A poem to mark the death of Gord Downie


The journey home.

What’s next

who turns the lights off

so many things to worry about

let alone dying.

Can’t find my feet,

can’t find the tunes,

singing with the loons,

yeah, singing with the loons.

I will look you in the eye, in the eye,

eye to eye

and god dam it I love you so much, so much,

with a monumental big screen kiss

and will this be the last one.

I used to push words around, now they push me with diagnosis.

We kicked, we squealed,

not fighting,

just righting, writing

to love and love trumps democracy


And will we get dark nearing home’s light

with fractions of distractions easing us into the real

the heaviness of it

the triumphant celebration of goodbye

How many ways can you say thank you

to the beautiful crazy poet, ahead by a century

and now his spirit has crossed over, now in flight,

fly well, fly safe,

to the Paris of the prairies,

to wheat kings and pretty things.

©Ciarán Mckenna Oct 20th 2017, not my words, rather threads of truth from the Long Journey Home.

Comments are closed.