Thursday, May 26, 2011

Touched by a Rainbow

Walking this morning . ..  I felt a strange color from the sky . . . looking down at me, and touching my shoulders . .  so I lifted my eyes from the uneven side-walk and saw a bit of a rainbow . ..  like a smudge of colors but insistent and lovely . . . hanging on the treetops until the rain began to fall . . .  I was moved and began to write a poem . . .  which I will complete today but in the meantime I heard this little thought in my head . ..  I'm sure I got it from somewhere else .  .  . for where do we really get our ideas from . . . but each other and life:

If in your life
a little rain must fall
look for the rainbow
at the end of it all

and if in your day
a little gray must creep
look for that little ray of sun
as through the clouds it will seep . . .

OK . . . I found it:
Longfellow -
- Be still sad heart and cease repining;
Behind the clouds the sun is shining,
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life a little rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

I did a google search . . 


Down by the river
                                            where the waters bend
by the pools of silver                             
                   and the rapid's end
Here the creatures gather                                                    
                                as their wisdom says . .
a river is a world                
and peace will always pay . .
                                      huddled in the shadows
silently each appears                                       
          blending in with nature
                                                       then never will they fear

there is calm in this valley                                                                 
                    where the swallow swiftly flies
                                                                            in the breezes of the moment
lifts the golden butterfly 
as she rests in the flower . . ..                                            dappled bright
                                              with flickering shadows . . .
                                                                           by the edges of the stream . .  
wades a twinkling little dipper                                                   
quietly moving through the shallows
                                                                               raises for a moment
a bony little foot
                                                                 as the small blue kingfisher . . .
gathers from the rippling waters . . .                
a silvery sparkling fish    
      the colors of the heavens
                                       appear once overhead . .. .
in the form of a rainbow . . .
not an eye looks upward
but always forever onward 
ever always on ahead.. .. . . .. ... ..   
This poem is about a river that my sister and I used to go to . . its called the Sandy River and we knew of an isolated portion where we could throw off our tops and swim in the cool pool formed at the bottom of a small falls . .. We would giggle uncontrollably if anyone found their way there which was rarely as it was difficult to reach this peaceful little beach without climbing down cliffs and over house size boulders . . . but once there . . . it was a nature wonderland . . . warm and quiet except for the sounds of the river and the animals . .. 
I wish I was there . . .



Wednesday, May 25, 2011

A Bird in Hand. . . Part II

This is a continuation of my story from April 28: "Rescue Me . . .  Part I"

What to do with a baby robin, in hand, when it is freezing cold and all its little mites have run up your wrists, and your mean old cat has killed the mom . . . leaving the dad to feed and care for the rest of the family on his own - ? 

Well first you call the Audobon Society to find out what to do . .. "Give it damp cat food or egg yolk . . . . and do NOT give it milk. Find its nest and put it back." OOOOKAAY!  Cat food I had aplenty . . . so I used the handle of a yellow plastic spoon to poke some cat food down his big open beak . . . and he ate plenty. I also held him until he felt as warm as he should.

I spent that evening and night looking for his nest . ..  because he cried . .  loudly!  I saw an old bird's nest in the same tree so I climbed it and put him in that . . . but there he was even more lonely and his father, in his comings and goings with food for the brood, ignored his cries . . . It was so sad looking at that little bird watching his dad going back and forth with mouthfuls of food and disappearing deep into the shadows of that persimmon tree . . . The baby's eyes glittering hopefully and his cries becoming louder and more desperate . . . and the sun was starting to go down.

I watched the father closely and tried to guess where the nest was . . . I would climb the tree and perch on a limb (and I am afraid of heights) and watch for any movement or deeper shadows where a nest might be . .  As it got darker and darker I climbed further up the tree, thinking I would be able to find the nest (how hard can it be?) but I was never able to find it. I had to retrieve Baby because his cries were so piteous and he wasn't stopping . . . I will never forget that enormous voice that came out of that little thing . . . so I climbed back down the tree with a re-chilled baby bird and took him inside where I found a box, some materials for a nest and fed him once more before calming him down enough to get him to sleep . . . I was definitely a robin mother.  I put Baby's container in the kitchen and locked the doors against that naughty cat, Bear.

Well, days went by and I was busy. . . We didn't have the Internet in those days so I spent much of my free time scouring the library and watching the other robins. ..  trying to figure out what to do with this little critter. I kept him supplied with cat food but I knew that wasn't going to be good enough as time went on. 

The cats were angry at me . ..  they couldn't figure out why I wouldn't allow them into the kitchen .. . and one day Bear snuck in . ..  and with one claw snagged a feather off the chest of the bird right over his heart. When that feather grew back it was pure white and remained so for the rest of the summer.

To feed Baby I got some big trays and filled them with soil from the garden . . . I watered the yard daily for hours and at night I went out with a flashlight and a big jar and captured the night-crawlers. These are some pretty big and strong worms. Some fishing folk told me about this trick. How to sneak up on them with the flashlight because they are laying outside their tunnels, socializing and relaxing by the light of the moon. My hands would get all slimy and sticky from handling these guys. They always kept their hind-ends hooked to the mouth of their tunnels and when they sensed my presence they would retreat into the safety of their cave faster than I can blink. If I was able to grab hold of one I had to tug fast and contend with this amazing strength .  .  . but I was always able to capture quite a few by the end of the night.

I would put the worms in the trays of soil which I kept moist and when Baby was hungry I would make a big deal out of capturing a worm and pounding it like I noticed the parents did . . . before cramming it down his wide open beak . . 

I took Baby outside, one day, to see if he was ready to go . .  He did fly off to a neighbor's tree where he started to cry. He cried the rest of the day and into the night . . . where I finally left him since he was afraid of the cats (rightly so) and he wouldn't come back to me. The next day I went back outside with his old feeding spoon and he flew right down to my head. I took him back inside and gave him the house to fly in until he was ready to go. 

I watched the robins constantly and since my yard was the dampest in town the robins came often to find food. Eventually I put one of the worm trays outside where I attracted a large number of hungry robins, including a huge flock of youth, about the age of Baby. I took him outside to join his relatives and I always recognized him with his white feather over his heart. He would come down and land on my head if I called him but one day he wouldn't come near me . .  he was now a free, wild creature . ..  hanging out with his buddies and foraging for food for himself . .  Eventually as Fall approached and there were berries and other robin food the flock of youth stopped coming by and I lost sight of my baby robin . . .

But this was an experience. I was successful at raising him but it was so much hard work. It dominated my days and nights and I was glad when it was over. 

Here is a link to a great site which provides tons of information regarding the American Robin . ..  how to help an orphaned one and everything you could possibly wish to know in regards to these cheerful little birds.  I adore robins and look forward to hearing their vocalizations in the early spring . . .


Hours of excellent music to play and relax to . . . just simply good flowing ambient to calm your wild child . ..The Music is good and there is lots of it:

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

The Scent of God

Early morning walk:
A feather drops
     from a telephone wire . . .
a light is flashing
  in the distance . ..
a quiet murmer of bird chatter
and I am listening to
    your song . . 
I love the early morning
   scent of something
    sweet hanging heavy
in the dewy air . . .
  the sun not yet
committed to
   a day 
of heated labor. . .
the crow's laughter
and squirrels chatter
reminds one that this
 to the survivor . . .
the scent of new mown hay astonishes 
the nose . . .
geese flying high
    gabble and twinkle 
in the sky . . .
bird song like
liquid silver . . .
robin's rich honeyed
"cheer-up" lifts up my
mood . . .
and the small chickadee
with an enormous voice
is watching over his family . . .

I had the "dickens" of a time figuring out how to get the chickadee sound on my posting . . . I had to make a video for youtube and embed it but first I had to download all this equipment as I am not at my usual computer so  . . .  it took me all morning to add this. Next I will do the robins sweet voice . . . another one of my favorite bird sounds.  And learn how to re-name my projects . . .  OK . . . always a little learning curve here . . .

I got the picture of the chickadee from Wikipedia and the sound from Freesound . . .

Robin Picture from Wikipedia and sound from Freesound . . .
There is a link to Freesound in my favorite links section on the sidebar . . . 

Monday, May 23, 2011

Old Things - New Things - Good Things - Blue Things

Tree in Paris
I have decided that I need to pick out some of my poetry reviews from Jamendo that I wrote lately . . . and share the music and these poems. Sometimes the musicians remove their music and then my "reviews" disappear. But also, when I removed "orangeupurple," I was sad to see some of those poems disappear . . . and even though some Jamendo users didn't like my writings and attacked me for my writing style . . . what I do still represents a lot of work and dedication to Jamendo and to the artists. So, I am thinking of preserving some of my favorite poems here in my blog along with the music.

I have been very careful lately, in general, to write my style of reviews only to the musicians who seem to appreciate and want them.  I have promised never to review those (a small number of reviewers and musicians)  who attacked me or my friends, or who disparaged the style of writing that some of Jamendo's listeners use.  Many of us, reviewers, are artists also . . . and thus my change of name to Wolfsong.thePoet . . . to make myself very clear . . I write poetry . ..  I am NOT a critic of music . ..  but I know what I like and how I feel when I listen.  Very often, music inspires me and moves me . . . and thus I am creative in my reviews.

I have been called selfish, for writing in this manner .  .  . and I agree. I listen to the music on Jamendo for MY pleasure. And if I am inspired I rejoice . . . because I am looking and wanting to be inspired . . . it is for me that I write . . . but I also want to inspire and encourage and entertain .  .   . this is part of what motivates me . . .

OH yes . ..  what are all these things I mentioned . . .  music, songs, poems, good stuff and blue, old and new . ..  me and you . . . I am often blue . ..  but then there are the blues too . ..  I will be sure to find some blues to put in my blog . . .  see you later!

Soundtracks 2010
by Andreas Mayer

The winds blow through
your lips
creating an angel's melody . . .
giving me the room to
drift away through midnight's
scorn and misty dreams and
the wings to
fly to the moon, or further . . wherever
my imagining will lift me . . .
I can dream of love .. . everlasting . . .
I sit by the fire and hear the music
of the soul . . .
watching the the blood red embers
dance and crackle
as I listen
to the story told of long ago
and far away . . .
where the stunning music
will take me . . . beyond time
beyond space . . . into images yet
unseen . . .
the music will fly me . .
on the winds of sound and
with the stroke of a magic feather . .
on the back of love
and in the arms of melody
we will fly . . . . ..
Et si ...
by Philippe Marin

Simply calming and beautiful . . . quietly emotional . . .

Down by the river . . .
just as it pools before the bend . . .
the creatures gather
as the sun goes down . . .
there is a breath . . . of still cool air . ..
and the shadows play
for the fish at rest . . .
and the doe lifts her face
with the crystal water dripping . ..
and her big brown eyes look into mine . . .
hold that moment of intimate
where all the living
connect . ..
this music was like that
to me . ..
The Waxworks
by Ai!R

Dark and Wistful . . a place to bring your dreams ..

Dark and dreamy . . .
a moving testimony to emotions of
love and fear . ..
hope and melancholy . . .
the music is so peaceful
and dreamy . . .
and gives you spaces to find
the floor . .. a solid place to be anchored . .
before you fly away again into the
mists of wistfulness . . .
a longing. . .
a heartbeat. . .
a stone in the water . ..
by Jaro-Ma 

Melancholy melodies;
sentimental memories . ..
beautiful and tenderly
the gentle music gives
a lovely mental vision . .
emotions and tears . . .
So sweetly
at the end of day . . .
the sun goes down . . a flare of
bright colors . . a dancing of the light
. . . a promise . . . that life continues . ..
there is hope . . . there is love . . .
Explorer's Tales
by Dmitriy Samoylenko 

A subliminal message
from the stars . ..
the sounds reverberate
and concentrate . ..
calm and nearly elusive
powers . .. taking me deeper
into the sea . . . .
the sound of dolphins and the mysteries
of the deep . .. .
taking me higher and higher
into levels of peace . . .
where I hear the song of the stars . ..
shining and clear . . .

herein . ..
tribal, and droning,
jazzy acoustic, and meditative
sounds that extend
endless dreams . ..

An excellent resource for
peaceful moments . ..
hypnotic and dreamy . . .
 Tempus edax rerum.
by Pascal SER'JACOBS  

Revelations and sunlight . ..
a colorful beauty . .
album cover and music . ..
nearly divine . ..
Takes the listener on a journey . .
one which is most sublime . .
Well, that is enough for now . . . I see that it will be a really huge job to do this . . . so it will be a while before its all done. Maybe I need to slow down on my writing reviews for Jamendo . . . and actually most of these poems aren't really that good . .. so  much of my writing doesn't get a response from the musician . . . . . .

But enjoy the music . . . its all spectacular . . .


I have been putting together a piano play list for the purpose of calming the students in my computer lab. Lately my students are taking a heavy series of tests. These children are so tense, and sometimes miserable, trying to figure answers to things they they struggle with at the best of times. These piano pieces I have chosen are all calming and yet uplifting. They have good spirit to their soulful expressions and I wanted to share that here. . .  but first; today I was listening to my iPod and the first album that came up on my "Play all albums" list was this one. It was immediately added to my playlist . . .. . .  I am always so impressed by the quality of work given to us to use and listen to on Jamendo.

Accarezza il vento
by Simone Cilio

treasure every second
as time goes by
each speeding second .. ..
something will die. . .
fall into the soil and become
one with the earth . . .
disappear from the grasp
if held too close . . .
a wayward balloon . ..
lost from the touch
lost from the view . ..

sweetly the melodies
flow by on strings of
a momentary connection
higher and higher

each note that gallops by
swallows time and disappears
like mist in the midday sun . . .

the music holds my beating heart. . .
I hear the hammering of its song
against my resounding bones . . .

I listen breathlessly to the music .. ..
while it becomes part of my essence
as it flows through my blood . ..
nourishing me . . .
the air around is imbued
with the incense of the song
like a dream . . . it flutters by
insubstantial …. a butterfly
against the flame of emotion . . .

to capture such beauty . .
is lost to the soul . . .
like a bubble holding the
dreams of a child. . . simple
shimmering messengers . ..
flying up to the heavens
to the angel's waiting hands . .

music played like this is compassionate
and humble
excusing itself from the room
as it dissipates from the air waves
leaving tender memories
of such beautiful melodies
emotional and full
of loving desire . ..


"Piano" Playlist:


Sunset at Yachats Oregon

Sunday, May 22, 2011


Game Share!

screen shot of game

I was reminded of one of my favorite games the other day when I was in the lab with the students. I had given them "Free Time" to chose games to play and one of these kids discovered a download of flOw. This is a game in which you are a micro-organism and it is your job to survive . . . which is the basis of life. 

You grow as you find food, which is basically anything you can overcome in your travels. You control the game by pointing the mouse wherever you want to go and at whomever you want to eat with your wide open mouth.  Some organisms go down in one gulp and others you must battle. Be careful because some of the creatures, such as the jelly-fish, are very hard to overcome and they are more likely to overcome you!

You move through the game in several ways. Usually most of the action and food is close to two items . .  a blue organism which brings you up a layer and a red organism which brings you down a layer in your puddle of life . . . For instance if you wish to go to a deeper level, look for the red wave and head toward it where you will find a small organism with a red dot inside . ..  eat it and you go down .  . easy!

And the deeper you go the darker it gets. Eventually you reach the bottom where you find a creature that looks like you . .  this is the final boss and you battle this guy to the death . .

The boy, who found the download in my lab, loved it so much that he came back later looking for it . . . but . . . he couldn't get to the computer that had that game and he couldn't find it anywhere else on any of the other computers. He started to weep in frustration and it was a teaching moment for me as I tried to convince him that there were other great games to play . .  but oh no! . . . it had to be flOw or nothing . . .

Here is a link to what Jay is Games said about this game:
also with a little more explanation on game play . . .

One final suggestion . .. the game has beautiful sounds and music and also a feeling of serenity (especially if you avoid the jellyfish) when you just swim around looking at things and eating just a few items to see how you grow and gain wings . . . it can be a peaceful, playful time or . . .a battle to the death . . . its your choice . . .


P.S. The game is difficult to find as a download but I found it when I clicked "play" and then the "download" on that page . . . 

Friday, May 20, 2011

She Walks in Elegance and Grace

    She walks in elegance and grace,
    her long robes like great wings in the breeze,
    straight as an arrow
    she floats across the desert. . .
    sands streaming around her naked feet,
    a black cutout against a white hot sky. . .
    burnt amber sands reflecting
    a setting sun . . .
    her face dreaming. . .

    she is the eagle . .  high in the mountain
    she is the wolf . . . hunting in the valley
    she is the rose . .. resplendent in glory
    she is the river . . running to the sea . . .

    her longings bound within her chest . . .
    imprisoned in a beating heart . .
    deep beneath her ebony flesh . . .
    her eyes lift up to seek the moon
    a cold and distant land . .
    and yet her hands reach out to touch
    a face so pale . .  so white,
    as yet not bright
    against a dark and vicious night . . .
    she dreams . . .

    she is the dance of the lonely bear
    she is the song of the sparrow in flight
    she is the strength of the trees on the hill
    she is the heartbeat of the salty sea .. ..

    Intrepid, she rises in the cruelty of dawn,
    her hollowed nest, a cavity soon filled
    an ephemeral memory . . . like a lost     dream
    as from a misty melody of hope . .
    forever she glides across an endless land

    like the lonely stark shadow
    of a sailing fish beneath a golden surf. . .
    fresh water, not but desire . . .
    she veils her dreaming eyes
    against the stinging sands

    she is the emblem of a noble race
    she is the ghost, a reflection of the dead . ..
    she is the beginning and she is the end
    she is the living for she still dreams . .

    rising over dunes .. .
    shimmering in the skies,
    for a brief flash . . .  unveiling her eyes
    she sees an oases . . . a place of hope
    a spark of water . . . silver and gold
    a sign of life . . .  a deep green shade
    she descends between the sounds of beating drums . . .
    a wind from heaven's open door . . .
    washes away her footprints . . .then from the shadows
    they take her hands as she is lead
    to a circle of others . . .
    and then they all begin to dance . . .

    she is passion which drives the heart
    she is love which heals the wounds
    she is grace which feeds the soul
    she is faith which builds the dream

Thursday, May 19, 2011

The Women at the Garden Gate


two women are suspended, in time, for a moment,
facing each other over a garden gate. . .
each is wearied of her life
each is wondering, reflectively
about the garden . . . the road beyond,
and the unknown life of the other . .. 

The Woman of the Garden:

"Who is this fool who
stands by my garden gate
staring at the dirt
as if it were some horror
left on her plate?

She leans her knotty old
walking stick, in a familiar manner 
against my fence .  . .
her dark eyes reflect my garden . . .
like confetti thrown down
in a black pool . . .

my tender roses
dance beneath the breeze,
their crimson petals are like the wings
of books,
wafting scented memories . .
look . .  the stranger bends down
to pet the family dog . .
what has she seen . . .
why does she not see me?

The curve of the old gnarled pine
is bent and withered
like a woman past her prime . . .
she is reaching out,
not so high, for the sun,
as she used to . . .
that golden orb
has gone before her;
now she merely reaches
out trembling in her greediness for love. . .
she is lost in her reverie .. .
dark green dreams. . .
she wishes she could move her limbs
and journey far . .
she has missed that walk
down that long road
that road that shines beneath the sun . . 

the daisy is like a table,
a breakfast nook for bees,
a bed for butterflies. . .
these things rest in the shadows
and quiver in the breeze
yet I often wonder where they go
when they leave me . . .
and why I cannot follow them . . .

why is the stranger's fingers tracing
each point of my gate . . ?
is she following a mental map of her travels?
her adventures . . . her face is warmed
by the memories of her trail . . .but
perhaps she wants to enter here?
the lock keeps her away . .
who is she. . .?
from what bed does she arise?

she glances at me and smiles . . .
her eyes flashing like
a strike of white lightning. . .
the shadows of the leaves
are stroking her face with
glances of golden light;
as the friendly squirrel dances
down the sunny vine. . .
a green road suspended
across time . . "

The Woman of the Road:

"I am but this empty wind
that blows through so cold,
like the eye of winter that rambles
across the valleys and roads . .
I am but a wandering sorrow
of grief for a life so lost
in pursuit of that which does not exist. . .
walking away from love's great risk

I want to paint a picture of this rainbow of
a garden . . . so thick with fleshy flowers
cuddled up like children against
this cozy cottage . . . warm in the
orange rays of a setting sun  . ..

but this woman looks at me
as if I am possessed
perhaps she wants the stink of me
to pass on down that road . . .
that long dark, crooked road. . .

the bumblebee is nestled
in the cup of that orange flower
like a baby held in its cozy bed . .
the shadow of the  hawk hunting
one last time before the night
has startled me . .
even she has a home
to rest her head . . .

what is my destiny but to wander . . .
look . . . the lady of the garden
is smiling at me . . .
she has a dream too . . . she looks
as if she is sailing on a mighty sea of flowers . .
the golden poppies are singing
to her . .. of sunshine and daydreams . . .
oh why can't I be
that hummingbird drinking nectar
from the side of the eaves . . ."

The Woman of the Garden:

"Here, I will offer this woman at my gate
my rose with its tale of my life . .. 
it will last for a day but perhaps
give her comfort in that time . . ."

The Woman of the Road:

"My walking stick; a gift to the
gardener, the goddess of such
a land of dreams . . .. perhaps she
will dream of my travels . . ."


  Update with the music and poetry from Jamendo . . .

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Hodge Podge

Dogwood reaching for the sun

Perfect sound quality . . . sometimes jazzy . . .
my energy level perked up as I heard the first sounds . . .
I love drums and these are so good . . .percussion and beat are the dominating factor while the other sounds . . . instrumental, vocal and otherwise . . . are woven through these powerful sound structures . . .
embellishing and arising like magic
from the deep loamy, earthy sound of the pounding . . .
rhythmical and heady . . .
it pounds through your bloodstream . . .
like strong heart beating . . . empowering the listener . . .

The golden tones of drums .  . throb through
the atmosphere
like gold dripping from the sun's rays . ..
powering the rushing river . .
and the wings of the eagle
soaring and flapping . . . over the steam
of the rain forest . . .
and we are driven to dance to the beat . . .
wet from the midday rainstorm . . .
yes . . . 


beautiful. . .
like a walk through springtime trees . . .
blasting their tender blossoms . ..
for just a moment before the wind
removes the pink petals
into a virtual blushing snow storm . .
and all the sensations are heart lifting . . .
regarding love . . I must have my lover
in hand as we walk through this orchard,
the music keeps us close . . . and believing in love . . .
passion and peaceful joy . . .

The nicest piano music to play for anytime . . .
and so much of it to enjoy . . .


Thanks to Paula for the share:

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

As I Wander . . .

In my wanderings I see . . .

There are things that 
                                        tremble in my being . . .
like the half scorched moth                  
                              on my table top,
dying for want of                               
the moon . . .
                                               after tasting my candle flame

there are things that
follow me as I                             
wander . . .
                                         like the small smiling boy
in the shape of a cross                                       
lying across an unnamed tarmac road

There are things that grow
                                   my heart. . .
like the shadowy man                                
sitting alone 
                                      in a pot hole. . .
eating unknown items
                               from a trash can

There are things that
                                               fulfill my destiny;
hidden surprises through                
my day like
                               Easter eggs by
the side of my road              

When I am earth bound
                                            I see the uneven pathways
and byways as I travel. . .                                           
Looking down the sideroads
                                                      I am aware that life is unfinished . . . .
and I see

open doors and broken
glass . .  kites tangled
                                          on unknown wires,
wearied gardeners,                             
                   jogging families,
mossy porches,                                
discarded pairs of shoes
silent on street corners. .  .                     
                                                      and tiny hands offering treats
to the neighborly cats

There are things that 
                                        know my soul 
like the crow softly chattering
                                  to her family, high
in the pine,                     
a rustle of feathers...
                      a shadow,
before the end of day. . . .

but always a final burst of light
                                        fans out above the hills
before the sun retires       
There are things that
                                                      tremble in my being . . .
like the white feather left beside                       
                                         my front door .. ..
a sacrifice . . . 
a birth . ..
a promise for tomorrow ............                               

Always something to captivate my attention
Spectacular :
"Spaceman's Dream" by djfoxtrot

inner space .  .  . just a dream away
. . . if lost and confused
  . . . the traveler can find his way . . .  
through the galaxies . . . built from sands
of dead planets and stars . . .
from the past comes the knowledge,
the dreams . . .and the glories
and we build on the foundation,
on the imagination of others
. . . a tower that reaches the stars . . . 
who smoothed the way for our feet?
so they don't stumble . . .
who paved the way?
to the stars . .  and beyond . . .
who gave us the wings to fly?
who made that music that
makes us cry?

Lift my wings like the breath of a wind .. ..
your music flies me higher . ..
through a dream
through a black fire . . .
each piano note . ..  like a star driven
through the galaxies of desire . . .

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Perspective in Beauty and Madness . . .

from day to day my life transforms . . .
am i in love? or do i rejoice?
as the sun rises .. .. to shine on me . .
or the rain begins to fall . . . and
you move me to despair;
the colors of my day . . are as
whimsical as the gods .  ..
and leave me floundering in my shell . . .
i am lost in my universe . . . as i look
for a foundation . . .
i am but a wild star
flinging itself through the blackness . . .
longing for an anchor
with the fortitude . .
to hold me still
against the solar winds . . .
that hurl me hither and yon . . .
and as I bounce among the others
feeling the flame and the scorn
I see in the eyes the terror
the anger
against my existence. . .
and my sorrow returns
where I find myself hiding in the
darkness .. .. away from the radiant beams
of others . . .
Emotional and beautiful . . . a smooth flow of thought and creativity . ..  this album shines with the energy and talent of this artist. The poem above was inspired by his music: 
by Dave Imbernön
So Beautiful and so Touching . . .

an extraordinarily lovely pop song . . .
Gorgeous voice . . .
did you write the lyrics too ???
Beautiful and so emotional . . . it made me cry . . .
I know how you feel . . .
that deep ache inside that just won't leave . . .
though you be in a crowd . . .
you feel like you are missing something . .
and you have an emptiness . . .
a soul hunger . . .
yes . . . that desire to be seen . .. and loved . . .
yes, its unmistakable when others express it . . .
lonely for love or seeking god . .
its hard to know for sure but its a big part of the human condition . . .
we are all right on the brink of suffering . . .
such fragile creatures we are . .
so helpless and so full of need for each other . ..
like a bit of sunshine, warm cup of tea, a melody, a vision . . .
it all comes to an end so quickly and there again . .
that empty feeling . . that need to find something to fill that hollowness . . .

the song ends so abruptly though . .. like something dangling
over an edge . . . and then falls . .
Far Behind
by Abhishek vasu
by Onjinn
what are dreams made of
but the flight of the heartbeat,
the soul's recognition . .
and the simple sound of passion's music . . .
these are the shapes that lead us
to this world of dreams . . .
our imaginations . . our hope and
our love . . .
the colors of my world
have yet to be conceived .. ..
yet I see them dripping through my
outstretched fingers . .
as I hold them out to you . .
like a rainbow's arc . . .
ephemeral and evasive
yet true . . .
how quickly we learn to run
with the flow . . .
how quickly we learn to dance . . .
I remember the day that I died . . .
so very long ago . . .
and here is where I came . . .
by chance . . .
so I look for you through the furrows of life . ..
as I stumble blindly in the dark
I look for you . . . my love . . my light . ..
and I find in you the harmonics of mystery
and the melody of
this music. . .
by Van Syla
As I walk along this lifeline
I see the shadowy beginnings
and I hear the tearful goodbyes . . .
The march of time
goes slowly by
rending what we hold most dear . . .
This temporal place
these bloody shreds
We cling to in despair . . .
Dance with me my beloved
for we soon must say
Hold my hand my love
and look into my eyes
I see myself inside of you . . .
and you within my heart
you are forever there
we must be apart …

by Spisfire  
Review: This morning, during my walk, I pulled out an old favorite of mine on my iPod, Spisfire, and chose to listen to this album . . .and, although it has a powerful beat and percussion, I am intrigued by how smooth it is . . . like fine wine. The beats are consistent throughout the album and seem to be almost a signature of his . . . a wonderful walking companion. Yet I think this music is excellent for anytime . . . even relaxing as the the music is so smooth it could be considered ambient or newage.

I am moved by the bird song . . so clearly heard, that I thought I was surrounded by my little feathered friends serenading me; lifting my spirits and encouraging me as I nearly flew to my destination. I especially loved, "Somewhere in a deep forest" as I definitely got the feeling that I was walking in a rain forest of my area . . . damp and misty but very pleasant to walk through . . 
Spisfire's natural rhythm is that of the heartbeat . . . whether it is of the Earth or of his or mine . .. we are all touching each other through this music .. .. moving through our mother (Earth) as if swimming through her womb . . she contains us, nourishes us, and our heartbeats are as if one . . . even as we try to destroy her . .. we yearn for her . . for nature and its beauty.

Spisfire choses some very excellent sounds to accompany his music . . . mostly natural . . . always gentle sounds yet clear as crystal . . . and he composes with his excellent talent some very beautiful music . . .