MY FISHING HOLE - Phyllis Sinclai

There’s a place in my childhood I often would go

A quiet little hide away beyond the hydro road

A place where I could cast away the worries of my mind

Untangle all my trouble at the end of my line

Did you know I had a fishing hole?

My fishing hole and I were young we made a natural pair

A whirlpool and an eddy sailing free without a care
Like Sawyer’s Mississippi and the seas of Captain Hook

Explored our worlds together in the confines of that brook

Worlds untold at my fishing hole

Where all the world was right

Though I rarely caught a bite

That fishing hole just fed my soul

I felt whole at my fishing hole

And when I grew to face the daunting queries of my youth

Faced the age old questions who is god and what is truth?

I often found the answer just while casting through the air

Answered in the stillness of my self reflection there

Truths unfold at my fishing hole

Now my hair is turning grey my life has its demands
Running errands and paying bills complicating plans
When I need so time to think some time to slow my pace
That hydro road still lures me back to my favourite childhood place

I still go to my fishing hole

Where all the world is right

Though I rarely catch a bite

That fishing hole still feeds my soul

I feel whole at my fishing hole

I feel whole at my fishing howl

SAYISI SONG - Phyllis Sinclair

You’ve been wandering, far too long

Searching for that place, forever gone

Though you’re weary now, believe

Tomorrow comes and this new day brings a song

Dry your eyes – arise

Tears of pain have kept you down too long
Weep no more, close that door
Save your strength for the day

The night is through

In the twilight, night spirits roam
Longing for the day they journey home

Hear their voices plead, set us free
Grieve no more, our parting brings release

Dry your eyes – arise

Tears of pain have kept you down too long

Weep no more, close the door
Save your strength for the day

The night is through

Save your strength Night Spirits long for home 

THE MANICURE - Phyllis Sinclair

Standing in the check out line

She pulled her cart up next to mine

She asked if I would help her to unload

My hands they just don’t work the same

They’re stiff and crooked, But I won’t complain 

These hands have toiled and laboured to get me by

It’s the least that I can do to show

The thanks I have and the debt I owe

It’s taken a life of living to get my hands to look like this

Back in days when I was young

When little arms around me clung
They dried a thousand tears from crying eyes
They cleaned the dirt from tumbled knees

Spent countless hours shelling garden peas

And the built the house we lived in at the time
They scrubbed a few walls pots and pans

Coined the phrase of dish pan hands
It’s taken a life of living to get my hands to look like this

It’s taken a life of living to get my hands to look like this

Leathered, cracked and wrinkled from working hard,

I must admit, I know

They’re not too much to look upon,

Never soaked them in a fine salon

It’s taken a life of living to get my hands to look like this.

Lost the farm in ‘63

Took a job in town at the factory,
I assembled parts til my hands were thick and numb
They had their knocks, their bumps and blows

But they bought the farm that the bank foreclosed

And a horse who taught the kids all how to ride
They had their share of cuts and scars

But they taught the value of working hard
It’s taking a life of living to get my hands to look like this

It’s taken a life of living to get my hands to look like this

Leathered, cracked and wrinkled from working hard

I must admit, I know

They’re not too much to look upon

Never soaked them in a fine salon

It’s taken a life of living to get my hands to look like this.

Now you know about these hands

I hope you don’t misunderstand
I’ve given them the best care that I could
Though they’ve never had a life of ease

Never pampered, I can guarantee

They’re the reason that I stand here with my pride

My life has been their manicure

Shaped by service through the years

It’s taken a life of living to get my hands to look like this

It’s taken a life of living to get my hands to look like this

Leathered, cracked and wrinkled from working hard,

I must admit, I know

They’re not too much to look upon

Never soaked them in a fine salon

It’s taken a life of living to get my hands to look like this.

It's taken a life of living to get my hands to look like this

WRECK OF THE DICTATOR - Phyllis Sinclair

He said, I set my net at the last low tide

Where I set before at least a thousand times

Me and Dictator on the fishing ground

Four fathoms down

It was a full moon tide on the Skull Bar shelf

A shallow rise in a bottomless hell

Time to pull the silver from the sandy mound

Four fathoms down

Fishing for a living, it’s a drain on a sailor’s soul

Empty nets can make a warm man cold

The tide was strong - took my net for a ride
Flipped The Dictator over on her side

Tried to free her with my knife ‘til the blood dripped down

Four fathoms down

I made to shore I had to find some help,

Couldn’t stand to watch her writhing on the shelf

Got the hooks, got the chains – gonna tow her out to

To twenty-five fathoms down

Try for a winning, it’s a game in Leviathan’s hole

I spend more money trying to make a go

Try for a winning, it’s gamble on Leviathan’s hole

Should I give up only heaven knows

Heaven knows

We pulled and we tugged got her half upright
Dragged her off the bar while she hung on tight
The current kept her trail like a blood crazed hound,

There’s Thirty-five fathoms down

Oh, the sun and the moon they wouldn’t give up her soul

Snapped the chains loose like a dry wish bone
She lurched, swayed back made a mournful sound

There’s Forty- five fathoms down

No misgivings, though the work it can break your bones

The paybacks more than a miner’s gold
No misgivings, though the work makes a young man old

The payback’s better than a miner’s gold

Miner’s gold

She pitched and she rolled, she gave the fight of her life

Fought the watery hand that gripped with all her might

But the tide won the battle and it pulled her down

To f Fifty five fathoms down

Dictator she’s a lady, she’s a sailor’s dream

She's saved countless men in a hurricane sea

Earned every salt of her resting ground

Fifty-five fathoms down

Take no pity, it would shame and vex her so

Just thanks for the years and the good times, bro

Take no pity, it would shame and crush her so

Just thanks for years, now its time to go
Time to go

On the Skull Bar floor now she marks my set
A true-blue friend in her eternal rest
Earthen, wooden vessel, she’s immortal now
Fifty-five fathoms down

Fifty-five fathoms down

Fifty-five fathoms down

MY NORTHERN TOWN - Phyllis Sinclair

Standing on the platform, waiting for the “get-on-board”

Time to head back to my northern town
Conductor waiting for the sign to load the Hudson Bay line

Just can’t wait to hear the rattle down

Take me home

All I want is my northern town, where the wild wind blows

Feel the cold rush through my bones, laugh with friends I know

C’mon call me on board, ride me northward home

C’mon make those wheel rolls, take my heart back home

I’ll watch the wheat fields rolling by, stare out at the prairie sky

Wake up with the whistle whining low
We’ll pass the midway forest stands, onto coastal lowlands

When I cross the Nelson River I will know

I’m near home

All I want is my northern town, where the wild wind blows

Feel the cold rush through my bones, laugh with friends I know

C’mon call me on board, ride me northward home

C’mon make those wheel rolls, take my heart back home

I’ll feel the wheels below my feet, two-step with my heart beat

Pounding out the rhythm of the bow
It’s neighbour playing St. Anne’s Reel, keeping time with his boot heals

Friday night dance is the place to go

That’s my home

All I want is my northern town, where the wild wind blows

Feel the cold rush through my bones, laugh with friends I know

C’mon call me on board, ride me northward home

C’mon make those wheel rolls, take my heart back home

I’ll feel the morning summer breeze, wrap my sweater close to me

Standing on the grey back rocky shore
I’ll hear the cry of Whiskey Jack, walk along the river flats

Smell my grandma’s cookin’ on the stove

I’ll be home

All I want is my northern town, where the wild wind blows

Feel the cold rush through my bones, laugh with friends I know

C’mon call me on board, ride me northward home

C’mon make those wheel rolls, take my heart back home

All I want is my northern town

ALBERTA ROSE - Phyllis Sinclair
She sits in the crevasse waiting for morning,

Awaiting the sun, and her day to begin when she’ll rise again

On the prairie wind

She’s in no hurry, she drinks in the dew,

Watches the sage brush drink of it too, in the Badland
What a pretty pair

She’s Alberta Rose, she’s strong and she’s free,

Wild Natural Beauty Flower of the Prairie

She follows the sun to the great Rocky Mountains,
There she can bathe in the pools & the fountains past foothills green

All day to dream

She waltzes through ranch land, valleys, and farms
Flaunting her beauty, she’s working her charm on the Ammolite
Her jewelled delight

She’s Alberta Rose, she’s strong and she’s free,

Wild Natural Beauty Flower of the Prairie

Alberta Rose

She brushes the Ice fields heading for Zama,
Wades in the shore line of Lake Athabasca in the ancient pines

Under autumn skies
 

Northern wind blowing, she takes her rest,
Satisfied knowing, she gave us her best, then she fades away

But she’ll come again

She’s Alberta Rose, she’s strong and she’s free,

Wild Natural Beauty Flower of the Prairie

Freely she gives us full knowing she’ll wither and die

Return to the earth there renewing the circle of life,

Then she’ll rise in the grain ripened harvest, gem stones and the oil,\
Appearing once more to give back to Alberta soil

Now she sits in the crevasse waiting for morning,

Awaiting the sun, and her day to begin

When she’ll rise again
On the prairie wind

ENCINITAS - Phyllis Sinclair

Booked a room in Encinitas

Took some time to feel the sun

Watch the waves roll off the ocean

Taste the salt air with our tongues

You, me, Encinitas

You, me, Encinitas

Walked the shores of Encinitas
Felt the warm air kiss our skin

Heard the gulls cry in the cliff above

Heard the waves sing with the wind

You, me, Encinitas

You, me, Encinitas

Left by train from Encinitas
Left the wonder of it all
In my mind I will go back again

In my mind I will recall

You, me, Encinitas

You, me, Encinitas

You, me, Encinitas

MAIN STREET - Phyllis Sinclair

Snow is falling at my feet, leaving tracks that follow me

Down Main Street

Like the imprint in my mind, impressions left of bygone times

On Main Street

I see the old time places, familiar lines on faces

Some things have changed but hard times still remain here

Like the wind that blows

Down Main Street

Wasn’t long ago it seems, I lived the mediocrity

Of Main Street
Rescue Missions, dingy bars, cheap hotels, all played a part

On Main Street
Places for the lonely, All thinking they’re the only
Ones who’ve faced the hard times in the bitter air of the wind that blows

Down Main Street

But, what good is a memory, if not to tell tomorrow

Which roads to lose, which roads to keep

What to change or borrow?

What's to say of crazy days wandering in the lost parade

Of Main Street?
We came to work and give our backs just to fall between the cracks

Of Main Street

Thousand year old heroes, Who fell below to zero
With few to say now don't give up there are warmer days than this cold buffet
Of Main Street

But, what good is a memory, if not to tell tomorrow

Which roads to lose, which roads to keep

What to change or borrow?

Here I stand now looking back, I paved my own road, Made new tracks

Off Main Street
Can’t say that I have regret I paid my dues, I leave no debt to Main Street

Yet still I owe this boulevard, Credit for the playing card It dealt to win the losing game In the bitter air of the wind that blows

Down Main Street

And as I turn my face to leave a part of me will always be

On Main Street
And when I lay me down to sleep, I’ll pray the Lord your souls to keep

On Main Street

JEWELS ON THE CROWN OF SAINT JOHN - Phyllis Sinclair

Awaiting my love, on the bank of the river
I search the horizon, for dark in the dawn
A top mast to rise, with cargo of sugar

For the salt fish and timber, that left from Saint John

A merchant marine man he called me his treasure

Rare gem unequalled save the jewels carried on

Billows and breaks off the crown of his pleasure

Sunrise and sunsets off the shore of Saint John

No Sapphire blue as the crest of the morning

No Ruby more gild as the scarlet bathed dawn

No kingdom with might as the tide of the Fundy

I await with the jewels on the crown of Saint John

By this Emerald Bay, await my returning
Words of his parting as the breeze sailed him on

Droplets of diamonds that blew on south wind

On the pool of his diademed prize of Saint John

No Sapphire blue as the crest of the morning

No Ruby more gild as the scarlet bathed dawn

No kingdom with might as the tide of the Fundy

I await with the jewels on the crown of Saint John

Oh billows of might, Ye fathoms of mercy
Up from the depths rain down Gilead’s balm
Safe passage bestow to my love on the South Seas

To the pearl of his pleasure, the waves of Saint John

No Sapphire blue as the crest of the morning

No Ruby more gild as the scarlet bathed dawn

No kingdom with might as the tide of the Fundy

I await with the jewels on the crown of Saint John

I await wit the jewels on the crown of Saint John

LOST FOR WORDS - Phyllis Sinclair

Got the news from you this morning

How quickly life can change without a single warning - took my blind side

I've searched for words that have some meaning

To make some sense of this confounding, hard revealing - but I'm speechless

Lost for words

But I wish you good, I wish you well

I wish you more that I can tell

I wish you strength, I wish you faith

I wish you more that I can say

I hope that all will turn out right

But all my words just sound so trite

I wish you well, as you can tell

I'm lost for words

Gallantry so far escapes me
Vacant words are not my style they leave you empty I'm so frustrated
I only hope my words unspoken
Will speak in ways that I can't find: my tongue is frozen Oh I'm speechless
Lost for Words

But I wish you good, I wish you well

I wish you more that I can tell

I wish you strength, I wish you faith

I wish you more that I can say

I hope that all will turn out right

But all my words just sound so trite

I wish you well, as you can tell

I'm lost for words

Are there really any words that could change the way things are?
If there were I'd find them search the world and farthest star
To make this all just some bad dream

Wake you with the words I deemed the ones
But the words I have sit dry upon my tongue

But I wish you good, I wish you well

I wish you more that I can tell

I wish you strength, I wish you faith

I wish you more that I can say

I hope that all will turn out right

But all my words just sound so trite

I wish you well, as you can tell

I'm lost for words

MARY JO - Phyllis Sinclair

Mary-Jo left Thompson this morning, Not a note, not a word of warning

She just packed her bags in the car and hit the road alone

Left the kids at the Strand theatre

With tear filled eyes she said “See you later”

Gave a kiss and a hug, and their shirts a tug

Though it broke her heart, she needs a brand new start

Mary-Jo, Mary-Jo

Mary-Jo I can’t understand it, Why they talk, and have you branded

For upholding the laws and defending a cause for the weak
esus said, “Let all men be brothers”
I’m sure he meant be fair to others

Not just to those of the status quo
Yet they criticize, they’ve ostracized Mary-Jo, Mary-Jo

Mary-Jo you see no dividers

No black or white, no wrong or righters

Mary-Jo they say you’re a sinner
I must confess I think that you’re a winner

Mary-Jo, Mary-Jo,

Mary-Jo you’re smart and a nine-er, But you feel like a nickel miner

Working underground, in the dark, chipping walls of stone
They seek for truth that’s why you forgive them
They have a right to what they believe in

Think they hold the key, so they just won’t see
I’m not her judge, can’t hold a grudge 'gainst

Mary-Jo, Mary-Jo

Mary-Jo you see no dividers

No black or white, no wrong or righters

Mary-Jo they say you’re a sinner
I must confess I think that you’re a winner Mary-Jo, Mary-Jo,

Mary-Jo yoMary Jo left Thompson this morning

FOUR DAYS IN GRONINGEN - Phyllis Sinclair
He would talk after supper for hours on end
Of a city in Holland he was sent to defend
He would stop for a moment and hum a few lines
Of a song that I knew back when I was a child
Then he’d say write the lines of this simple refrain

Of that song sung in Groningen upon my grave

On April 14th we moved in from the west
We were Calgary Highlanders just doing our best
To make way for the “Black Watch” to Groningen’s square

A mission of mercy with no time to spare
Awaiting deliverance from hungers strong hold
Wait the people of Groningen with skin to the bone

Combat was heavy that Friday- 15th
Shots rang from high towers down to the streets
Where we ran to take cover, on the dank air we choked
Our lungs filled with brick dust, burning flesh and gun smoke

As we fought for that city, ash fell like snow
While the people of Groningen huddled below

Four Days in Groningen, I’ll not forget

Four Days in Groningen, burn in my chest

And the song that was sung there in grateful refrain

After four days in Groningen yet here remain

Surrender can early that April 16th
The dark clouds had parted the rain and guns ceased

So we bandaged our wounded and we buried our pals

Handed out rations on the streets and canals
In the quiet of evening we whispered a prayer
For the comrades we lost there in Groningen’s square

But, the fourth day in Groningen burns like a lamp

When a choir of children came up to our camp
To thank us for freedom by singing a song
It was the singular song that they knew in our tongue

And I’ll always remember how sweetly they sang

That song so familiar as freedom bells rang

Four Days in Groningen, I’ll not forget

Four Days in Groningen, burn in my chest

And the song that was sung there in grateful refrain

After four days in Groningen yet here remain

I buried my Bobby one hot July day
And just as he asked me I wrote on his grave
Lines from that song that we’d sung through the years

That took on new meaning for my Robert H. Hird

When Groningen’s children in soft serenade

Thanked Canada’s soldiers with “Home on the Range”

Four Days in Groningen, I’ll not forget

Four Days in Groningen, burn in my chest

And the song that was sung there in grateful refrain

After four days in Groningen yet here remain

Home Home on the Range, where the deer and the antelope play

Where seldom is heard a discouraging word

And the skies are not cloudy all day

And the skies are not cloudy all day