Sunday, November 28, 2010

Why Does the Angel Cry?

Doorway in Paris July 2010

how much of myself can I give away
can I give away to you?
how far can I run
how fast and how far
until I find myself with you?
Cemetery Angel - Paris

are my wings strong enough to take me higher
over the mountains in the misty blue?
when my feathers brush the stone
on the sides of the cliff
will I cause the snow to fall?
and there shall I hear an angel cry
on the top of that mountain tall?

how much of my soul will give me a dream
how big are my dreams of you. . .?
how wide can I dream
in vivid color
how true are my dreams of you?

are my wings strong enough to take me away
through the mythical skies of black?
when my wings make a breeze
Door Knocker Milwaukie Oregon
through the darkness so deep
causing the stars to flee,
will I hear that angel's cry
there, high in that Stygian sky?

how far can my sight  give me visions
and what will they show me of you?
when I look in your face
will I witness a trace
of your wisdom and love
will I witness my love in your eyes?

are my wings strong enough to take me far
over the oceans green and blue?
when my eyes brim with tears
as salty as my despair
will I hear that angel cry
in the depths of the endless sea?

how much of my heart can I give
can I give away to you?
how big is my world
how wide is the sea
before I can get to you?

how far can I fly with my battered wings
how far can I see through my tears
how far can I dance with the fleeing stars
or swim through the falling snow?

some day I will find my way
I will find my way to your side
and there I will wait till you explain
the story of that angel's tears.. .. ..

that day when I stand beside you
and there where I can find you
I will look into your eyes and
In the Louvre - Paris
you will tell me why that angel cries . .


Doorway in Paris

The Interim

We are closer than we think .. .. ..
we are in the same universe
the same corner of the galaxy
on the same side of the sun
on that turquoise blue planet
in the center of the universe
where all the best happens .. .. ..
we are closer than we think .. .. ..
we take life from the same atmosphere
we see through the same spectrum of light .. ..
the same sun beams down on us .. .. ..
the same moon
and all the giddy stars dancing over our heads
do their waltz just for us . . . you and I .. .. ..
we hunger and thirst for the same things
and the same reasons .. .. ..
there is the same music that rises in our souls
and the same spirit to laugh, sing, weep, sigh,
and love .. .. ..
and whatever the season
we cling to the glories of life .. .. ..
and we lean on each other
and thus we are whole . . .

I love you tomorrow
since the beginning of time
and on through forever.
We are closer than we think.


This is an older poem of mine and I wonder if I published it before under a different name but if I did, oh well .  . .  I love this one . . . 

Lost by the Side of the Woods

Johnson Creek 11/10
I stood alone by the edge of the trees,
where the great blue heron
marked her flight,
and the end of yesterday
trailed by in empty gusts. . .
leaving a few skeletal leaves to brush
against my still legs. . .
and I hushed my beating heart by
listening to the hollow rush
of the the nearby stream,
while I waited for distant memories
to leave their traces
on the sides of my cheeks, as if they
were tender fingers softly
stroking there, like the still
breath of a cloud winging by
on the battered wings of the last  silent silvered butterfly,

left over from summer's warm grasp .

The whispers of distant sound
flutter against my ears bringing
witness of life secluded
in the echoing mysteries of the woods. . .
and through the lacy patterns of the
leafless trees reaching out against
the deep blue sky and

stripping away a few remaining
clouds scattered overhead,

reflecting a trace of orange from a receding sun .

. . . . my feet worry against the fine gravels
on the aging line between the pathway
and the woods,
and trace dark lines in the moist soil
which point along the way like arrows
drawn deeply …. small canyons
to foil the small furry caterpillar
crawling slowly, and curling at the touch
of my questing fingers. . .
while I wonder if I am real enough
to matter, and if I leave traces
that pause the hurling by of time,
or if life itself were tangible. . .
with a solidity to be grasped
and held tightly . . .

SpringWater Corridor near Johnson Creek
and if I brought it closer to my eyes,
could I determine a pattern,
a design of beauty, perhaps
a way to march through the wilderness,
or retrace my steps?

Is there a map to lead me through
this moment. . .
showing an array of solid roads
leading out of the confusing and messy

towards an understanding. . .
an island rising above
like an answer
guiding me upwards and outwards

from the towering question marks of my life .

Is there
a shining answer
to the riddle
of my dreams . . .


The Ridge near my house - Sunset

Friday, November 26, 2010


avatar for PurpleOrca (NOT my picture)

PurpleOrca is my other user on Jamendo . . . I created her because I got complaints that I was annoying certain people as orangeupurple for some reason, and I tried to hide myself, . . . but I didn't really succeed . . .

Anyway - I haven't been using her much lately and I thought I would capture some of the poems she wrote as reviews and share them here with the links to the albums . . . in case you would like to listen .  .  . Robot 2
I have come to realize that the musicians really don't like to receive poems as reviews . . . so I have stopped that habit also . . .

I will bring a few more of her poems over here some other time . . . if you like.
AND of course some more of her pictures along the Oregon Coast . . . one of her very favorite places to be . . . Robot 3

Oregon Coast

Tranquility lifts my feathers like a gentle breeze
and gives me wings to float in the warm and
peaceful air. . .
over oceans,
over mountains,
rippling rivers and
aesthetic vistas . . .
through the clouds in the blue
and tender skies
I see the landscapes of my memories
as I daydream within
the simply divine melodies I hear
while they take me places
I have never been
and I have never seen.

Yachats - Oregon Coast

Autumn is turning away from the light
and walking into the darkness . . .
when you are alone . . . there is no love . . .
what are the memories but the chance rubbing of electrons against one another . . . what is the music but occasional waves of air crashing against the firmament . . .
when there is order there is music, there is vision . ..
a disturbance in the atmosphere . . .
so ephemeral as to drift into and out of its spaces
and then the brightest darkness
and the crashing silence. . .
what is real ?
Nothing . . .. 

[ album: ]

Yachats - Oregon Coast

The long slow dance of life ,
we trivialize it in our daily being
but when we stop to see and
wipe the cobwebs from our eyes;
through the lens of our tears
we see past our lies
and know a truth
of the temporal

we are
but dust . . . 


Thursday, November 25, 2010

Summer's Rest

I laid down in Summer's rest
in a field of tall grasses
and watched blue skies
flying above me,
calling me with the sweet song
of swift wings . . . .

I laid down in Summer's rest
on a pink rose petal
dipped in sugar with truth spun deep,
and I floated in perfumed
splendor, thick with honey
and morning dew. . .

I laid down in Summer's rest
on the wings of a dragonfly,
sparkling in dashes
across the breezes,
that bring back lost memories
with the scent of
warmth and laughter. . .

I laid down in Summer's rest
beneath a sunless sky,
and across a black velvet expanse
witnessed the shining and blazing dreams,
of all the souls who have
ever been . . .

I laid down in Summer's rest
beneath an amber tree
silvered with the song of birds
and watched the small breezes carry
the trembling leaves away from me. . .

and as
they fluttered and flew along
with the birds in flight,
all the summer things
laid down and grew still,
and as we lay dreaming . . .

Winter's cold strength
kissed us all
with a thin crust of a frost
and a silver stream of a whisper,
"tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
what was, is
and tomorrow will be yesterday,
and then,
again and again and again . . ."


Sunday, November 21, 2010

Drums from the Dawn of Time

A didgeridoo is alway compelling and mesmerizing but with the momentum of the percussion was driven and so enticing in "Dawn of Time" on this album of transcendent qualities. The ancient sounds from "Sunrise," exotic and magical, were so very beautiful and with a distinctively unique trance tone. . . Observe and enjoy the perfect timing with "King Size Rizzla's" very nice drums, great tempo and distant exotic voice. The ears have an excellent treat with "Megastamp's" unique sounds and recorded qualities, and was another very fine trance. I loved "Metalixir" for its tribal feel and vocals and the tempo was excellent. Each tune had its own personality to add to the whole and yet the concept was held to and the flow from song to song was perfect.

These songs are all so good; and nice and lengthy also . . .the album has a lot of good meat on its bones. The drums project power and strength and a wistfullness encompasses these delightful world style trance and other tunes, with energy and perfect sound.

Friday, November 19, 2010


Serakina . . . one of my favorite artists on Jamendo . . . consistent excellent quality . .  music for free downloads and listens .  .  come and check it out: genre = chill, downtempo, relax . . .



Thursday, November 18, 2010

The End of the Road . . .

The Autumn leaves
curl their copper fingers
to greet the stormy winds while. . .

I walk the familiar dark
shiny with the fallen rain,
and melodious with the certain
                 quietude that
descends like a cloak
                 to muffle the atmosphere
before the dawn . . . and

I follow my well worn trail,
        as in the dark I am prone
to wander off
                   and lose myself in the still lakes. . .

where I float face down,
hair streaming like tendrils
                    of long grasses. . .
forming question marks
         against my face. . .

My arms drift listlessly by my side
and I hear a distant melody
                             as of temptation,
while sightless fishes
                        nibble at my vulnerabilities:

my face quickly relieved of my burning, weeping eyes while,
my breasts, gnawed away, leaving a gaping hole
through my rib cage,
which like prison doors,
painfully open with a groan
giving egress to any interest . . .

and my heart drifts away slowly
in the blackness of the water
still beating,
and leaking away its warm blood
in spurts . ..
while my vocal cords
calling the names of whom I have loved
are broken like violin strings
as if in a violent fire
exploding outward . . .

Yes . .  I am lost if I drift off my path,
these roads
leading nowhere,
but to my end . . .

the end of the road


Sunday, November 7, 2010

The Meaning of Life . . .

Love is . . .

We are in a play . . .
We chose our own roles
Many millennium times millennium ago . . .
We are in a play . . .
observed by all the entities of the Universe
times Universes . . . and beyond
Deep into the darkest recesses and
High into the brightest star clouds
live the other beings, our audience,
We once knew them but
through the graces of time
on this royal blue planet. . .
have forgotten them . . .

though we were warned
that we would forget
our star-like existence . . .
we were eager to become the actors
and endure the pain,
the heartbreak,
the joy . . .
we chose to take on the costume
and take on our roles . ..

so we wander on this stage,
this world,
costumed in fragile flesh . . .
and we fulfill our existence here
every one of us . . .
shadowed in mysteries . . .
we feel lost as humans
yet we have it the way it is to be . . .
we call it Fate:

The choice -
to be a baby dying in an African village
one of thousands . . .to give opportunity
to touch the hearts
of the witnesses .. . so they may show kindness
in love .. .
The choice -
To be part  of a murdering army
so that others may show courage,
fortitude, and love in combat
The choice -
To be a young mother of two little children, suffering with a growing cancer,
that fills her body. . .so that her friends can show her love.
The choice -
To be a quiet living soul,
tending and creating a beautiful garden,
in love, so as to touch the heart and delight of a photographer. . .

To be, in every step of the way  . . . a star
to touch, to guide, to learn . . . to be love,
to love,
for love is truth
when it is given through the hiding shadows
when only the tales of time
will reveal all
as perfection. . .

The whole purpose of our lives -
has meaning . . .
to demonstrate the ways of love -
to kill the darkness and bring in the light.

That is our play . ..  and earth is our stage
and we are the actors . . .
presenting to the Universe. . .
a show about love.


Thursday, November 4, 2010



that's what life is . . .

once we are detached from our mothers
our selves are cast adrift
on a sea of loneliness . . .
we are ever and always alone . . .
we live inside ourselves. . .
our shells
where we are bewildered
by an array of emotions
love being the treasure
what is love . . . but a stray feeling . . .
which betrays us . . .
for it does not remove the loneliness,
only intensifies it
like an ever burning fire
which flares and cools
but never dies
for we are never able to stop feeling so alone . .

when I look at you

do you see me?
do you hear me ?
or is it only through the filter of yourselves
that you can see the shadows of me
or hear my watery cry .. ..
I know . . . I see and hear
you too
the wisp of you that I can capture
through your words
and your glances . . .
and I worry that one or both of us
is not real ..

What shore am I cast adrift on,

after I set sail so long ago
into the sea of life . . .
no matter which way I head,
the bitter winds push me
onto the shoals of despair . . .

and I am ever alone . .

though I walk through the crowds
on that shore by the sea. . .
crowds of people all
looking through each other
like through smoky glass
seeing only faint images
of what could be . . .

I am ever alone

and lonely . . .
and so are you . . .


Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Frank Harper

Top of Frank's page with his song, "Would You"
This lovely page of Frank Harper's:

On this evening I came home . . .  tired after a long day. And even after buying a new pair of shoes and taking another ton of sunset and Autumn color pictures, I was feeling very low, depressed even! But sometimes surprises happen when you least expect them, because I found a lovely email from Frank Harper, one of Jamendo's best, sharing a link to his web page where he had put, for free, a download of a song he had created for the album, Wolfsong's:
The song is called "Would You," a folk song with a gorgeous acoustic guitar, sung and played by Frank. He had used one of my poems for this song and on his web page he had created an album cover from a photograph of mine that he found here too . . .
Well, Frank is such a talented musician . ..  with gifted fingers when he strums his guitar . . . I believe he could take anything and turn it into a beautiful song . . . but he said such kind things about me that it brought the tears to my eyes. . . and sharing this song like that on his blog is very heart touching and meant more to me than I could say.


a shadow play passes through my mind. . .

yesterday, the trees blowing in the wind, and
a rain storm over sidewalks shiny and gray, where
an old black cat, matted fur and dragging tail,
comes hopefully to greet me,
as I skirt a large murky puddle. . .
like a lake it floods and spreads . . .
detritus filming its edges,
old leaves and bits of memories
clinging to the surface. . .
a bottomless song as the raindrops
pound on the water
and, too, on my bowed head,
as I think of Autumns long ago . .
the colors of the leaves are submerged
by the songs of yesterday
and sullen dreams .. ..  soon 

forgotten. . .
dreams that return again,
beginning as flares of brilliant colors. . .

yesterday, the colors of Autumn cling to the unforgiving trees
while the wind blows, the leaves dance and sing
as they clap against each other. . .
a song as old as the world,
as timeless as the universe. . .
a sameness, and yet,
a lullaby of life. . .
a melody of the stars
as they flare and die
in the black coldness of eternal space. . .
they cling to the night sky
moody and relentless in their glittering splendor. . .
each star an entity,
each one a rebirth from the heart of the universe. . .

yesterday, a song came to haunt me
and repeating itself today. . .
as I wander through the cycles of my life
I hear a song that comforts me,
and reminds me that I am unique
like a fragment of a crystal. . .
the same as all the rest,
yet a unique thumbprint on the page of life. . .
smudged just a little
yet clear as the crystal song
reverberating through space and time,
a song of love, and yearning to be free,
and to be reborn again . . . and again . . .