Category Archives: Old Man Punk

assortment of vaguely lyrical, largely angtsy words to sing or spiel, definitely unedited and *really* shouldn’t be posted but its not like i’m actually gonna finish them, sheesh

Fresh out of defiance #draft

One is as good as the next I suppose
Fresh out of defiant slogans
Too exhausted to scowl
Done with rhetoric and angst

Given up on raised firsts
Just my eyebrows for now
I run but slowly
On the hamster wheel
Stroll languid towards oblivion

Lay flat, do little
Let the system squander and powers collapse among
Hubris, greed bah!
“i’ll Take apathy to go”
With a side of indifference


Lyric: Carousel of Lost Ambitions #draft

disappearing is tricky but possible
Vaguely remember
When I disappeared
Drifted away
Wasn’t heard from in years

Lost and found
Now here I am send me a postcard
Or a telegram

Did you get the note
I left in your locker
Remembered your padlock
numbers from a broken clock

It’s right far more often
Then twice a day
Would need a watch to verify so I’m not sure anyway

Sollioquies of self sabotage
Wayward schemes from
Sydney to Frankfort
Or was it Austin to Adelaide?

Blanket tents and tarpaulins
Acquired from surplus store on a rainy day under the aqueduct
not the one made by ancient Romans

Errant dispatches from Osaka to Olympia
Greece or Cascadia
Ships landing at a jumbo floating barge
Now a nautical disaster

Which ever solitude suits your mind
Sincerity obviously optional
You wouldn’t want it any other way but difficult

Scribble manifests of destiny
On backs of a clearinghouse sweepstakes winning slips
Send by carrier pigeon
return address
of general post & salvage
consortium incorporate

No postal code or round-trip ticket
Intentions left at last week’s station
Suitcase of gold bars & chocolate bricks
Dizzy from carousels and lost ambitions

Lyric: Steeplechas’d #draft

{for KB & CC}

meanwhile in Kerala with creamsicle houses

I built a sensory deprivation chamber
Out of cardboard scissors and glue
Meant to be along in a fog
But accidentally made room for you (as well)

Somehow we steeple-chased
From OlyWa to Pondicherry
Lomo ghosts of dangerous signs
To develop a cover story

It doesn’t all add up
Mostly because i pawned my
To pay for silent meditation

Turns out freedom is
An empty glass
Or broken glasses
To block out all the fuzz
Find meaning tin the absence
Of strangers and true loves

Hire an Ayurvedic practitioner
Who comes to chat on a phone
While rubbing oil into
Your secret places alone

Ride a TukTuk which only takes wrong turns
Then Bicycle with lock
Emblazoned with a sign which says
Steal me, freely

Climbing mountains seeking
Really this time the most holy brahmin
Who sits making espressos
No croissant though
Is it even worthwhile?

Only find sunburns
And a golden dome for a holy mother
Who didn’t bother to learn your name
Attached to yet another saint

Free range children
Climbing holy banyan trees
Sacred grove signs pointing
Towards your next checkpoint
With fresh toxic paint

Found enlightenment
When i stopped trying
And opened the doors
To secret cafes
With signs requiring shoes ignored

Realize danger is perception
Sure take my rupees dollar and yen
I wander easily with pockets of seashells
Forged passport and
Manufactured zen

Lyric: slow burned & singed #draft

Unrelated photo, more or less – you decide
Well lets all pretend
That we did our best
And try for a graceful exit
And give up on all the rest

All our romantic notions
And pretending we were something new
When the truth is nothing special
And the ending is always blue

Mama always told me
I am one in a million
I am no mathematician
But it seems that nothing brilliant

A bunch of abject failures
Pretending to be a revolution
Constructs and fabrications
A series of a hallucinations

I guess like everyone else
I want to be part of something
Something, bigger than myself not thin sliced up and slow burned & singed

Be that human who can
trust my inner instincts
Not ending up baffled
As a walking contradiction

So here we are, you and I
And another spoon in the road
endless cul-de-sac and paper route
Trying to get to another bus ride

Diaries with dreams, band names and secret crushes
Tender cringe of course
Is where sparkly magic lives

Burn it all in an oil barrel
Stolen from a Hampton Airport
This is my luxury i demand
In the sparkley Chelsea apartment

Steal an ashtray on the way out
And brag about it to be relevant
Collect DNA samples from lip gloss
And scan the brain for blood flow

Vagus nerve pierces like a pitchfork
Smoldering on bamboo charcoal
Devil ain’t got nothing more to give me
So I offer her a raincoat
And say “are you up for a stroll?“

(Sorry) I didn’t answer your Internets

Forgot your Internet

My pardons if I didn’t click
You’re evidently awesome Internets

I’m not trying to be mean
just when I fire up the robot machine
I forget what all of this really means

Suppose it’s easier when you have a working brain
Mine only works four hours a day
And when I start to reply
it just goes
Uhhhhhhh _______

When when the synapses spark
I’m usually in the bathtub
and can’t connect
fingers to the wires
or in the best of times

Manage to be more concise
Then re-writing “when I paint Ulysses war & peace” by Henry Winston Kerouac

Plus you got your twitternets, facespace, instabook, whatsagram, messenger-es (no not twitch, tiktok as I am purely Gen X which means I still have a skype account but no, no more icq and yeah I heard that you were on mastodon, do you need a certificate?

Plus I don’t know about you but at some point I thought having several email addresses was a good idea
I’d keep them all sorted and organized and filtered and brilliant
but then I realize…
I got laundry to fold,
Dishes to wash
And poetry for you to ignore (that’s fine, really no big deal)

Anyhow, I do my best
With postal correspondence
With help from stamps & Providence
(no help from the USPS “How has that guy not been sacked?”)

so as unrequested & unadvised course of action
In lieu of a fax (which would be super cool) or telegram
(the one delivered by a chop and a hat, not the app or a singing vixen) is to postcard me back at the cottage

Tip: just Bing up “Dave Olson postal address”

or heck
Give me a ring

I would call you but it shows as a “restricted number“
So you never seem to pick up
And heaven help me if I’m going to leave a voicemail (except for you Larry)

I can see us now chitchat
like sweethearts in the 1980s
But without those stolen sprint cards
Our parents hollering “I’m expecting a call”

But I like the idea
Of payphone booths on a rainy day
Will come up with codenames
And put in various coins

I’ve requisitioned
Numbers both foreign and domestic
for your convenience
And have been assured
Operators are standing down

OK bye for now
[No *you* hang up first]

“Vanessa of the B Line” (lyrics, alt 2)

Not the B-Line (but that’s not the point)


I’ve heard that pretty girls

don’t rides buses

but here you are

in Fluevogs and glasses


You seem to notice that

i’m already schemeing

about English Bay fireworks

and Kitsilano dreaming

Note, I carry a monthly pass (well at the time of this writing) so I didn’t really need a token but you know, doesn’t really matter after all does it?


Already i call you

sweet Vanessa of B-line

Before my stop on Cambie

I’m gonna ring the bell

and ask your real name


You and me it’s agreed

already have a history

set in fast-forward speed

i’m already collecting

our future unspoken

just give in quickly

before i need a new token


I’ll write my Twitter

on the back of the Buzzer

cause i wanna follow you

in all sorts of ways


You’re looking so smart

but I’m too shy to stare

tugging your ponytail

and reading Baudelaire


On the back of my ticket

I’ll pass you a note

get off at the Seabus

run away to Deep cove


Vanessa act quick now

we’re almost passed the street

i’ll too nervous to tell you

that i think you are

sweet Vanessa of the the b-line …

This is also not the B-Line bus but still beside the point

Ballad of Empty / Full

Coarse carbon compresses
to become the finest gems
reflecting entire universes
gracefully from within

Sapphires and rubies
strong, rugged with a gleam
channeled from promised lands
we are the stories we share
tales of love and freedom
wrapped in mystery

The truth is only useful
if it sets others free
Have you ever wondered aloud
how it feels to be
fully empty?

Snowflake Star

Mother often told you
“you’re a shiny,
one -in-a-million
snowflake bright star”
dream of flying high
and you’ll disappear so far

So, go forth seeking,
assemble your dopple-gang
sequestered worldwide
350 in America
and thousands more outside


I’ll take my 1 percent
You get the ninety nine
I roll with the renegades
The wanderers are mine

The ones who floated hidden canyons
and explored a foreign sea
will i find you waiting?
maps in hand, well prepared
to cultivate community

San Francisco Afternoon

Waiting thirteen minutes
for a 2nd rate beer
a Sunday afternoon
In the empty bar
the one with the pretentious name

trying to be too smooth
but i’ll submit to comfort
low-slung leather lounge
glass table top reflection


the menu has martinis
but i am drinking beer
this menu lists tapas
but i am nowhere near
not eating, just drinking
and thinking
somewhere far away from here

thinking on a San Francisco afternoon
finding her walk-up
brick and stone tiny room
redwood walls and Chinese food

somewhere near
the Embarcadero
waiting for red-headed mystery
who i ran from years before

leaving in a hurry
and coming on too soon
admitting that in retrospect
you meant more than i let on

so i continue
waiting vacantly
sipping slowly
and sitting low

the menu has martinis
but i am drinking beer
this menu is listing tapas
but i am nowhere near
hardly can guess where i’m strolling
suppose i am going home

a lost afternoon for me
belatedly exchanged for
the broken heart
i maybe gave you

like that foreign film
where the subtitles might say
i’m erred on a cloudy day
by the well near the olive hill

but really now
if you happened by
i just want an afternoon
of coffee and your tangled sheets

like times before i ventured
drifting literal oceans away
unsure if you even remember
Salt Lake night in the Avenues

climbing oaks and sneaking into
that mansion that’s for sale forever
drinking port wine in the broken attic

or maybe you noticed me out here
peeking through a curtain
hoping to stumble like a coincidence
holding crocuses like missed conceptions
and faltered connections

the menu has martinis
but i am drinking beer
this menu is listing tapas
but i am nowhere near

i am gone elsewhere
somewhere far from you
and here

Good Canadian Kid (for Joe) (alt 2)


Right on
That’s cool
A good Canadian kid

Hey yeah
Not too bad
Proud of what he did


They named his Ray
born in Thunder bay
back when still called
something else

Tired hard in school
Not that he was a fool
He just didn’t
care that much

But he won 2nd place
In science class
His volcano
was almost best

Played Junior A
But couldn’t go all the way
Just glad he
saved his teeth

He hitchhiked east
half-way at least
almost made it
to Labrador

Though he dug the times
left the Celts behind
and took the
rails far west

With a coffee mug
and pawned guitar
he rarely
missed a fest

Crossed the prairies fast
hit rockies at last
and kept on
rolling to the coast

Grew some grass for friends
and than had to make amends
when the poe-leece
shook him down

3 months forced rest
in suburban house
he was ready
to make a stand

He sat in front of trucks
and sat some more in courts
all for bearing witness
to old trees fallin to ground

Now in these older days
almost twice as wise
and he learned the tools
to change the world


Hes got to build a life
to prove it can be done
sharp enough to know
to hang out with the flow
and think how he’s gotta
turn to make life fun
he doesn’t forget
that to make it great
you can’t leave
your clan behind
ya gotta be nice to others
help them from time to time