Friday, November 27, 2009

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
My cold feet
In a silver bath.
I stand in my patch of yard
And watch
A giant moth
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

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


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
Under separate trees.



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
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.



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.


Thursday, November 26, 2009

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.


Tuesday, November 24, 2009


"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)


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
and die in the water

And lifting wings
I join them there.

Chickadee, Chickadee
Don't you cry
for me.


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
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
          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:


Monday, November 23, 2009

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
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:

Sunday, November 22, 2009

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?

Saturday, November 21, 2009

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 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
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
Are overwhelmed
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
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
Where does she fly
In all her glory through the night's
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
       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
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.


Friday, November 20, 2009

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

Thursday, November 19, 2009

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
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
She stands at the bus stop
                   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
An urge to join them
                           strengthens her
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
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
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
within the souls
of their fragile bones.


Sunday, November 15, 2009

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
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?


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
A wound in 
                the purple velvet.
A child dreams
And smiles
A secret wish
Never to be forgotten.


Saturday, November 14, 2009

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
infinitely rimming an icy
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
the dandelions.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

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
over my mountains.


Monday, November 9, 2009


The Great Re-Union - November 9, 1989

I cannot express how astonished I was when I saw the Wall come down in Berlin. I lived on the other side of the world but I felt as if I was one with those people who were climbing on it, spending the night on top, or knocking it down piece by piece. It still brings the tears to my eyes to this day. I remember standing in front of the television, watching this remarkable event for days, almost unbelieving but rejoicing as this powerful even took place.

As a child, when I came to know about the wall, I felt choked, alarmed that there are a people who were not free - free to come and go - free to see their loved ones whenever they wanted - free to move.  I remember hearing about people who tried to run across that no-man's land, being shot in the back, and falling - falling. I saw that, on our old black and white television, and my heart hurt so bad - I can't describe the feeling except to say that it broke. I cannot imagine what it must have felt like to live in that situation. To be broken-hearted when you realized you couldn't visit your mother just down the street. I couldn't imagine that and I wouldn't ever want to know.

When that wall came down, it was because of the beating hearts of millions of people who longed for freedom. That beating heart became one with a purpose and reverberating together created an earthquake of human proportions and reversed the evil that created that wall.

Thousands of beating
  Vibrating a force
                                      that glowed
                      and lit up the night
And on that cold dark
The stars looked
and saw a crumbled
                        wall - - -
Can there be peace
                  on earth
if we imprison
                   our  cold hard hearts?