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The Making of: 100 Acres

The Making of: 100 Acres

Here’s a sneak peek at a new song I’m working on. It fell out of me easily, so I must have been working on it somewhere deep down while I was writing emails and cooking eggs and running forest trails. I must have been writing it in my sleep. Here’s a picture of how it started in my messy notebook and where I took it after a few edits:

100 acres notebook

100 Acres | by Carmel Mikol

I had a hundred acres
Of oak and pine
Burned it to the ground to make it look like
this heart of mine

I had a wild spirit
You could tell
Broke it like a horse on a carousel

What you promise I don’t believe

Carve it like a headstone
Dig it like a grave
Feeling for a pulse like it’s something that can still be saved

But I am not a preacher
I am not a saint
I am not a spirit you can summon when your knees shake

What you promise I don’t believe

I had a hundred acres
All is lost
Now I’m just a bullet and at best I’m a long shot

What you promise I don’t believe

Poem: kill the cigarette

Poem: kill the cigarette

kill the cigarette | by carmel mikol

tie died
flat chested
drunk with the boys
on sunday monday
beat the snare
till it bleeds confetti
stomp your feet
to the four four beat
dodge the bill
kill the cigarette on the street


I wrote this poem from my second floor apartment window above Agricola Street in Halifax. Many songs and many poems spilled out over that window sill where I spent hours watching people pass on the street below and trying like hell to get words on the page.