This Little Town – a poem by Gerald Skowronski

Today is World Poetry Day and we’ve been given permission to publish a poem about Morinville written by local and life-long poet Gerald Skowronski:
This Little Town

A grand secret is hiding just 20 minutes

From a cold, sterile city down the road

North and South divided by the what used to be

East and West sharing the what’s to come

Oh, you should’ve been here when old Dennis

Stalked the dusty streets

His blue and red hair unmistakable in the sun

He knew stuff and things

The rest of us could only imagine


You know it never rains in this little town

Those are the words of a man who left

On a path leading to glittering lights

I’d suggest when it does rain

It’s the tears of the angels

Looking down on their old dancing grounds


This little town kept its shadows in the sunsets

Bright and red and brilliant in their genius

A respite from the winds screaming

Come roaring down from the north

Tearing shingles and tiles

From the bodices of the well-kept homes and houses


A couple of middle-aged ladies in this little town

Warm their hearts and keep time at bay

With 50 millilitres of vodka two at a time

Their makeup applied with the care

Attention to detail in the mirror looking back at them

Wondering where old Jimmy is living these days

And whatever happened to that rascal Russell

Man, he could play harmonica all night long

Perfume, powder and cigarettes

Bring back all those weary smiles

If just for one night at a time


This little town survived without a traffic light

Until one day the future knocked on the doors

Of the fathers of regress

On each and every address

Until they opened the doors

And grudgingly welcomed the here and now

In for a cup of coffee and a glass of whisky

Now it takes ten minutes instead of five

To drive from one end to the other

Oh, mercy I cry mother

What have they done to ring the shiny bell

Into the shade of the church steeple


Yet, this little town thrives

There’s a goldsmith smithing his gold

There’s a luthier carving out history

From pieces of dried wood

To carry the cries and sighs

Around the world in steel and passion

Artists of every shape and size

Ply their paints and pain

To the canvas of their heart

There’s a newsman nosing around

Looking for the good news

And sometimes the other way around

The painters and posers and poets and poor boys

Share the same streets


In this little town

Rich men smile with outstretched hands

To catch a hello and a nod

This little town has it all

Leather and lace and a smiling face

Peering to the future while clutching the past

All the while knowing it cannot last

This little town opened its heart to me

That’s all I can ask

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