I see the cliffs as I approach,
The waves dashing themselves upon the rocks,
Dark Grey giving way to frothing whiteness at the peak,
A certain fate for me in my boat.
Where am I,
Approaching this uncertain but certain doom?
A quantum superstition carried forth,
Is this St. Helena in 1818?
Is it the Cliffs of Dover,
Is it the Jurassic coast,
Raynisfjara?
Where I sit and what I see,
How dangerous the place,
How dangerous the sea,
Carry my body,
Little boat,
Carry me to my safety.
Is there a future,
That's more bright for me?
Is it a place of warmth,
A place of peace,
Of being free?
Days of ease,
Days of breeze,
Days of gentle bees,
Where the fruit on the trees dont freeze,
A place with no fleas,
No aching knees,
The only pain from too tight a hug,
From love and happiness,
So yearned for in a neck squeeze.
In this land of milk and honey,
I can see my family,
The possibles,
The what-could-be's,
For my Grandfather's to have met their Great Grandson,
To see their faces lit with glee,
It is the most bittersweet thought to me.
...
But I snap back,
Back in the boat,
Cliffs in front of me.
How kind that momentary place was,
The place of what-could-be's.
Perhaps I will see it again,
Before I need to flee.
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 12:06 AM UTC
Prouncing through the meadow,
Long grass dancing upon the breeze,
The lutist dances just as free,
Plucking at strings willy-nilly,
With abandon,
Fast and free.
But tears stream down his face,
With equal abandon,
Knowing this would be the last time he'd be free.
The kingdom was burning,
The ruler slain,
The people shackled,
The peasants slain,
But still he plucked,
As the baying of wardogs drew closer,
Drowning out the screams the lutist tried to outplay.
The sky once blue,
Hazed in grey,
Smoke pouring from the bastion,
Where his king lay flayed.
Where is the army?
The knights?
The Cavalry?
The archers?
The brave?
Flung far away in a distant land,
Without hope of saving the day.
The Lutist felt the warmth,
Heard the pattern of rushing paws right behind his feet,
As he closed his eyes,
Prepared to die,
And ready to meet his fate.
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 3:54 PM UTC
I slowly draw my paddle back
Through the water,
Cold, dark and deep,
I sweep it through in a way to not disturb the surface,
As if I might wake it from a profound sleep.
Mist curls in visible fingers,
Across the air,
Whitish blue unfolding across the murk,
Obscuring from my eyes dreadful things.
The boat slides across this mirror of purple and green stars,
Heaven's chaos twists and dances overhead,
Telling a tale of slow sweeps of orange fire,
It's tendrils of God's hair,
Caught in a cosmic gale.
I dont know where the other bank is,
Or what lies upon it's shores,
But further in,
I must continue,
To see if theres a road
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 12:20 AM UTC
You ask me why these words are so sweet,
Although they were unextraordinary,
Is it because of this bitter world,
Been bitter so long,
That we're accustomed to the taste?
Jun 29, 2025
Jun 29, 2025 at 2:42 AM UTC
Sit here on this rocky cliff precipice,
Listening to this American woman play with this French orchestra,
Directed by an Italian man,
Jamming out to scraps that were written by a Jewish man in '67,
Making such a beautiful sound wave that bowls me over in it's benediction,
Over and Over,
And Over again,
Carry me to sea and drown me again.
Apr 20, 2025
Apr 20, 2025 at 11:16 PM UTC
Laying here in our bed,
I've never felt more alone,
You once gave me comfort and love,
Now anger and scorn.
I long for songs I've never heard,
For places I've never known,
I long for people I've never met,
For events I'll never go.
I long for a 5 hour cut of "The Thin Red Line",
The red dust of a northwestern Australian road,
For a red streaked sunset at a burning man,
An applause from the crowd lauding my accomplishments.
Give me my peace,
That I had so few years ago,
Give me back my confidence,
Give me back my home.
I long for my place in the world,
I long for not feeling like the fool.
Apr 14, 2025
Apr 14, 2025 at 4:18 PM UTC
Oh how I wonder,
How Napoleon felt on that ship,
Seeing the coast of his beloved France recede into the distance,
Never to be seen again?
How did it feel,
When the Emperor stared out,
Upon the ocean and horizon
The salted spray that kissed St Helena,
Also kissing his brow?
In those last days,
Did he recall his beloved France?
Did he visit his men and subjects,
Did he see it in his mind?
In those final hours,
Did he hear the people chant,
Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité!
Did he hear his army sing Le Chant du Départ one final time?
Upon the arrival of that grande finale,
The final moment,
The End,
Did he think of François and Léon as much as Josephine?
Did he feel that laurel-wreath upon his head one last time?
Was he scared?
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 9:48 PM UTC
What madness,
What wonderful madness,
Thrusting through my soul with 3000 strings,
1000 voices,
250 drums.
Cruise me along,
On a bottle of whiskey,
Bobbing to the *****
Swinging to the beat,
Floating on the tune.
Aug 15, 2024
Aug 15, 2024 at 10:51 PM UTC
Silence,
Cold, angry, suffocating,
It's all I get from you now,
When all I try to do is right by you.
Silent glares with silent words,
Silent in your judgmental world,
Blaming me for all your sins,
Expecting me to go along with it.
I'm the hand that feeds,
And all you do it bite, bite, bite,
Leaving me alone in my cold, dark nights,
Stabbing me with your angry gaze,
Expecting miracles when all the while you sing no praise.
You hold on long enough to give me hope,
Then rip out of my hands that metaphorical rope,
Leave me to fall into an endless abyss,
Silence,
Is all that hits.
Aug 10, 2024
Aug 10, 2024 at 10:18 PM UTC
Our Ghost tonight,
Sits with me,
******* down Parliaments,
And bearing the words of Crosby, Stills, and Nash,
Singing of a ghost all their own.
Hovering in the periphery,
A constant watcher,
Constant companion,
Constant 2nd,
Constantly hoping to be 1st.
Cuckolded in emotions,
Unknowingly,
Which makes it worst I suppose,
Being torn apart by unrequited feelings,
Unknown indifference.
A gossamer-thin whisp of a thing,
That ghost at the edge of the vision,
Ever present but unseen,
Speak to me,
You have only but to speak,
To be seen!
The track ends,
I'm brought back,
Our spectral friend is gone,
Sneaking out as CS&N cries,
Making me wonder where they went
Jun 30, 2024
Jun 30, 2024 at 12:08 AM UTC