Sunday, February 27, 2011

Friday, February 25, 2011

Unforeseen

Unforeseen

Beauty is called for.  Beauty falls for trickery

and is properly ensnared like a big-eyed beast.

Time won’t squirm about in these moist palms.

We will cough into collapse and dust will move on

and me, I'm just baiting language and the female. 

Baiting.  Baiting.  Nothing and the Unforeseen

Friday, February 18, 2011

Wally Stevens what have i done to you?

Wally, its now been months since I began this blog with the intention oftrying to get to know you, but in the meanwhile, me me me, sorry clearing my throat, me me me, I'v gotten back to knowing myself,, what a coincidence.  Sorry Wally, one of these days, i promise, one of these days.

Closer to whole

Closer to whole
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.–Ralph Waldo Emerson

He sang the power and glory,
and did it ever come to meet him in the end?

Men like Dave
don't just flicker in the night
like dreams remembered
in the first act of waking,
then forever forgotten.

They lend us their voices,
send us messages down the wire,
so that we may see the mountain
and guide us closer to the whole.

He made me wiser
for the listening and for that
I do not sorrow for him so.

I only hope to be a flash
that bursts just half as brightly ,
a tiny potent whisper reflected
in a grand and dusty mirror,

so that my friends,
may feel for me,
as I have felt for him,
when I go.


--dedicated to American Folk/Americana Musician and Lyricist: Dave Carter

While I wasn't sleeping

I've been waiting so long to sing
to have the wind rush up from within
and break these clamps from my lips
fastened here while I wasn't sleeping

while I wasn't looking life in the face
and I was all but blotting out the sky with my contempt
for that pitiless Sun and that brotherhood that seems
to dim as you wake everyday freshly fleeced in nostalgia.

The song would sound like this,
this pain and revelry that Life becomes,
this intoxication at the hands of memory,
this sorrow at the thought of cracks
too long established to be mended.