Friday, November 26, 2010

PurpleOrca

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

http://www.jamendo.com/en/user/PurpleOrca

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.



o0o
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: http://www.jamendo.com/en/album/76294 ]


o0o
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
man

we are
but dust . . . 



o0o

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