This momentary breath of time
You are the Rhythm and the rhyme
You bring us close to the Sublime
We're feathers on the breeze
Holy Spirit lifts us up
We're feathers on the breeze

To Jesus side He brings a near
The Spirit changing atmosphere
As the air you will appear
We're feathers on the breeze
Holy Spirit lifts us up
We're feathers on the breeze

He is music 🎶 laughter 😃 love 💘
He lifts us and we lightly move
Unto Jesus up above
Feathers 🪶 🪶 🪶
Feathers 🪶 🪶 🪶
Feathers 🪶 🪶 🪶


Let us rise up on the morn
Let us rise above the storm
Let us rise we are reborn
We're feathers on the breeze
We're feathers on the breeze
Holy Spirit lifts us up
We're feathers on the breeze
Feathers on the breeze
Feathers on the breeze



SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
2022

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The black tar envelops my unmanly sigh
A cigarette in the moon's light with a stranger
And the howling of an unsightly beast

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The fog obscures everything in sight
I'm questioning the night sky on its numbers
The forest looks in disgust and curiosity

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
I'm bleeding out, I'm bleeding out
While plucking feathers, my ear drum pops
I say my goodbye and flap my bare wings

An ornate door leads to the mausoleum
A huge crack showing the entrance of grave robbers
The youths wander inside to belittle their ancestors
And my ballad softly floats above the ground

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The young man rests near his anvil
Opening his book of poetry on an empty page
Only to find the blood of the martyr seeping

While plucking my feathers
Will the youth remember my name?
Will I be forgotten as a nameless man?
Or will I be the poet of the next century?

Pluck my feathers or don't!
Pluck my feathers or don't!
Pluck my feathers or don't!

But do not forget me and the steps which I took
Do not forget my babbling, my bish and my bosch
Do not forget my gifts, you, receiver of blessing
Pluck them rhythmically, slave, rhythmically

My feather falls, slowly to the ground
It is the last of its kind
And as my breaths draw to a close
The children laugh gleefully
Unknowing the end is near
Extinction on my name once and for all
Pluck my feathers no more, slave,
I've just blood to give.

Feathers I would pick up off
the ground, usually plain dull gray
sometimes with a tinge of white – if you were lucky –
fallen from the sorts of birds you stop noticing
after a few years living in the city,
Pigeons and Seagulls, mostly, but I
would start to notice them, scattered
in the grass or hidden beneath a leaf,
and would carry home these lost relics with me.
At certain thrift shops I could find more exotic feathers –
downy things of softer brown were usually
all I could afford,  
though I coveted the feathers of blue and green,
striking orange, never purple, sometimes red;
the chicken feathers were cheap, but the long striped ones
from their male counterparts, the roosters,
were twenty dollars each. These feathers hold beauty
and a secret that mankind
has long sought after, how these fragile
and soft things could propel a small bird
into the sky, escaping the ground -
oh, how we wish we could follow them -
and so I would collect these fallen pieces of the sky,
not necessarily hoping to fly, but
earnestly harvesting their unnoticed beauty,
remembering that each feather I wear in my hair has
been, up there, in the sky,
supporting a bird as it made its first leap into space,
as it flew in a flock over hundreds of miles
every year, to reach one hallowed spring
where they could find lovers and raise families,
building their own nests, and caring for the young,
with their downy feathers and bright yellow beaks
chirping incessantly for food, and soon
with fresh feathers and plenty of spirit,
out into space they would go, just as their parents had
years before – and I remember that each feather
has been through the universal task of flight
appointed to birds,
so that man can look up into the sky,
shielding the sun from his gaze,
and know there is still hope,
that he, too, can be free
that even though he doesn't possess the godly
gift of flight, the feathers,
something does, and he can watch them all day
if he likes,
and daydream of flying

It was so cold. Snow fell constantly, and ice formed over all the waters. The animals had never seen snow before. At first, it was a novelty, something to play in. But the cold increased tenfold, and they began to worry. The little animals were being buried in the snow drifts and the larger animals could hardly walk because the snow was so deep. Soon, all would perish if something were not done.

"We must send a messenger to Kijiamuh Ka'ong, the Creator Who Creates By Thinking What Will Be," said Wise Owl. "We must ask him to think the world warm again so that Spirit Snow will leave us in peace."

The animals were pleased with this plan. They began to debate among themselves, trying to decide who to send up to the Creator. Wise Owl could not see well during the daylight, so he could not go. Coyote was easily distracted and like playing tricks, so he could not be trusted. Turtle was steady and stable, but he crawled too slowly. Finally, Rainbow Crow, the most beautiful of all the birds with shimmering feathers of rainbow hues and an enchanting singing voice, was chosen to go to Kijiamuh Ka'ong.

It was an arduous journey, three days up and up into the heavens, passed the trees and clouds, beyond the sun and the moon, and even above all the stars. He was buffeted by winds and had no place to rest, but he carried bravely on until he reached Heaven. When Rainbow Crow reached the Holy Place, he called out to the Creator, but received no answer. The Creator was too busy thinking up what would be to notice even the most beautiful of birds. So Rainbow Crow began to sing his most beautiful song.

The Creator was drawn from his thoughts by the lovely sound, and came to see which bird was making it. He greeted Rainbow Crow kindly and asked what gift he could give the noble bird in exchange for his song. Rainbow Crow asked the Creator to un-think the snow, so that the animals of Earth would not be buried and freeze to death. But the Creator told Rainbow Crow that the snow and the ice had spirits of their own and could not be destroyed.

"What shall we do then?" asked the Rainbow Crow. "We will all freeze or smother under the snow."

"You will not freeze," the Creator reassured him, "For I will think of Fire, something that will warm all creatures during the cold times."

The Creator stuck a stick into the blazing hot sun. The end blazed with a bright, glowing fire which burned brightly and gave off heat. "This is Fire," he told Rainbow Crow, handing him the cool end of the stick. "You must hurry to Earth as fast as you can fly before the stick burns up."

Rainbow Crow nodded his thanks to the Creator and flew as fast as he could go. It was a three-day trip to Heaven, and he was worried that the Fire would burn out before he reached the Earth. The stick was large and heavy, but the fire kept Rainbow Crow warm as he descended from Heaven down to the bright path of the stars. Then the Fire grew hot as it came closer to Rainbow Crows feathers. As he flew passed the Sun, his tail caught on fire, turning the shimmering beautiful feathers black. By the time he flew passed the Moon, his whole body was black with soot from the hot Fire. When he plunged into the Sky and flew through the clouds, the smoke got into his throat, strangling his beautiful singing voice.

By the time Rainbow Crow landed among the freezing-cold animals of Earth, he was black as tar and could only Caw instead of sing. He delivered the fire to the animals, and they melted the snow and warmed themselves, rescuing the littlest animals from the snow drifts where they lay buried.

It was a time of rejoicing, for Tindeh - Fire - had come to Earth. But Rainbow Crow sat apart, saddened by his dull, ugly feathers and his rasping voice. Then he felt the touch of wind on his face. He looked up and saw the Creator Who Creates By Thinking What Will Be walking toward him.

"Do not be sad, Rainbow Crow," the Creator said. "All animals will honor you for the sacrifice you made for them. And when the people come, they will not hunt you, for I have made your flesh taste of smoke so that it is no good to eat and your black feathers and hoarse voice will prevent man from putting you into a cage to sing for him. You will be free."

Then the Creator pointed to Rainbow Crow's black feathers. Before his eyes, Rainbow Crow saw the dull feathers become shiny and inside each one, he could see all the colors of the rainbow. "This will remind everyone who sees you of the service you have been to your people," he said, "and the sacrifice you made that saved them all."

And so shall it ever be.
~ Lenni Lenape Tribe

the feathers went up in the breeze,
between the tree's skeletal structure,
as though poured from a jug,
the tree laying on it's side
like it had conditioner in it's hair

and stayed there until the the feathers had fully passed by,
although a few got stuck in it's ear.

Treacle is dripping from the ceiling,
but it's not dripping it's hanging in sticky tentacles
like sweet stalagmites not letting go of either the floor
or the ceiling
making my hands stick together
and then my arms to my jumper feels really tacky
and covers my hair and drips down my face tickling it
sticking my eyebrows so when I open them wide
they don't feel like they ought to feel
I go to stretch them out with my hands
but that makes them more sticky and stalagmites
form between my eyelashes as I try to open them
and the treacle touches my eyeballs.

The feathers brushed against
the desert's floor,
scooping up small amounts of sand
with each pass
and depositing the grains through
their fingers whilst they stroked the wind,
as it carried them
across the desert floor.

wet young pine cones
and how did they melt in to that resin
that smelt so piney
and stuck to my hands
I could smell it for days on them
It stuck with dirt but still smelt of pine cone resin
My fingers slightly stuck to everything they touched
It was annoying
It wouldn't stop being sticky

I take a handful of sand and feathers
and eye's closed
drop them slowly on my head like a gentle sand timer,
and detect each touch of the sand
and cascade of feathers down my face
and then wake up in a pool of treacle
and the feathers all stick to me
as I try and wrestle my way out
they keep sticking to my body
until I can fly away.

“Don’t fly too near to the sun,” he had warned me,
as he strapped the wings across my eager back.
“I won’t. It will be fine,” I said, planting two feet on the ledge.
Looking down, I saw the swirling darkness of the world.
I swallowed down my fear.
But inside me, a sunbeam yearned to break free, to fly away.
To fly to an oasis in the clouds.

“Wax and feathers,” he told me, “that’s all it is.”
That’s all it is.
That’s all it ever was, all it ever shall be.
Wax and feathers.

The sky had called me by name,
and as I flew above the withering old artificer
who outstretched his ancient hand in a gesture of goodbye,
I knew I would never again see the face of men.
Only the faces of angels.
Of gods and goddesses.

The wings had lent my body a buoyancy
that I never knew had existed in the world.
Wax and feathers.
I danced and pranced and swirled and twirled into the sky,
all feelings of weight and import gone.
I had left the world behind.
I traded it all for a bit of wax and some feathers.

The feeling of bliss began to melt as soon as the wings did.
Panic struck me in the skies,
and as I looked below me I saw everything there ever was.
Everything that ever shall be.
I struggled to keep the flame alive within me.
But I fell.
Like Lucifer to the bowels of Hell,
I fell.

I ripped through clouds,
madly spinning in the air.
I glanced towards the sun above me,
growing smaller with every passing moment.
I prayed.
For the first time in my life, I prayed.

I could feel the Earth rising up to meet me.
“This is it,” I thought.
“This is wax and feathers.”
I closed my eyes.
Imagined what the old man would have said.
And I made peace.

But to my surprise, when I opened my eyes,
I was being held to the breast of an angel.
A winged figure of ineffable beauty.
I was flying with her, this perfect creation,
this embodiment of purity and divinity.
In her soft eyes I saw the moon and stars,
all eternity and space stretched out before me
in long pools of silver and white.
Her glowing golden hair was not of the world I knew,
but rather crafted out of the sun itself.
It lent light to everything.
A wave of euphoria passed over me when she
turned her gaze upon me, the human boy
in her merciful grasp, and smiled.

I belong to her.

Never again will I play with wax and feathers.

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
dance a new dance
or at least new to me

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
live a new life
that’s a mystery to me

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
move their feet like hands
and their hands like wings

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
create a new world
all in my eyes

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
soar like eagles
but never leave the ground

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
create a dance
that’s different for all

the line
the circle
the twist
the bend
the dip
the dive
the cross
the cave

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
do this and more
and it’s all new to me

Downy
Almost sad
But like a backbone the shaft holds it all together
The small filaments with hooks,
Holding on to each other like best friends,
Looking for support.
Because with out them loving each other,
And holding on tightly like a web of tightly woven fabric.
The birds would be cold, wet and miserable.
With out feathers birds could not fly.
This to would make them sad,
not being able to feel the wind on their faces.
The wind rustling their feathers.
Birds need feathers to make them beautiful,
With their iridescent colours feathers make birds beautiful.
With out feathers birds would be nothing.

She wants to feel the softness of feathers upon the tips of her toes
Reaching out for comfort that will surely come
She caresses the moments before midnight
With suger kisses so sweet
Like honey coated forgiveness
She smiles into her lovers eyes of crystal dew
Beyond
Her sences reeling
Twirling, dancing
Like the figurine within an ancient music box
As the music surrounds the childs mind so pure
And yet
There is more captured within
The sweetness is soured only by memories
She paints with fingers in the suger
To forget
There are things so worth forgetting
She sees him sleeping and places
mirrors where his eyes once looked upon her
For now she will see herself
The way he see's
The blood from the girl child dried as he slept
There was to be no more sugered moments
No more honey for him to savour
she had seen
Her worth in his eyes
Such a shame sweet child
She should of loved herself with toes touching feathers
Reaching for a comfort
That would only be found in forgiveness of self
Far beyond the place he sleeps
With mirrored eyes of crystal dew

He awakes to find his beloved drenthed in death
He reaches for moments which never come
Her projection of him so false upon this moment
As in a moments seperation
She sees with her angel presence
The suger he tastes on lips so pure
His tears now mingle with the blood
As he tears her mirrors from his eyes
He understands not
The reason
Why white feathers are falling from the sky

I stayed awake through the darkness
But I feel like I've just woken up.

I'll take you high, high as the birds
I got to fly made a cloud my bed

Take off my feathers give 'em to you
I feel sure it's want I want to do

The greatest gal that I've ever had
She made me smile when I was sad

Take off my feathers give 'em to you
I feel sure it's want I want to do
You are my pain
I wont complain
You are my pain

My other tried every night
I have to say I'd call that a fact

Take off my feathers give 'em to you
I feel sure it's want I want to do

In fact she too hammered again
Got my feathers, went up the road

Take off my feathers give 'em to you
I feel sure it's want I want to do
You are my pain
I wont complain
You are my pain

Some day I heard we are meant to soar
In a dream The Composer scored
Over the fence were the foxes played
I knew I wanted it everyday

Use the time to embrace your fear
Fly off cliffs, end the suspense

Take off my feathers give 'em to you
I feel sure it's want I want to do
You are my pain
I wont complain
You are my pain

Something special for me to grow
Are you the one to guide me home?

Take off my feathers give 'em to you
I feel sure it's want I want to do

You are my pain
I wont complain