Lovers in a Dangerous Time by Bruce Coburn

Don’t the hours grow shorter as the days go by
You never get to stop and open your eyes
One day you’re waiting for the sky to fall
The next you’re dazzled by the beauty of it all
When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time

These fragile bodies of touch and taste
This vibrant skin — this hair like lace
Spirits open to the thrust of grace
Never a breath you can afford to waste
When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time

When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Sometimes you’re made to feel as if your love’s a crime —
But nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight —
Got to kick at the darkness ’til it bleeds daylight
When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time
And we’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time

The real Dope

Hey beautiful inhabitants of the Remedrome!   I send glad tidings of freakishness and sobriety, coming up on 5 years free and clear from the nastiness of artificial chemical stimulation, preferring instead to drink deeply from the well of muffy guitar, groovin’ bottom end, and appeasing trebles that melt you soul!  This is my new religion.  My auditory muse.  My reason for tap-dancing out of bed!  Music is the balm…..and we are REMEDY.

New Acoustic Gallery!


Still out and having fun 
with super bumblaee!
So I’ll say without delay
Here’s poem #3.
And only cause I feel the time
Is now come to pass
That least amount of lines I’ll write
Is the only goal I have
But just for now, because I’m getting
heavy-fat with words.
A new and weird anomoly
Of which I’ve never heard!


Out with my little sweet
Missy Bumbaloo
And I thought I’d give a go
At writing poem number 2
Inspiration, I began
to wonder would it be
Always with me at my side
Throughout this new journey?
Well that won’t be a problem
for this part of the ride
My muse is never far
When my daughter’s at my side
She lifts the weary spirit
To allow a soul to fly
Always brings my face a smile
And sparkles to my eye

So onward, over, under, through
I follow her about
The playground and the soccer field
And never long without
My familiar outstretched hand
To steady up her chase
Sometimes she’s possessed with speed
as if she’s in a race
Of all the things I love to do
I love this most of all
Being there to watch her
scramble up from every fall.

So now I will resume this walk
And later scratch my head
And wonder not if I’ve lost the plot
In making such a bed
That I feel I must lie in
Now that I’ve set this goal
And public too!
So I must choose
To finish.
Not to fold.  : )

So then what happened?

An idea came, and I said, “hey
Let’s see if I can write
10 times in a single day
Without putting up a fight”
Why not that? What’d ya say?
I just wanna see
How far that I can take it
Well, there’s just one way to see.
Just one way to measure 
Just how far that it can go
Maybe it’s a superpower,
I don’t really know.
But of course I’m jazzing you,
There’s not much here to see
Just a guy who likes to try
New things enthusingly!
And anyway there’s nothing much
today I gotta do
So with a paper and a pen
I’ll sit and chat with you
And if I’m tempted lazy
I’ll endevour not to be.
If four lines is the minumum,
I’ll multiple by 3.
Sounds kinda fun!
It think it is
Don’t you agree?
So jump on in
And take the ride
And join the revelrey
If only to discover 
if I finish, naturally!

On on the 6th day…

Ever take an email holiday
without ever leaving home?
And if you did, how long did it last?
How long could you leave it alone?
before the sweat would trickle down
with thoughts about the list
of bold unopened messages?
What if some things were missed?
I’m doing so, and even though
its only been a day
or maybe 2, I get confused
without screens in my way.
I must admit, an inner fit
is growing silently
small yet in it’s magnitude
but unambigiously
gaining traction, mass and flow
and sheer velocity…

I’m aiming for a 1/4 pie
of short-concentric lines
getting 3 bars in the corner
of this pocket screen of mine
and thinking of that tension taught
and cut with steamy knife
of the cybernet injection
easing Jones of off-grid life.

But this just a fantasy
I’ve had no such restraint
I story teller I may be
but always truthful… ain’t.
But truthful in a prior tense,
for though I may not be
in current cyber abstinence
I have those memories
Of days I did precisely that
and take no Wifi with
And I remember that I had
much pleasure ’cause of it.
I was no cyber-Jonesin’
freak out in the woods!
I think I did enjoy myself.
I think I’ll call it good.
Of course I made it back to streets
of urban lights and poles
Before connection-abstinence
could take it’s proper hold.
So this is still I road I’ve not
tread down all of the way.
But soon I hope such confidence
will visit,
and stay.