Warm Earth

Swaying in the sunlight,
Ash on the eyes, as the canopy of palms shapes my soul.

Bougainvillea speak in some ways familiar.

To this green palace, our home.
Rich land and earth clads the bones;
Each clearing the sky,
And I turn my cheek to the calm moss
Inhale the rising nature.

This morning’s crystal dew is well risen
To the tune of babbling form.
I rest my cheek to the ground
Make wishes and listen,
Long distance calls to distant constellations.

The infinite, not filled by blue giants,
My cells a billion gods colliding and reforming.
The clear air a sweep of vermilion emotion,
These sunset colours are my own.

Collapsed hearts, broken promises.

The warm earth ambivalent and pristine,
Forgives all.

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Melting Stream

Firmament, fervour, born to the furnace,
Entwined in fiery embrace, man is the flicker in fire again.

Jousting with self, not wicker rocking chair, but granite chest;
Nerves fire off tropical storms and convulsions of energy
In majestic wave forms; bread knives, sinister laughter.

All hewn and etched, no solidity found.
A melting stream, falling aimlessly to be closer.

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Lay Me Down

 

I’d like to say that god, is the answer to all my little problems,

but I never met him and it looks like he’s disowned me.

 

I’d love to say that love, protects and breathes freely,

but you know sometimes, the loving just escapes me.

 

In this old world, seems like we’re always learning,

to breakdown, the little, that we are.

 

We may reach out, into an age of discovery,

but looking at you my child, I have some doubts.

 

You could venture, into the unknowable,

But too many questions remain unresolved?

 

Like when did we let go of the garden,

and where does the dying sun not shine,

 

As we step out, into another paling mystery,

Each moment, hand in hand, and the freedom there within,

 

Uprooted, yes, but seldom knowing

Of another silent lesson, a way to forgive.

 

Doubting, sometimes, the great revelations,

That your true beauty does not reflect mine.

 

So we grow, down by the old oak tree,

By the river that runs bronze and fierce sometimes.

 

All the things I did and said, bury them beside me,

Seems to fit with one who’s passing through.

 

I wish to thank, the glorious unknowing,

That grips me, by my primal roots,

 

And the longing for distant, faded horizons,

That drew me close to an endless brighter stain.

 

But some glory, even fleeting, seems to be revolving

within the soft breeze of change.

 

I’m no longer out for a greater understanding,

Seems some things, are best left for the grave.

 

Lay me down, in this elemental shadow,

Let me rest in that fragrant rose for a while,

 

And breathe in some forgotten perfumes,

And fall to settle, for unspeakable demise.

 

Lay my body down where the raven can see me,

Leave the door open, open wide.

 

I know you’re tortured by those who raised you

But Jesus, cut yourself some slack.

 

I’m not asking for you to take up all my burdens,

But please let me know, when you’re gonna break my back,

 

You know I’ve painted a world, in colours I find pleasing,

And the shapes of sentiments, you held so dear.

 

In our loving embrace, you left me watching over,

Some kind of myth without tragedy to bind.

 

So here we are now in this elemental mystery,

know that you can change it, and it’s alright,

 

Go out beyond the boundaries they fix about you,

Bury your heart in something wild,

 

Go beyond the borders of your heartlands,

For out there, is the true and holy land.

 

So let’s swim, in the ocean, let it take us,

Let us forget about the ways of dry land.

 

And sink into a bottomless awakening,

Way down, in the blind spot of man.

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Pastures of Plenty – Woody Guthrie

Pastures of Plenty – Woody Guthrie

It’s a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold

I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
On the edge of the city you’ll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind

California, Arizona, I harvest your crops
Well its North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in the Union us migrants have been
We’ll work in this fight and we’ll fight till we win

It’s always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
My land I’ll defend with my life if it be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free

Performed by Michael Hurley 

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Lost and Found

happiness is a fleeing bird,
don’t try to catch it
you’ll crush it’s tiny heart.

joy is the call of a blooming lotus,
if you tried to listen
you’d drown out the chorus.

peace is a still and infinite pond,
and you the frog
croaking at the shore.

love is a fragile spring breeze,
may it linger to
grace these transient skins.

hate is a fire we try to hide,
it splits and burgles,
burns out our insides.

war is the charred borders of the soul,
which spills from the empty heavens
where we are not known.

bliss is a burp in the universal giggle,
we are lonesome when we
cannot swallow down the thistle.

life is a fleeting chance,
shining from a window where
we seldom glance.

death is a punctuation mark,
where we all full stop,
to be released, to start.

nothing ends, nothing begins,
and we are lost and found,
fragile kites in mortal winds.

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There is bronze in my blood

AmCelticSteve

How sweet the silence,
The nectar in which we hide,
Fragments of our self
We seldom seek inside.

We are lost to pitch coal night
Like frozen stars we orbit,
The moon blade is silent in glory,
Rising in early, clear light.

Countless memories to trace
An inception, a birth;
Strung out in mist of mind games,
A lover once known
Dancer distant from grace.

There are fragile shards
Of what I have become
Woven into thick rope,
Tough to the touch
And feelings so bound
That I am merely a stone in
The urn.

There is bronze in my blood
And in my bones,
There is blood on my teeth
The stain of murder
In my wounds.

There are nameless Gods
Which chart my path,
Through the forests, the mountain back;
Led by the skins of sheep
And the sails of billowing
Highland heather.

I am a man freed of fate,
A twisted dagger
Sure to tame
The wilderness of barren corners,
The drum that beats my heart.

I am smoothed in the valley stream
By the gentle ripples of time,
I am one with the mighty seas
I am one with the fire
I am one with the trees.

This man has wandered far and wide
Taken in exotic wines
To return an infidel and cured
Of the yoke of fear
And the noose of hope.

For to trust in self
To realise ones fate
Is but a strike of a skilled axe
On the countless rings
Of the fallen world.

I love life for her charms
Are not lost in the keepers lake,
I see the gateway to divinity
Where her weary body lays,

Where her gold locks tumble down
I caress this hallowed ground,
Plant wheat to watch it brightly sway
Rise fresh each dawn of glory day.

For with this love I am whole,
Not man, not flesh and bone,
But a spirit not easily found
In this self in which we drown.

Battling for the right
To lift my head and cry,
Dying for the call
To take what is left
No more.

Praying for the epoch
When desire is peace,
There grows a fragrant rose
Of which petals shall
Never fall.

Oh warrior!
Oh fearless sage!
We call to you this day
Cleanse our fear of death
Make us whole within each
Forgotten breath.

Calling to the night,
Breathing in the dark,
I ache with gilt memories
And play in silent arts.

Teach us how to slay
The infant as it lays,
For innocent and pure
We yearn for a Mothers call,
To be close to our kin, to faith,
To the hearth;
To sacrifice the ashes we share
And the ghosts which fuss our hearts.

 

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First Light

When the dawn is breaking,

Some things found,

A knocking.

 

Fabled ships on shores of plenty

Nothing left to claim as own,

Drawn into the depths of greens

and blues

By the lull of a sirens whim

And the longing horizon.

 

The depth of hardship

Where ice hardens and love

Springs form; a mirror,

To the dark everything above,

Thirsty for eyes;

The wandering gaze.

 

Lost dark snakes

Of the Nile originate

And Damascus brooding,

All over the heather lament

Of these damp glacial hills

Where a fable cast a light shadow

Within the fogs of this age,

 

Mystical chimes from the silent

Bell tower,

Religion receding behind stony walls,

Silent cries from the high street graveyard

And a loner sparrow perches

Above the dew-rich cobwebs

Of the old post office nook

Where we once spoke in running inks,

Not so long in the scrape and

Fodder forms around the artery,

Crossroads.

 

Brains depleted by a lasting ennui

Of soul deep melancholy etching

A new dawn replica,

 

First light not found

On reflection, no measure,

No composition, no gain to lose,

 

The finger picking songsmith

Has passed us by,

The fireside rendition of life

Shadows on the cave,

Up against the current yet locked into

Some rich vein,

Tied to a weight without measure,

Sinking in profound words

And drunk on the joys of

The wavering shimmer.

 

True harmony has left us beyond the dunes,

Where the oystercatchers fly like arrows

Towards the straits, clumps of disgarded seaweed and

Cobalt currents a molten maelstrom of conflict

Caught in glistening fluidity,

 

Much like this morning

Without first lights dawn

A pale imitation alive

Casting no shadow of consequence

To breech this stately main,

To bridge the gaps in hearts

To cross broken fingers or ingrown

Stains

Or find the word key we seek.

 

First light unlocks the gate,

Breaks the stale crust,

First light delivers.

 

I am written in.

Inked.

A knocking.

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