#singersongwriter
I woke to the world asleep,
The treetops on the ground,
And hearts filled with sea,
And raw rawness for sound.
(Could you make it go away?
Could you make it vanish?)
Why did we turn our backs for a single moment
When we know by now we can vanish
In the blink of an eye?
In the blink of an eye.
Make it go away.
Make it vanish.
Please make it go away.
Make it vanish.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 7:13 AM UTC
Open your eyes to our stories,
Open your eyes to our seas,
Open your eyes to our glories,
Do not fold from me.
You broke into water,
You broke into sound,
You broke into my footsteps
And scattered all around.
Open your arms to those who'll hold you,
Open your arms to arms closed tight,
Open your arms to those who told you
You will be alright.
You will be alright.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
We hope,
Not always hopefully.
We hope
To find the first glint of gold
Has brought along a love to wear,
Unexpectedly.
Here on the cloud
Comes the heart they borrowed some time ago,
And were promising to return.
And there, hidden in bird song,
Is every word that lingered, and lingered, til morning.
Then magically, I'll turn to raindrops,
And pattering gently, I will sleep on your shoulder til morning.
We hope,
We hope,
And we listen.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 12:08 AM UTC
Three golden apples
And she chased every one.
Raised by Henry and Daisy and Maisy...
And searching for the sun.
And when wise counsel came to me,
"Don't do it, don't do it! Never tie."
The same as you in top hat and tails
As the addled world flashed by.
And we are turned to lions, lions,
Through every evasive moonshine,
Through every ****** up bloodline,
Through every love divine.
Could we worship her right now?
Could she bring back your arms to me, for me?
And I would praise the dove, the swan, the myrtle tree.
I would board your ship
Hand you my spears and cut my hair,
And tend to every battle scar
If you saved me from this mountain air.
And we are turned to lions, lions,
Through every evasive moonshine,
Through every ****** up bloodline,
Through every love divine.
Three golden apples
And she chased every one:
Little Atalanta
Still searching for the sun.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
He could sing,
Songs did bring,
Stirring to my soul.
Played the two eight
track tapes, until late,
with headphones,
surrounded but alone.
He could lay out lyrics,
a bard, a poet, a musician
that rasied peoples spirits.
Like "The Eagle and The Hawk"
That voice still echoes.
Played many instruments,
like they were extensions
of himself, fine implements.
Never I thought,
Would I see him,
sing
In a big concert hall.
Or hoping, finding out that, "Country Roads Take Me Home"
I was right.
But was I ever part wrong.
That voice still echoes.
Summer in Prince George,
He was coming to town.
A concert series across the land,
not in an arena but
an outdoor bandstand!
There sat my hero, less than fifty feet away,
His fragile humanity, let the "Sunshine on My Shoulders",
Through times of my youth.
I don't remember the songs in order,
he did some favorites and some new,
he played his twelve string and the six,
that night was amazing so much so is sticks.
The resonating vibrato,
The notes pitch perfect,
The...times when I am down,
Then I listen to his music and it reminds me of my home, my youth, far away.
That night looking east, I could almost see the "Rocky Mountain(s) High"
His life changed direction,
maybe some misdirection,
He was different,
Or maybe I became indifferent,
His passing was tragic,
But nothing...
will ever erase the magic of that night,
under the stars,
out in the open
to where the singer and songs carried far,
by that voice, his voice that still echoes.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC