring brightly as a star, you are to me,

 You are a star to me

I am Touched, gently by your love,

Oh your lovely faces,

An apparition, Appearing as a gentle rain

 Your giving grace, your loving grace

How it showers over me, 

Showers over me, your love, your love 

 Lifted by your essence 

Filling the many rooms 

Within, my heart, my heart

Through, You, You, Through You,

 Sweet angels of hope, of hope, so much hope…

 (pointing towards the audience and heavens)

(Talking/singing combo)

Like two leaves touching, gently beneath a flower, a flower

Like two butterflies, dancing, drifting into the breeze, the breeze

Like two streams flowing, into an ocean, the sea

Like two candles burning, we melt together,

Like hearts beating, your love I hear, 

I hear, I hear, I hear

We~ become~ one… 

( beautiful piano playing into the end)

by: Timothy Cannon

[cannonimages-blog]

Dreams

Dreams 

And was it a dream, that stopped the circles,,  spinning away in my mind…

And was it dreams, ,  that stopped the illusions,,,, of  these myriad signs,,,

Their fragile times,

Open up in time,,~

Just sit with me,

And together we’ll dream,,~

Our dreams are forever free,,,,,, forever free,,,, 

Oh-hey yaaa,,,,, oh hey yaaa,,,,, oh hey yaaa (chant) x2 layered as one

And was it you that lifted me,,, from these room within

And was it you who showed me,,,, Earth’s loveing signs,,,

Calming my mind,,,,  a rebirth in time

These  faults of mine,,,

 Then when we find,,,,

 we both will share,,,,

 This is” an opening time!,” a giving time

forgiveness time,,,, a loving time, a giving time~

Oh hey yaa ,,,,,oh hey yaaa,,,,,, oh hey yaaa (chant) x2 layered as 1

Oh how do you love me, 

why  do you love me so,,,

 I love you, sooo ,,, 

we were meant to be~

Oh how you love me,, sooo,

Creator blessed it

I love you,,  I love you sooo~

My beautiful soul mate, and in time,, in  time,,,,, 

playing in time, praying in time,,,

Children they singing,,,  to step n time,,,

 Their voices of love,,,

voices of love

 All danced as one, we loved as one 

oh we played,, as  we prayed as one~

 Don’t you see,,,

Distant lands,, in this present time~

Oh hey yaa ,,,,,oh hey yaa,,,,, oh hey yaaa (chant) x2 layered as 1

Bringing us back home,,, home,

Guiding back home, home,

This Dream,, was it it a dream?,,,,,

 I heard you speak to me,,,, 

Visions  dancing of  you and I,  reality,,,

Dancing,,  Dancing in my head,…~

And talking with me,,, we talked through the night~

Were dancing,, speaking, and singing,,,

 I am   blessed within,  and loved by you ,,,

Of dreams to be,,,  you and me,,, you and me, Creator sees,,,

~ Of just you and me, forever be,,,,,

 you and I

 you and I

Oh let it be,,,  you this gift you gave to me~

.

This gift you gave me

This gift you gave me

Setting my heart free…..,  setting my heart free…..,

 Freedom from our minds (extend)….. 

Freedom from our minds (extend)…

(chant) x2 layered

(chant) x2 layered

Don’t wake me ,,, this moment in time~

Don’t wake me ,,, this moment in life~

Don’t wake me ,,, this moment in love~ love~  

This music in me,,,,

The music in all,,,,

Tim Cannon {C}

[cannonimages-blog]

Whether it’s falling in love or falling out, each of these songs pivots around an electrical jolt.

[cannonimages-blog]

Washing Windows

Keep looking out this ol musty window

Staring into you, my mind repeats your voice

Wanting to scream and cry, 

And will a cut ease the pain 

Stop the rain erase the walls , break them down, 

Erase the memories thats been tormenting your life

 tormenting your life,

Will it alleviate the pain?

refrain~ or a blues feeling, fiddle, violin, and bass

How deep will you have to go

 To end these dreams , end theses dreams

 Sever the tears

Deaden the fight.

And will you be able

To finally free yourself

Or, maybe it’s just an illusion

These thoughts

That twist and bends your mind.

How do you know what’s real

Do you see any color

Between the lines of black and white.

Are you even listening? listening? ~echoed

Do you feel me next to you? 

You and I,  lets finally be free, 

I am you, you are me,~ undivided eternally

So get use to it buddy, grow up and change, it time to learn a new game, 

I am you, and you are me

It’s within, so it was a little sin, your thoughts will open to change,~ it no shame

we’ll let it go back in time, when it started, 

Who just wanted to use you, use you, and I to cry, the salty taste, I finally can relate to your hate

Being in this room, is killing me

refrain~

 How deep

Will you have to go

To end these dreams

 Sever the tears

Deaden the fight.

And will you be able

To finally free yourself

Or, maybe it’s just an illusion

These thoughts

That twist and breakdown your mind.

How do you know what’s real

Do you see any color

Between the lines of black and white.

Are you even listening? Listening?

I am with you,

I’ll give you my heart

Time to make a new start, lets run away, 

The game of life, the game of love

And burn down this tender box, this broken room.

We’ll cut out these games and start to run, 

outside were free, outside, we are free, finally free

A game of reality……

[cannonimages-blog]

A Coming Home

I’m coming home, the places I’ve long to be gone from,

Thinking it was all so sweet, now The scars on me, scars cover me,

It was no dream momma, it was no dream

Tell dad I forgive him, I really loved him tirelessly

Tears never did drop,, the tears never cleansed me why wouldn’t he hug me, hug me

You told us not to go up there, I was only three, how was I to know,

Lying in a creek, crying a raging creek, trying to figure what was just done to me

He was cool that’s what we were told,, my friend and me,  we were only three , only three, we went inside, went inside we went

A sick brother in a bedroom, but no one was there? No one could hear, my friend in a closet, oh so near, I want to be free, let me free, don’t remember next, except what we told afterwards, a secret held in, , a secret were there, eating me, we were three, only three..

Another time I was older, it dam killed me, I wanted to be dead, I tried in my head, I tried for me, come along , come along, I was thirteen, thirteen, never even kissed a girl much less be fondled betrayed repeatedly, I said no, you know of three, I was only thirteen, only thirteen I never knew about abuse or call it as it is,,  someone raped had me

There were times in between, in-between, beaten and beat, I had to survive, mom, oh mom, dam tried you tried suicide, suicide before thirteen after three, after three,

Stuck in an institution, the smell of urine and feces, urine and feces, I was only three plus three, six minus a zero, that was me

Someone tried to abduct me, take wanted to take me, steal me, I don’t know what they would have done to me, I was just past three, just past three, not five or six but past three, I hid in trees, a sticker tree, it was a home to me, to me, dad didn’t say much, war shock I guess,, but I was just past three,, three,

They kept calling the house, the calls, no one ever told me, not till I was older, they wanted to buy me, to purchase a child, I dint know I was never told, never sold, but why didn’t you hug me, hug me, I was only past three by two, three by two, I never got in trouble, alone for the trees, my home for me, the trees, the brush, to the intuition to see mother, it haunted me, the urine and feces, it demolished now, demolished I was at two times three

So many more stories of the past, it's past,, this is just from three, you see, just three, already PTSD, PTSD…Already PTSD, it comes back into your life, more than thirty three years, thirty three, past thirty three, the PTSD

So much more to tell, so much more, this only cuts the surface, to hell never more, hell never more, now I'm fifty-four plus three… That was me at three...

[cannonimages-blog]

Joe

     “I love ya man���      Me? I asked myself in silence. Who sent you here? I felt so afraid, receiving this sensation. Was I valued enough, for someone to send an unknown guardian? Who knew, that such reassurance was needed from a stranger, elevating my spirit and lifting me from this melancholy, depression.    The first time I saw Joe he was laying in a doorway and it was the winter of 1977-78. I had just begun my first day in barbering school, Cincinnati’s “Over-the-Rhine.” He laid there like a piece of gum that society had chewed up and spit out. Only to be trampled upon and embedded into the concrete. The clothes he wore barely fit enough to keep him warm, his shirt stuck out past the shrunken and frayed wool jacket. Through the spilt seam on the rear of his pants, his underwear revealed while he curled up on an old piece of cardboard.  I just had turned seventeen and never in my life have I witnessed such a desolate individual. After all, he probably deserved the situation he was in, just plain lazy or drunk. I thought it was ironic to watch a wino urinate in a garbage can, and then later, see another person search for something to eat from the same container.     There were two areas in the school, a junior and senior side. The senior side charged for services, seventy-five cents for a haircut, and fifty-cents for a shave. On The junior side where all began, haircuts and shaves were generally free. An instructor would grasp a homeless individual off the street and offer a free service, or, sometimes they would just walk in. They all received the same haircut on the junior side; you would take a burr clipper and just buzz the hair down. “Just like shearing sheep on the way to the slaughter house,” one of my instructors would boast. (The owner, wife and son were very courteous to the homeless; they also owned a little grocery store up the block, Albert’s.) These people were so filthy. They had not bathed nor had their hair washed in months. The clippers would clog up with the accumulated dandruff and scabs in the waxy-coated hair. We always had to check for bleeding sores and head lice before we could start cutting. Joe stumbled in that day and pointed to his head.   “You’re up Tim,” an instructor impatiently yelled. I motioned for Joe to come over; he released a deep drowning moan as he sat down. Oh, the body odor, I will never forget the scent. He smelled like bacon grease and cigarettes, while his breath stunk of alcohol and rotting teeth. Not at all greeting him,  I threw the haircloth around him and prepared my clippers. As I looked into the mirror, his features began to soften as the tiny droplets of frost and sinus drainage started to melt away from his beard and mustache. Joe removed the tattered beanie cap and his matted down hair revealed the years of tangled memories. I really do not remember if I asked what kind of haircut Joe wanted, he was just a subject and it was a free service. I only knew how to give a burr. I turned on the clippers and proceeded to mow his hair right down the middle.   “Naah” Joe’s voice garbled while motioning his hands.      “He just wants a little off all over, just a trim,” my instructor smirked.   “I’m so sorry,” I told him. This was my first real lesson in humility. (I later learned that people living on the streets keep their hair longer for warmth in the winter.)

I felt so embarrassed; I hurried to finish the haircut and trimmed his beard. I took the haircloth off and lowered the barber chair. Joe slowly lifted his body up from the seat, came over to me and patted me on the back as he spoke, and it sounded like “It’s O.K.”  For the next few days whenever Joe walked past the huge display window, he would stop, knock on the glass, take off his beanie cap, point to his hair, and smile. In that simple act of forgiveness, Joe had started to become a human to me.

     It was so cold outside, business was slow, and students were standing around waiting and talking. Just then, the door flew open, Joe came in with two other individuals. It was obvious they had been drinking. They were getting a little too friendly and begging for money; I think they just wanted to get warm. Joe was not saying too much as he stood there in a bewildered stupor. To my disbelief, one of the instructors came over and started aggressively shoving them out the door. Joe stumbled and fell to the floor. The instructor started repeatedly kicking Joe telling him to “Get out and stay out. ” I ran over, pushed the instructor out of the way, and I told him what an ass he was. Joe was bleeding from the nose. I helped him to his feet and sent him on his way. That day, Joe finally became human to me.    Soon after, I was on the way to the Bank Café for lunch. Joe was again standing outside begging for money. He asked for some change, and I knew he wanted it for a drink or did I? Therefore, I offered to buy him some lunch. He took the offer and we both ordered the soup and sandwich special. His whole persona opened up to me while we ate. Soup would drip as his trembling hand lifted the spoon, his fingers stained yellow by the years of smoking. While I thought Joe was always drunk, I became aware that he suffered mental problems; his speech was a little hard to understand at times. While I have seen him passing the bottle; was I to judge what he wanted money for? I probably would drink a little wine myself to escape isolation and misery.

Joe was asking for money on afternoon, so instead I offered him a warm lunch, my treat. I learned through my conversation with Joe that when came back from the Vietnam War, his wife had left him. His parents had died a while ago and with no other family, Joe had fallen into a severe depression. He drifted around and ended here in Cincinnati. He did migratory farm labor to earn money, only to lose it on alcohol, gambling, being beaten and robbed. I asked Joe why he did not receive his Veterans benefits. At this point, he shrugged, and seemed not to really even care. (You need an established permanent address to receive any type of aid. Though I doubt Joe could mentally calculate finances anymore.)  He loved baseball and kept repeating, “those Cincinnati Reds.” I left Joe sitting there at the bar when we were finished with lunch. After all, today he was a paying customer and Joe could stay warm a little while longer. Joe asked if I had a pen, which I did. I gave it to him and he just started scribbling on a napkin. Maybe a long lost note to home. I graduated from Barbering School and left Over the Rhine, and Joe.

Many years latter I volunteered with The Sisters of the Poor, in the same area where I went to barbering school, giving free haircuts for those in need.

I was walking downtown one day, and low on self-esteem. My life had taken a complete spin in terms of health, employment and finances. (I was in a bad auto accident, a heart attack, self-employed and had to close our business, and suffered nerve damage from an accident) How could I keep working? Am I not a man anymore? As I drifted along bewildered, I heard, “I love ya, man.” My feelings transformed as I turned and saw a man leaning against a building panhandling. It was Joe! (this is true) I walked over and put what I had in his cup. I told Joe that I remembered him from many years ago, yet, he did not recognize me. Or did he? We shook hands and gave a hug, as our lives touched once again. That day Joe became an angel, a guardian?   Through volunteering, cutting the hair of the homeless, my wife and I have met many Joe’s in life. They all share a common thread, being human. How many Joe’s have you met in your life, or, are you a Joe? 

“I love ya, man.”

Timothy Cannon  

[cannonimages-blog]

The Nature of Movement

We live our life

Within our thoughts and emotions,

Love and anger

Contributing to the motion.

A movement of feelings

Spiral within,

Questions abound

Compete and contend.

Energy of opposites

Circular in their movement,

Provide balance in living

Our hearts open for improvement.

Without sadness

We could not appreciate joy,

Without death

We could not appreciate life,

Without cruelty

We could not appreciate kindness,

Without age

We could not appreciate youth.

These teachings of life

Transform our thoughts,

As our pattern of thoughts

Can transform our life.

We search for meanings

Answers complete,

Confusion sets in

We worry, we retreat.

Understanding this movement

These moments in time,

We see things are temporary

They have reason and rhyme.

How you choose to consent

Will set you free,

Knowing there is a balance

You open to reality.

With faith in your life

In our creator’s hands,

This nature of movement

You now understand.

by: Tim Cannon

[cannonimages-blog]

The Nature of Movement

We live our life

Within our thoughts and emotions,

Love and anger

Contributing to the motion.

A movement of feelings

Spiral within,

Questions abound

Compete and contend.

Energy of opposites

Circular in their movement,

Provide balance in living

Our hearts open for improvement.

Without sadness

We could not appreciate joy,

Without death

We could not appreciate life,

Without cruelty

We could not appreciate kindness,

Without age

We could not appreciate youth.

These teachings of life

Transform our thoughts,

As our pattern of thoughts

Can transform our life.

We search for meanings

Answers complete,

Confusion sets in

We worry, we retreat.

Understanding this movement

These moments in time,

We see things are temporary

They have reason and rhyme.

How you choose to consent

Will set you free,

Knowing there is a balance

You open to reality.

With faith in your life

In our creator’s hands,

This nature of movement

You now understand.

by: Tim Cannon

[cannonimages-blog]

The Mystery

In our search and meaning

To the mystery of life,

We question our being

Our purpose, our rite,

We seek to control

Our destiny and fate,

To challenge our composition

To change our natural state. 

We modify our bodies, to fit in a mold,

It also has been used to mark the sold

Striving for perfection

We lose common ground,

We seek and search for differences

In color, looks, and sound.

We bleach our skin, and tan it dark, 

Lord don’t let those breast touch the ground.

In our search to be different, we separate the source

Creating superior to discriminate, we want to be different,

If we took the time to relate, 

To end, this need to hate, discriminate?

To accept each other, a human wanting love,

To forgive forgive ,to love, love.

Why must we need to solve

 Everyvery mystery in life,

Can we let the unseen

Be the mystery, not be a fight or flight…

Can we accept, to allow

What our Creator intends,

This nature of movement

Lets our being transcend…

Living in the moment

In this movement of time,

Allowing this beauty to surround you

Will all hearts will chime….

Allowing you to be you

And me to be me,

Loving imagination, imperfections, the mistakes

Setting us free,…. Free from the mystery.

by: Tim Cannon

[cannonimages-blog]

Joe

     “I love ya man”      Me? I asked myself in silence. Who sent you here? I felt so afraid, receiving this sensation. Was I valued enough, for someone to send an unknown guardian? Who knew, that such reassurance was needed from a stranger, elevating my spirit and lifting me from this melancholy, depression.    The first time I saw Joe he was laying in a doorway and it was the winter of 1977-78. I had just begun my first day in barbering school, Cincinnati’s “Over-the-Rhine.” He laid there like a piece of gum that society had chewed up and spit out. Only to be trampled upon and embedded into the concrete. The clothes he wore barely fit enough to keep him warm, his shirt stuck out past the shrunken and frayed wool jacket. Through the spilt seam on the rear of his pants, his underwear revealed while he curled up on an old piece of cardboard.  I just had turned seventeen and never in my life have I witnessed such a desolate individual. After all, he probably deserved the situation he was in, just plain lazy or drunk. I thought it was ironic to watch a wino urinate in a garbage can, and then later, see another person search for something to eat from the same container.     There were two areas in the school, a junior and senior side. The senior side charged for services, seventy-five cents for a haircut, and fifty-cents for a shave. On The junior side where all began, haircuts and shaves were generally free. An instructor would grasp a homeless individual off the street and offer a free service, or, sometimes they would just walk in. They all received the same haircut on the junior side; you would take a burr clipper and just buzz the hair down. “Just like shearing sheep on the way to the slaughter house,” one of my instructors would boast. (The owner, wife and son were very courteous to the homeless; they also owned a little grocery store up the block, Albert’s.) These people were so filthy. They had not bathed nor had their hair washed in months. The clippers would clog up with the accumulated dandruff and scabs in the waxy-coated hair. We always had to check for bleeding sores and head lice before we could start cutting. Joe stumbled in that day and pointed to his head.   “You’re up Tim,” an instructor impatiently yelled. I motioned for Joe to come over; he released a deep drowning moan as he sat down. Oh, the body odor, I will never forget the scent. He smelled like bacon grease and cigarettes, while his breath stunk of alcohol and rotting teeth. Not at all greeting him,  I threw the haircloth around him and prepared my clippers. As I looked into the mirror, his features began to soften as the tiny droplets of frost and sinus drainage started to melt away from his beard and mustache. Joe removed the tattered beanie cap and his matted down hair revealed the years of tangled memories. I really do not remember if I asked what kind of haircut Joe wanted, he was just a subject and it was a free service. I only knew how to give a burr. I turned on the clippers and proceeded to mow his hair right down the middle.   “Naah” Joe’s voice garbled while motioning his hands.      “He just wants a little off all over, just a trim,” my instructor smirked.   “I’m so sorry,” I told him. This was my first real lesson in humility. (I later learned that people living on the streets keep their hair longer for warmth in the winter.)

I felt so embarrassed; I hurried to finish the haircut and trimmed his beard. I took the haircloth off and lowered the barber chair. Joe slowly lifted his body up from the seat, came over to me and patted me on the back as he spoke, and it sounded like “It’s O.K.”  For the next few days whenever Joe walked past the huge display window, he would stop, knock on the glass, take off his beanie cap, point to his hair, and smile. In that simple act of forgiveness, Joe had started to become a human to me.

     It was so cold outside, business was slow, and students were standing around waiting and talking. Just then, the door flew open, Joe came in with two other individuals. It was obvious they had been drinking. They were getting a little too friendly and begging for money; I think they just wanted to get warm. Joe was not saying too much as he stood there in a bewildered stupor. To my disbelief, one of the instructors came over and started aggressively shoving them out the door. Joe stumbled and fell to the floor. The instructor started repeatedly kicking Joe telling him to “Get out and stay out. ” I ran over, pushed the instructor out of the way, and I told him what an ass he was. Joe was bleeding from the nose. I helped him to his feet and sent him on his way. That day, Joe finally became human to me.    Soon after, I was on the way to the Bank Café for lunch. Joe was again standing outside begging for money. He asked for some change, and I knew he wanted it for a drink or did I? Therefore, I offered to buy him some lunch. He took the offer and we both ordered the soup and sandwich special. His whole persona opened up to me while we ate. Soup would drip as his trembling hand lifted the spoon, his fingers stained yellow by the years of smoking. While I thought Joe was always drunk, I became aware that he suffered mental problems; his speech was a little hard to understand at times. While I have seen him passing the bottle; was I to judge what he wanted money for? I probably would drink a little wine myself to escape isolation and misery.

Joe was asking for money on afternoon, so instead I offered him a warm lunch, my treat. I learned through my conversation with Joe that when came back from the Vietnam War, his wife had left him. His parents had died a while ago and with no other family, Joe had fallen into a severe depression. He drifted around and ended here in Cincinnati. He did migratory farm labor to earn money, only to lose it on alcohol, gambling, being beaten and robbed. I asked Joe why he did not receive his Veterans benefits. At this point, he shrugged, and seemed not to really even care. (You need an established permanent address to receive any type of aid. Though I doubt Joe could mentally calculate finances anymore.)  He loved baseball and kept repeating, “those Cincinnati Reds.” I left Joe sitting there at the bar when we were finished with lunch. After all, today he was a paying customer and Joe could stay warm a little while longer. Joe asked if I had a pen, which I did. I gave it to him and he just started scribbling on a napkin. Maybe a long lost note to home. I graduated from Barbering School and left Over the Rhine, and Joe.

Many years latter I volunteered with The Sisters of the Poor, in the same area where I went to barbering school, giving free haircuts for those in need.

I was walking downtown one day, and low on self-esteem. My life had taken a complete spin in terms of health, employment and finances. (I was in a bad auto accident, a heart attack, self-employed and had to close our business, and suffered nerve damage from an accident) How could I keep working? Am I not a man anymore? As I drifted along bewildered, I heard, “I love ya, man.” My feelings transformed as I turned and saw a man leaning against a building panhandling. It was Joe! (this is true) I walked over and put what I had in his cup. I told Joe that I remembered him from many years ago, yet, he did not recognize me. Or did he? We shook hands and gave a hug, as our lives touched once again. That day Joe became an angel, a guardian?   Through volunteering, cutting the hair of the homeless, my wife and I have met many Joe’s in life. They all share a common thread, being human. How many Joe’s have you met in your life, or, are you a Joe? 

“I love ya, man.”

 Timothy Cannon  

[cannonimages-blog]

A Kiss

And if

Time

 Was only a kiss,

Forever

 I would hold you

In my arms,

Gently our lips

They meet,

Breathing

Sharing

This essence of life.

Your lips

Delicately

Pressing against mine,

Feeling our souls

Merging

Dancing as one,

The warmth of our skin

Perspiration

Touching against mine,

Melting

Colliding against time.

Lifting

Swirling

Our love elevates

To that higher ground,

Where no days pass

No memories past

Only now,

And time

Was only

A kiss

Forever.

by: Tim Cannon

[cannonimages-blog]

A Soul

I dreamed

As a soul

Floating

Into the vastness

Of time and space,

Drifting

Among the clouds

No darkness

No lightness

Just being

Watching,

Listening x3 reverberated down

Awareness

all sensations

Coming to me

Passing through,

Experiencing

Receiving

Learning

Giving,

Open to beginnings

The present

The spirit

Life,

Within me, Dwelling x3

And you

And I

Dream together,

Sharing

Loving

A union

Creating life,

Building a future

From the vastness

Of time and space

The Beginnings of tomorrow,

Gentle vibrations, of within the present

The presence of your Grace x3.

By, Timothy Cannon

[cannonimages-blog]

Time Chaser

Time chaser, why so fast, it on my dime

Take in the scene, be part of the few who see

It’s time now, it time now, Time Chaser

Bring you phone, a selfie, don’t you want to be famous

You won’t see me selfie, Time Chaser

Got to get mov’in, got to get groov’in, got to take form

It the music in the air, the music fills the air, why so fast Time Chaser

You’ll race to your last breathe, why so anxious

Give me you mind, I got your dime, relax Time Chaser

Slow down Charlie Horse, let your body move you, let it move you

Get up, get down, get up, get down, move your body to the sound

Anxious time taker, love is away, love can stay, got another dime

Time Chaser, Time Chaser, why so fast, ride a bicycle, it will get you there safer, 

It fades before you know it, it fades before you own it, Time Chaser

Life I now, it’s in front of you, what another bigger Mac,

You’ll get another heart attack, live you Time Chaser, don’t focus on size, Time Chaser

Children sing, lets play it again, lets play again, Time Chaser

They want your love, they want your love Time Chaser

Time Chaser relax on three, two, one , they’ll find you Time Chaser

Time chaser, your at wits end, give them a friend, make it last, Time Chaser, time waster, time is better, on a dime, Time Chaser

Heres another, make it last, Time Chaser…...

By, Timothy Cannon

[cannonimages-blog]

Prog, The Educated Frog

Was it 50 or 60, maybe going back to Bach, there was an very educated frog, his name was Prog. He lived in a pad, very cush to my surprise.

He ribbited his cords in an unusal order, little did people know, it was a vision into the world of nature, a golden one, and named this cord of life , Prog, after all, he was an educted frog.

Soon others began to appear, many of the animals knew of this cord, they lived by it for years, it was The Golden Mean. An educated way in balance, only a frog could know, yet these simple annimals felt this cord in life, every night all would sing, progressively beautiful the from he would think. Prog was mistified by what a simle worm could do, so he asked the worm if he could lay a lick or two.

Soon all were playing, this song of life, a golden means, had turned into a dream, and the creatures let the frog, Prog,, keep the founding name, he felt so jumpity,  pad to pad he went, creating a sound unique, a keybord he called it, a unique sound with cords, Henry he would call it, and the other animals looked surpised Henry? So they told him how mod “Moog” sounded reverberating with Prog, and thus began the Progessive history.

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If a Poem Tells a Tale

If a poem tells a tale

 Of the hours and years 

Spent with you, 

I would read it, forever so slowly 

Each word pronounced

 So tenderly,

 So delicately, 

Carefully I would turn

 Each page of our life 

Caressing each syllable of you

Tender my lips 

Whispering 

Sounds of passion 

The love story within us 

The years never apart,

How I would kiss the sky 

 Seeing your lovely face

Once perished in the wind

Knowing our love never died,

The stories replaying 

Forever, in my heart

If the tears should even return

I know you would be there

The sunshine on my face

Once again, once again, 

Drying the silent tears

Tenderly erasing any trace

If this poem tells our tale

 Of the hours and years 

Spent with you, 

I would read it, forever so slowly 

Each word pronounced

 So tenderly,

 So delicately, 

Carefully I would turn

 Each page of our life 

Caressing each syllable of you 

by: Tim Cannon

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Eyes are crying

Eyes are crying

For the 1000’s+ children taken away, maybe lost, stolen, by P Trumps forced removal decision..

their eyes are crying

you see the tears

stolen for their parents, forced in a cage, olDonald, on a high horse, aiming at game, it’s like Nazi rule, ruining life, together we can peacefully fight.

I will not stand quietly, while this monster grows,

US natives, were exterminated and reservated and as it grows more, children parish everyday, Why should we trust Donald, a real or fake president, the news doing its shows ,now to Mexico and beyond we go.

My relatives past trusted the same, but now their all gone, some went insane, , ptsd maybe, they were little too, ptsd does not discriminate, , when ripped from a mothers love, and a family bond it peels you to the bone.

Fake president , fake smile, fake relationship, real vile, fake news, hmmm, look at the news, from the past, it’s the same now, things revolve as they evolve, this time I wont be still, this man is for real, he crash our economy, for his game, Fake president, fake president, now theses children need care, and you personally going to take the buck and do the passing game here.

~ eyes are swollen,  from the crying fear, it never stops, when your little, taken from your love, you feel for their tears, you feel for their tears, you see the tears, you see the tears…… (fades out) fake president

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Childhood Friends

I saw you standing there on the corner, the corner, corner

Your face faintly glistening a smile, 

You told me you were lonely, so lonely

So I stopped to walk with you awhile, awhile~

You know it has been ages, ages

Since we played as friends, 

Through the fields and the courtyards, the courtyards

Different games we played, 

Always pretending, to pretend,… 

But we had to grow up, grow up, grew up

As our  child life came to an end, the end

I told you never give up, never, never,

Our childhood never ever has to end, to end……

I touched and tagged you on the shoulder, your shoulder

I began to shout that your it, your it… (the one for me)

And into the pouring rain we ran off, ran off

You chased me around the bend, the bend

We ran for hours, the hours

It seemed like days, the day

The hours never end, never ended,~

You touched my shoulder, and you tagged me, you tagged me

And the game never seemed to end, to end

You told me to never grow up, grow up

We will always be childhood friends, my friend, my friend

Let this game in life, of life

Never ever end, never end

And as we walked through the courtyard, the courtyard

We exchanged our vows to the end, the end

And then my childhood sweetheart, sweetheart

Was my forever lasting childhood friend, my friend…

To my childhood friend……