Tom Smarda, pág 56

Tom Smarda

Tom Smarda spent ten years during the 70’s hitch-hiking around North America, playing music from the Yukon to Guatemala, from the east coast to the west coast, in Canada, as well as the States. Exposed to many cultures, witnessing the on-going destruction of the Earth, hand-in-hand with increasing poverty and injustice, inspired him to write songs which hopefully can constructively and compassionately address some important universal concerns. He believes that?we can house, clothe and feed one?another without destroying the Earth in the process for future generations.”

ANGER

Why am I forced By circumstances Into this useless pain And misery, When God can so simply And effortlessly remove it? Why am I stuck Like a fish flopping around When it’s been pulled Out of the water, Except that I am Flopping around? Yes, I know that I can always consider Jesus getting crucified, And that my discomfort Is only temporary, And probably by comparison Something to be grateful for.

FAITH

So are graphic demonstrations Of faith associated with The occurrence of miracles, Great upheavals in what Would otherwise be Normal routine happenings? Things that run smoothly, That are predictable and stable, Might be examples of On-going faith and alignment To the greater wisdom That grants us peace. Of course there are The unexpected outcomes, And synchronicities which By their very nature Could not have been planned, Or initiated and brought to fruition By merely human endeavours.

SILLINESS

The silliness of the mundane. The streets that seemed So huge and far away When we were children, Which now appear as Merely a few blocks, Which can easily be walked Without thinking about it. The piles of fallen leaves Lying beneath the trees, With their huge trunks So large that One would not even consider Putting their tiny arms Around the trees, With the expectations That one’s finger tips Would be able to touch On the other side of The massive bark covered being.

COINCIDANCES

Well I was wondering How to schedule myself, And get some stuff done And do some errands. Sometimes that involves Setting priorities, And doing the most important Things first, To make sure they get done. Also it involves evaluating What can be postponed, So as to free up time To get other stuff done. It becomes a type of Hieroglyphics of bent Weirdly projected perspectives Of awkward angles Fused into a sequential stream.

TIMING

I was just being quiet And contemplating When I felt this Deep peace, And a clear but peaceful Voice, That I took as Or recognized as Jesus, Telling me that I Would be healed, And I got the vision Like in the Bible, Where He told somebody To extend their hands, And the other was healed And restored like The first one. At that exact same time I heard crashing and yelling As the couple in the next apartment…

YELLING

Well buddy is yelling Hysterically, almost at The top of his lungs, (Well, c’mon, you could probably Force yourself to yell louder…) At his partner that She has to stop “NOW”! She’s got five fucken minutes. I wonder if he’s been Getting any lately. There’s still the occasional BANG. This has been going on Intermittenly for maybe Nine months since they moved in. I yelled back then That domestic assault is a crime, From my balcony to theirs And they stopped. Do they have any choice in the matter?

ISSUE

So should I say something? (OK, I’ll say it, “Something”) I’ve done so in the past And people told me That they thought that I was being critical, When I only wanted To be helpful. So I danced around The accusation and decided To let things be. Maybe it wasn’t any Of my business to say anything. So what if it ends up Costing somebody their lives? But what if they are So overwhelmed anyways, And just want to be Listened to without judgement?

VICTIM

So playing the victim, Justifying self-pity Making the other person wrong, Expecting the unmerciful To cease and desist, Coming from a place Of powerlessness, And hoping to argue That there is any benefit To the perpetrator, To somehow change their mind, And all of a sudden Become compassionate, And let go of their Adrenaline driven euphoric Attacks enforcing domination, Self-righteously justified… Well, it’s the old blame the victim. But who’s the victim? The one making the fist?

SPIN

One can put spin Onto any situation To make it appear hopeful, Although it’s also been said That one can’t polish a turd. So where does that leave The resurrection of Christ? Can death lead to rebirth? Is that in any way hopeful? Isn’t death about as hopeless As anything can get? Is death even real, Or is it merely an illusion? It it’s merely an illusion, So suicide doesn’t solve anything, But neither does homicide. Can one make a lie true? Now that’s spin!

TEARS

Why cry over somebody’s passing? Haven’t they gone over To be in a better place? Isn’t crying just another Example of not accepting What has happened, And putting energy into denial? If it makes someone Feel better, I suppose that for the most part It doesn’t really do any harm. Why all the pent up tears? Personal loss is personal, But how about universal? If that were the case, I would be a walking talking Puddle of constant tears Over the agony of the human race. And what good would that be?

JUSTIFICATION

The biggest and most shocking Revulsion of the truth Would probably be when It becomes plain to people, That while all along They thought that they were Doing good, And doing the right thing, And expending a measured effort Conscientiously to their Way of thinking, To what they considered Wholesome and constructive living… All of a sudden they see That they were living a lie And that they had been duped, That it was all an illusion And that all their sacrifices Only served to make things worse For themselves and those they love.

JUSTIFICATION

The justification is The smile selectively applied When the buzzer is activated, To allow the locked doors To click indicating That if one pushes the bar They will be able to pass. The mental institution Is in fact mental, And those in pain Are treated as best as Those providing care know how. It’s not a happy picture Of slightly unfocussed vignettes In pale pastel colours, Hung on nondescript walls In cheap frames, So if someone rips them down They would be inexpensive to replace.