Some very nice Blues/Jazz and some of my poetry, too

I like this album and you can download it for free at Jamendo:

October 18, 1980

On your day off

We slunk out into the fog

To spend our money

And feel guilty.

We ate breakfast

In a clattery place

But we were alone in

   our talk.      

I sang you the blues

As we searched

For our music

Under the eye

Of the watery sun.

All the people smiled

To see us laugh

For we soared high

At the promise of the day,

For the sky became blue

On your day off.

(I'm not sure what that poem was all about, but I often commemorated a moment in life with a poem. Still do sometimes.)

##

Stars in my sky

Only God can take them away

Full moon

Washes

My cold feet

In a silver bath.

I stand in my patch of yard

And watch

A giant moth

Strain

To reach

That rising globe.

Something rustles

In a tree

And I wonder

If it is a fallen star

Or my shadow

Escaping from me

In shades of dark.

The pitch black sky

Beckons me

To fall

Into its cold immensity

And I run quickly

Into the colors

Of my home.

(October 23, 1980)

##  

October 1980

Yesterday

I watched for you

But today

I look no more

You have traveled

Down the pathways

Outside my door.

I cannot find you anywhere

Though I may sing your name

You come to me no longer

But. . .

I miss you just the same.

Where did you wander

Where did you go?

There is a shadow

On your pathway

I can't find you

Anymore.

##

1980 sometime

Together we walked

A lonely pathway

Never speaking

Never seeking

What to share

On the road of life.

We hung our heads

As we passed

Many looming

Shadowy hills.

The rain would fall

And we would

Shelter

Along

Under separate trees.

##

1980

I wonder who they are

All the people going by?

I sit on my porch

And hope for them

In a prayer.

Long ago I dreamed

That they were the same as I

With their hopes, fears,

Wishes and loves.

All the people going by

Hunger just as I

Do

In the night

To be held.

So I know all those people

Going by,

Every one,

And I know what to pray

For them.

##

October 19, 1980

You place multitudes

              In my head.

You smooth the mountains

                 From my bed.

You hold me up

                   To set me down 

You touch my face

                      To ease my frown.

You are my songs

You are my smiles

You are my valleys

You are my miles.

How I love you.

##

1980

I walk free

In the sparkles of the wind.

Leaves brush my feet

And talk to me

Of summer gone by.

My heart cries out

To the sky

And away

I fly higher

Than the blue

To the stars that sing

Of things

I never knew

Of colors I never saw

Of love

I never felt.

and I weep.

##

The Drum

I remember when I was a little girl, sitting on my Daddy's lap and listening to his heartbeat. I was so fascinated by that drum in his chest. And I remember being afraid that it would stop.

"Yes! I love the drum, there is something primitive about it, primal, it resounds with the human heart. It speaks with sympathy to our human condition. It gives us power, impetus, dance, dreams and life. All these tunes were driven by drum beat, along with other ambient sounds and instrumental melodies adding emphasis and a musical narration keeping energetic interest alive." - - Part of my review on Jamendo about this wonderful album.

My Girls

The Lovely Lucy

Gorgeous Sylvia

And here is some ambient music. Cat music, puts you to sleep, nice, gentle.

WOLF

"Wolf" is still unfinished and I will post him here when I am done with him.

The strength of the pack

is the wolf. . .

. . .and the strength of the wolf

is the pack.

--Rudyard Kipling (Author)

4-9-93

There are mists that grow

about the spiral

of the trail

Standing tall above the

silent forest

Where the eagle slides

At the crook of the river

and the river falls. . .

Is a cliff of crystal

and a silver wall

Here the eagle flows

beneath the planet's halo

And the stars that glare

flare

and die in the water

And lifting wings

I join them there.

Chickadee, Chickadee

Don't you cry

for me.

##

6-1-93

To My Nieces

Golden hair flying

She dances for me,

her blue eyes intense

      like the heart of the flame.

The youngest is four

and she will not accept

sausage

in her macaroni and cheese -

--and she wondered for me

why I married that man--

her small hands pat my

knees as she tells me

a joke

which she gets all wrong

But I must laugh

or risk a wrinkled brow

--I tease her

when she knocks over a chair

and she worries

because she is not sure-

but she cares...

We drew chalk pictures

on the driveway,

Her sister draws

dark blue hopscotch patterns,

I draw ladybugs,

butterflies and kites.

She draws intensely,

a geometric shaped

like an Escher print,

all wrong

My house - she claims -

With me on the roof

and a lamp -

          Our chalk drawings

          dissolve

          in the rain

     - We used all the chalk -

We play games

her sister and I

And she falls asleep

On the floor

Her face serene

to the sky

like a princess

in a fairytale. 

## 

I cannot resist sharing this album - I love these sweet voices and these great Irish tunes:

  

Golden summer is over

But promising new day

A rainbow across the sky

Points an end to the gray

In the beating tide

Of the birds on wing

Is a whispered promise

Of the coming Spring

Beyond the rising storm

Shines a sun of warming gold

Always there

Ever near

##

Through the wind

I hear the sigh of God

His soul apparent

In the Morning Star

I see His face

On the wings of the Eagle

The taste of the grape

Is His hope and grace....

In the still of my heart

At the twilight of summer

Love plants a seed

And grows for the winter.

##

 Wind bent boughs to sodden earth;

Winged singers flee to cloud top;

Golden beams reach aslant

Seeking home on earth. . .

Crystal light ascends, descends

Abounds, releasing flashes of 

Heavens colors.

Perambulating objects obey the dictates

of the wind;

Movement but not life

Excused to whimsy.

Sounds of rustling, murmering,

Lifting and falling

Creaks, groans, laughter, sighing

Roaring;

Who speaks announcing Storm?

##

Some beautiful music to listen to and enjoy.

Teaching Animation

My new unit at school is all about animation. We are using "Stykz" to create a short animation to share. Here is an example:

I am listening to this incredibly beautiful album right now and want to share it. I think it has spiritual healing properties:

Its a beauty - huh?

Link to my Latest Favorite Jazz Albums:

Latest and Favoritest Jazz by Orangeupurple

I listened to this music all day today - what a mellow day :)

A Couple Less Grim

October 23, 1980

                    Marigold war in the yard

                    Evening falls

                    While children laugh

                    And leap

                    In the twilight's

                    Graceful sweep.

                    We seek in the darkness

                    Bits of gold

                    To toss at each one's

                    Flying hair.

                    The smell of marigolds

                    Scent the air.

                    We lazy down

                    In Autumns unmowed grass

                    And swing feet

                    In precision sweeps

                    To the musical clouds

                    Flowing out from within.

                    Deep sea sky lowers

                    And Mother calls us in.

##

I wrote this poem today to describe a small adventure and the impact it had on me:

I walk down to the corner bread store

in the breeze whipping

my hair,

and the maroon and gold leaves

tumble behind my trail

as I walk past the marsh

in the hollow;

and the geese and the chickens

in desperation

run for cover,

wings flapping, rowing,

as they dive under the fir tree's

beckoning boughs

...to the dark,

comforting cave of cover

where they peck for the bits of

life sustenance.

I see the hawk

circling in the distant sea of gray

looking in vain;

and the chain on the deserted

flag pole

snaps and flaps

as it tries to escape

its boundaries.

##

Persson is another artist on Jamendo and one of my favorites. This is what he said about this album: "This is my second solo album and it's recorded in 2007. The tune "Trouble on Monday" is dedicated to my music friend Thommie Johansson who died in 2004.

On You Tube there is one music video of the tune "Blues for a soldier." A tribute to the people and the soldiers of the war of Vietnam."

Another one of my dark poems written in the 90's:

The child
sponge thing
slips through liquid
absorbing
is accomplishment
is creation
          creating improbabilities
the ape gone mad.
The butterfly stumbles
in the summer breeze
trees collapsing
sour winds blow
over cluttered brown waves
A call
a lonely call
the last creature stands
            beneath a crumbling ledge
            Where once there were swallows

The child stands alone
on his conquered earth
he has won--not won
An ape gone mad
and the smoke
burns his throat

##

I was just recording in this (the previous) poem my frustration at what we are doing to our earth. I think at the time, I wrote this,  I was annoyed about the rain-forests in South America and elsewhere which were (are) being deforested for the sake of the beef eating world.

This poem was written in October of 1994, reflecting on the death of my mother:

We are not ideas
     But ideas move us
We are not hope
     But hope redeems us
We are not forgiveness
     But forgiveness frees us
We are not pain
     But pain strengthens us


Life reflected in
     electrified mud
Becomes dissipated
     releasing its air
Memory becomes winged
     and dies at the end
     of the last generation.

##

November 1, 1998 - I wrote this one to lecture myself:

A candle in the dark,
A star on the windy sky
I tell a broken bird
                 "reach high"
                 fly. . .
No more the victim
Always the rising star
Everything you can be --is
Everything you are.

##

April 4, 1993 - Who knows why I wrote this poem - perhaps I was watching the night sky as a depressed person with just a little hope:

The most powerful beings in the Universe
             are the stars
Who
Are overwhelmed
               Diminished
By the Darkness - The Black
That Kills
Yet accentuates
The dancing glories - In all their colors
The Black
Which frightens away
All the sparrows
And so the
            Song
Is from the Stars. . .
Does she see
Does she see me
In the Dark
Dark Black
Does she hear my song
In all its raw denial
                 Acceptance
Where does she fly
In all her glory through the night's
                 Universal
Specks of nothing
freckles on the face of God
Star so strong
Autonomous star
Dancing with her sisters
Across the raw painful night
When will she see me --
       and stop her flight
Except
       the dark
       hides my plight
And I am diminished
       by the night.
And if we should somehow succeed
In meeting
Before the Dawn
Perhaps she would
                    take my hand
                    in her strength
                    Call me friend
                    of beauty
                    lover of stars
And
     together
                 we
Blaze in glory
Across the Darkness
             of the night.

##

And here are two more poems written also on April 4, 1993:

The People running on
                                the frozen ground
The rain is coming down
                                in sheets of ivory
The singing echoes round
                                on paths of flashing
And daisies flattened in the grass
                                from dancing
The dark devours the lonely
                                glistening soul light
The night descends in globs
                                of ancient blight
The people running on
                                the ragged lava
The fire coming closer
                                from the sky well
The sorrow flings around
                                in shades of passion
And arrows flight
             across the night
             descends on target
             in its purple sight.

##

This one is called "Turquoise" :

There is no life in the
                         Turquoise sea
                         no life to be
Aware of the coming dawn
The mud has soaked
        away the flight
And the souls of the
        birds of the deep.
                         And they weep
For the ever present salt
                         in their wounds
They are stymied
For the weight of the mud
                         in the turquoise sea
Presses them down
                         beneath the brown
And the fear is there
                        forever where
No song is sung
Or laugh is rung
                        Deep beneath the turquoise sea.

##

This jazzy album is one of my favorites on Jamendo. The band had only this one offering for us but it is quite good:

There is a land

far off in the middle reaches

                                   of time

in which resides

The gray haired ladies.

They are governed

by gnarled fingers
Gentled but strengthened

through eons of lifting

                              burdens

In the dark gray days

                  they are alone

                  each within her dwelling

                  listening to her own heartbeat

                  speak it's secret name

Her cup of tea is her future

An hour at the hairdresser

                          creates a long and exciting

                                              day.

She stands at the bus stop

                   waiting

                   no place to sit

Her knees are weary

                   and wish to bend 

releaving the heavy load

                   of her frail body.

She watches the boys

                   whiz by on their

                   skateboards

An urge to join them

                           strengthens her

                                     momentarily.

Her body has rebelled

                           against her independence

                           her spirit of mind.

The lady in green with

                                 the flowered umbrella

                                 speaks to her in a

                                 high-pitched voice

                                 "Are we tired of waiting?"

The old lady says

                  "I am going to the

                    beauty parlor. Its a

                    long trip for me."

Ha, she thinks, four blocks

                    down the road, foreign

                    territory, big adventure.

                    Hope the natives are kind.

"Oh! We're  going to get

all pretty for the new year

are we? How nice," the

lady in green coos.

                                         A woman in a pea coat

                                         and a Greek fisherman's cap

                                         gives her an irritated

                                         glance.

You - lady in green - with

     your silver, silly, pompous

     hair - how dare you

     be so fucking condescending?

How dare you?

     Don't you realize there is

     a strong and intelligent

     woman - a youth of

     great beauty and worth

     inside this old lady?

Don't you see her in those eyes that sparkle

     and look at you so

     quizzically?

Don't you understand that she

     is setting out on

                       a great quest?

A search for adventure

                       and knowledge?

Her spirit will award

her the holy grail. . .

Her joy will give

her peace

In the orange evening

the old ladies return

                     to their land

They quiz one another

on the adventure of the day

And gasp at the strength

                     discovered

within the souls

of their fragile bones.

##

Song I'm listening to: "The Second Moon" by Whose World? - utterly gorgeous, relaxation, ambient.

I have a new poem titled: Unreasonable Truth

Now I know a truth

brutally unreasonable

to the youth

That life is at its very best

When we are all

well seasoned...

and with zest

The brightest colors in

the world

Happen in the Fall.

##

Cat Watching

I tried out a new paint program (new for me) called Seashore. I like it. Of course my work is awful but I think I will practice more using Seashore and hopefully improve on my tablet work. There is just something so awkward about it that I can't seem to overcome. Anyway here is the outcome of today's work and an old poem that I wrote way back in the 80's.

The air smells like wood smoke

And crisp frost

And you walk

Along the way

Singing hopeful songs

And you

Trod on each

Fallen leaf

In your pathway.

And my black cat

Laughs at you

When he sees you

Scuffing along

As if you lost

Your way

In the evening

Of your life.

Do you look

To the night

Or is there

Somewhere else

You want to go?

Does your heart

Leap

With joy

At the greyness

Coming soon?

You walk

Into the wall of fog

Still singing

Still hoping

And the

Autumn leaves

Trail along

Behind you

In the breeze.

##

Vincent Van Gogh - "The Starry Night" - 1889

An album by Yvalain (on Jamendo) I am now listening to: "Baroque Guitars"
My review: "Sweetly singing guitars. Peaceful and relaxing. The music was obviously created to be enjoyed by human beings in need of stress reduction. Yvalain creates his music with care, talent and love. I have no fault to find with this album."

Some untitled poems I wrote in the 1980's:

Beyond the call of nature
Is the song of the Soul;
Beyond the gray horizons
Is the tapestry of the stars;
Woven into eternal space
Is the center of hope
Where time is sent away.


Beyond the mountain stream
Is the thunder of the seas;
Beyond the ice of winter
Is the promise of the spring.
Gathered as the flowers
Are the hopes
That set men free;
Hope is all the promises
That we have never seen.


Beyond the day that is
Is the day that will come to be;
Beyond the passing moment
Is the moment to be free.

###

We saw the robin flying
Singing in the breeze.
We saw the robin dying
Dropping cold to freeze.
Snapping neck on glass partition,
The glass as cold as ice;
Robin seeking his own reflection
Came to kiss his eyes.


Who loved the orange feathers?
Who loved the crying beak?
We sing our love for the robin
On his back with upturned feet.


Can't you hear the robin singing
Winging in the air so free?

###

An interlude here: not about art but something I remember from long ago. I was on playground duty in the midst of winter and a group of small boys came running to me, visibly upset and needing assistance: for a small dead robin lying at the edge of the baseball diamond. A dozen boys were crouched around this tiny object with raw emotion upon their rough little faces. Asking me what to do:

"Save it Ms. Wolfsong." 

"Why don't it fly away?"

"Can't it sing anymore?"

Death is undeniable and almost always hurts. 

I told the little boys, "He is gone, he was sick but now he doesn't hurt anymore. I cannot help him and we will leave him to nature, because nature knows exactly what to do with the dead." 

As I walked away, the little boys continued to grieve over the fallen bird, and some of these young, hardened by their own lives, decided to pray, and crossed themselves in the manner of their own trembling faith. They were holding a funeral for the dead. In a few moments, as I watched, they ran off to join the game of soccer.

###

I feel so alone
Even though you are near.
Will our souls
Ever touch?
Will my cry
Ever reach your ear?

###

People
Who count stars
Get lost in the night sky.
Burnt amber
Creeps along the horizon
Like wine spilled
                            On a table.
Trees whisper
Summer things
Leaning nearer
Black and looming.
Winds sigh songs
Touch a face
Tease a soul.
A falling star
Becomes
A wound in 
                the purple velvet.
A child dreams
And smiles
A secret wish
Never to be forgotten.

### 

Pen tablet, animations. . . and Tunguska

Well, I have been trying to re-learn drawing, using a Bamboo pen tablet. It is not easy but it sure is fun. Using "Paintbrush" and the tablet this is what I accomplished today. Please do not laugh too loudly as my feelings are easily hurt. Eventually, I hope to be able to draw some of my famous dragons using these tools (well maybe not the "Paintbrush" application). I will try out a few other applications to see how they work.

I have also been learning how to do simple animations with the "Stykz" program as I intend to teach it to my third through fifth grade students. Also I am learning the "Pencil" animation program which is a little more complicated but I think my students can learn that one also.

So, I have been working on these projects all the while listening to this delightful album, all the way from Russia:
Tunguska Chillout Grooves vol. 4 by the Tunguska Electronic Music Society.

Shadow in the Mirror

 My beautiful niece, Annie, sent me this song:
bouncing off clouds, by Tori Amos  (I like the whole package)




 



. . .written November 1993 during a rough patch of my life. All better now;)


Subtle surprises litter my days
As if the yellow dandelions
of spring fame
were not enough
to yellow the green.
I never see beyond
the drift of yesterday
And even then is hazy
So when I long to breath
The last in a desperate
series of days
I spread my wings
And fly against my shadow
Superimposed
infinitely rimming an icy
mirror
And pausing a moment in
my frantic flight
I look deep into her eyes
and recognize her need
Give her more
Than she can give me.
And then we dance
across the startled green
amongst
the dandelions.

Reeling in My Dragons

I want to draw lines
connecting all the amber
                                        parking lot lights
Which compete
With the friendly red eyes
on the backs of the cars.
I want to draw mountains
outlining all the fir trees
                                      - stark cutouts
against the billowing
                     blue sky.
I want to draw in
To my sphere
All that is beyond
                              - My designers perspective
For it is dark,
And the lights,
                        the trees,
                        delineate my horizon
And there
is something waiting
on the other side -
I will reel in my dragons
                        with the lines I draw,
                                                      and face them
                        with the fortitude I draw,
When the moon
grows
over my mountains.

                                            -7-18-93-