Weekend Custody

by | Aug 21, 2014 | Out of the Forge, Songs

Weekend Custody

by John Fitzsimmons | Out of the Forge

Years ago, back in the late 80’s and after another extended trip to China, I came back to my cabin in Carlisle and began the process of recording some of the songs I’d been writing since I first learned a few chords. Few of these songs had ever been recorded and they only existed in vestiges of memories in tattered old journals and spiral notebooks. I booked some time in Bob Wey’s studio and sat in from of a mic and recorded songs such as this one, which I later released as a “cassette” called “Winter in Caribou” that I sold at my gigs and shows.  My good friend and guitar legend, Eric Schoenberg, stopped by the studio one day and added a bit of sweetness to the this song with his playing.

Now, another twenty years later, I am collecting and curating a collection of these old and almost forgotten songs into a project called “Dogs of Concord.” Concord was my hometown and is still the place where I work and sing and “hang out.” For better or worse, it is the place that fed–and continues to feed–the creative part of my soul. It is a much different town now than when I grew up, but the memories remain the same–and that is what Dogs of Concord is trying to recapture. So over the next weeks and months, I will be adding songs from that “era” of my life into this site.

I hope you enjoy!

~Fitz
Jesse calls up this morning—
“You can come downstairs now;
You see the grapefruit bowl?
Well, I fixed it all;
I fixed everything for you.”

Everything’s for you…

“Let me help you make the coffee,
Momma says you drink it too.
I can’t reach the stove,
But I can pour it, though—
What’s it like living alone?”

It’s like living ‘lone…

“Daddy, did you ever play soccer?
There’s a girl’s team at the school;
Joe said he’d show me how;
I got two daddies now—
But you can show me too.”

Yeah, I’ll show you too…

“Remember Friday night out bowling,
trying to make the pins fall down:
One time you missed them all;
That’s called a gutterball—
Just like the things up on the roof.”

The things up on the roof…

“Wasn’t last night a dumb movie?
Them outer space things weren’t real.
Weren’t they fake and stuff?
Did you have enough?
Pretty soon I got to go.”

Soon you gotta’ go…

No Dad To Come Home To

by | Aug 12, 2014 | Dawghouse, Songs

No Dad To Come Home To...

by John Fitzsimmons | Dawghouse

Rain’s falling outside of Boston—
Thank God I’m not working tonight.
I’ve got six of my own,
And a stepdaughter at home,
And a momma keeping things right.
I wonder if they’re at the table
With their puzzles, their papers and pens?
When I get off the highway
And pull in that driveway,
Will they run to the window again?

Daddy’s home, daddy’s home, I can hear you,
Though I’m still eighteen miles away.
This old station wagon’s
Got a muffler that’s dragging,
But everything’s going my way.

Momma put your head on my shoulder;
Let me hold you tight to my heart—
You’ve had a long day at home;
You’ve been working all alone—
Everyone’s doing their part.

She says, “Kaleigh is up in her bedroom.”
But she can’t really figure out why.
I find her upstairs
In an armload of bears,
And she looks at me softly and cries,
Was I sad with no dad to come to?
Did it hurt he was so far away?
Did I sit by the phone
And wait for him to come home
Like Margaret and EJ today?

Little girl, you can cry on my shoulders,
Though I can’t really say how it feels,
But if one thing is real
It’s this love that I feel,
And it’s one thing nobody can steal.
You had Nana; you had Papa; you had Mama—
And your momma was with you all day.
With her Ram pickup truck
And a boatload of luck,
You found me and you asked me to stay.

Now you’ve got your brothers and sisters.
You’ve got a step-dad trying to write songs;
You’ve got a momma who knows
How to make that love grow
Like them summer days coming along.

So, how about tonight we go dancing
Through every store in the mall.
If the kids don’t make scenes,
We’ll have food-court cuisine,
And wind up having a ball—
And if the kids don’t make scenes,
We’ll have food-court cuisine,
And wind up having a ball.

How about tonight we go dancing….

 

 

Superman

by | Aug 12, 2014 | Dawghouse, Songs

Superman

by Denise Fitzsimmons | Dawghouse

There’s a little blonde boy in a superman cape
Racing around the back yard;
Sayin’, “Daddy don’t you know I can fly to the moon;
I’m gonna bring you back some stars.
And after that I’m gonna save the world”
Cause I’m superman today.”
I scoop that boy right into my arms,
And this is what I say:

You don’t need a cape to be a hero
You’ve got all the special powers that you need
Your smile’s enough to save the world from evil
And you’ll always be superman to me

That little blonde boy in the cape again
Says he’s gonna jump off the deck.
I say: “Little man, can’t you just slow on down;
One day you’re going to break your neck?”
He says, “Don’t you know that I can’t get hurt
Because I’m superman today.”
Well I scoop that boy right into my arms
And this is what I say:

You don’t need a cape to be a hero
You’ve got all the special powers that you need
Your smile’s enough to save the world from evil
And you’ll always be superman to me

One day he woke up and didn’t want his cape,
And we knew that something weren’t right
The doctors said, “We just don’t know.
We better keep him here for the night.”
So, I held his hand and stroked his hair
Until somehow he fell off to sleep,
Then I knelt at the window 
and prayed to the stars:
God, help me own leap.

I’ve never been much of a prayin’ man;
I’ve never had a faith very clear;
But give me a sign and I’ll step into line;
Just get my boy out of here—
I’ll give you everything any man’s ever got:
I’ll give you every bit of my love—
And a prayer came back to me
In a whisper from above…saying:

You don’t need a cape to be his hero
You’ve got all the special powers that you need
Your smile’s enough to save the world from evil
And you’ll always be superman to me

That little boy woke up in a hospital room
Looking so quiet and sad.
I bring him in his cape and I say “Big boy,
How about a smile for Dad?”
And those wide blue eyes filled up with tears
“I’m not superman today.”
Well, I scooped that boy right into my arms
And this is what I said…

You don’t need a cape to be my hero;
You’ve got all the special powers that you need.
Your smile’s enough to save the world from evil,
And you’ll always be superman to me;
Yeah, you’ll always be superman to me

~Denise Fitzsimmons

 

Life Ain’t Hard; Its Just a Waterfall

by | Aug 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs

Life Ain't Hard--It's Just a Waterfall

by John Fitzsimmons | Fires in the Belly

You say, hey,
who are you to say that you’re the one
to go telling me just where I’m coming from.
You can have your cake
but don’t frost me ‘til I’m done.
I can’t be fixed and I can’t afford to stall;
because life ain’t hard it’s just a waterfall.

Sometimes it happens we,
we like to play the one-eyed fool,
so we can act like we don’t know what to do—
but it’s a sad-eyed mask
and it’s never really true;
I’ve seen you backstage at the hall,
trembling before the curtain call,
and you know life ain’t hard; it’s just a waterfall.

and you feel it how
it’s coming at you now
and you feel it how
it’s all around you now—
and you’re loving and you’re feeling
maybe mixed up
maybe stealing
a little time
I’m just amazed
that somehow we keep dealing…

You and me we spin, we drift
we’re daring to be free:
in a mirrored calm time echoes
like a sneeze—
just when you think it’s all a dream:
everything you are has already been,
just when you think you’ve seen it all
a boiling wind comes screaming in a squall
and you say life ain’t hard,
it’s just a waterfall—
yeah, life ain’t hard; it’s just a waterfall—
life ain’t hard; it’s just a waterfall.

 

 

Metamorphoses

by | Aug 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs

Metamorphoses

by John Fitzsimmons | Fires in the Belly

It’s something I‘ve hardly ever thought of:
this simple and rattling old diesel
has always gotten me there and then some;
and so at first I think this sputtering
is just some clog, and easily explained:
some bad fuel maybe, from the new Exxon,
or just shortsightedness on maintenance.
I’ve always driven in the red before,
and these have all been straight highway miles —

(Except for that short trip out to Zoar Gap
to catch the last of the late season trout,
surprised to find them still rising, sipping
my high hackled Humpy’s and Coachman’s
from dark pools in glazed and shimmered twilight.)

But that was nothing and of no account.
I drove Tuesday down to the town meeting,
and argued about the new town landfill
and proposed cutbacks in school athletics,
and then to Sears for a fifteen amp fuse.

At any rate there is no way around it.
I can only smile sheepishly, glad
that I’m really not in any hurry.
Still I feel like a fool out flagging trucks,
gesturing for help I can’t give myself,
hoping that my lines don’t need to be bled,
and I would have to spend that time thinking
of some way to explain this empty tank
to someone who probably knows better:

You know I always thought that maybe
something like this could happen to me —
but not now, not yet.

 

 

Garden Woman

by | Aug 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs

Garden Woman

by John Fitzsimmons | Fires in the Belly

I woke today and had my tea
and at the window spent the morning:
the same scene I’ve seen so many times
is each day freshly born;
from the ground I turn each spring and fall
come the flowers sweetly blooming;
you disappear among the weeds—
you are the garden woman.

Long ago you learned to know
the passing of the moons:
to pull the seeds before they’ve sprung
squirreled in bowls around the room.
I laugh to think how many times
I’ve tried to coax a dying flower
to give one more unfolding
to return some precious hour.

I love the hand that weaves the land
from sunshine knits to flowers;
who waters rows of thirsty souls
until they find their hidden power;
and the roots will hold and time will grow
and leave moss upon our stone;
and with every passing season
the mosaic of a home.

When you disappear the sun will bear
how the wind has shaped your beauty;
how in long walks through ancient woods
we stepped both sides of cruelty
but the tree’s that lean all mean to fall
to give space to free the breathing;
and working through the tangled land
where hope is filled with meaning.

Yeah, I woke today and saw the way
you see the light of morning;
from the ground that pulls us down
there’s a new life freshly born in.
From the ground I turn each spring and fall
let bloom with beauty blooming
the blessed weeds and bowls of seeds:
I love you garden woman.