Paradise Lost . . .

Defiance (Black Idol), 1900-1903 
František Kupka

 

 

Where do we go from here?
We have landed in an unkempt paradise . . .
perhaps it's karma that keeps us so lost . . .
remember when we daydreamed on the hammock
under the canopy of trees . . .
and yet they gracefully moved their branches,
leafs fluttered away
like migrant birds . . .
so we could see the stars at night
and we . . . so naively . .
making wishes on the lights that flew
across the ebony flanks of the sky god?
Remember the idols we made of mud . .
that dripped from our hands as we plastered
our gods with the soil of our desires . . .
they are buried like our dreams
in the caverns of our souls. .
left to melt beneath an incessant dripping
of hollow water . . . mingling with the blood
that runs through our hearts .. . .
and we
we are lost in our wilderness . . . wandering
wandering . ..  wanting to hold
once more . . . what we have loved . . .
I see so many of the children of my time
drifting, with glazed eyes . ..  their claws reaching
for each glossy fruit dangling from the vines . . .
they are mesmerized by their reflections
in the shine, believing that these are signs
of value and worthiness . . .  perhaps eternal grace . . .
I see these children raveled and twined in thorny green . . .
biting into rotten cores of shallow fruits,
their lips trembling with
a desire never satiated . .
I am now, merely a faded fossil . . .
slowly sinking into a passionless embrace . . .
where flesh meets earth . .  becoming one . ..
a lonely nothing . .. who screams with a voice
so silenced . . . a warning never heard . . .
behold the poison of our time . . .
beware the will of self-destruction .  ..

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Sun rising behind fog, trees and wires - Portland May 2011

My Heart . . .

my heart was built in a wicker basket,

my nerve ends are colored green. . .

the simple song of my bottomless soul

is gray with the distance of time,

yet I find the colors of heaven

condensed in my memory's moments .  .  .

a rainbow of thought, where love

is a dream of peace . . .

after a summer rain shower . ..

I watch for the puddle which gathers a song,

and see the sun dancing on the cool water ripples,

pure and hot and gold, warm with the abundance

of life . .  and

the reflection of the universe

which fills the center of my soul

with an energy, from a distant star,

or the presence of creation, and there

I sense a prayer on an angel's wing,

and the incense of life

makes me pause and remark

on the miracle of existence,

the beauty of

what is . . ..

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This play list is 8 hours long . . .pure piano . . .. 

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I Would Dream of Strength . .

Somewhere in France

I would dream of a
a benevolent heaven
announcing itself with
a reverberation of multitudes
of crystal bells and
a flutter of invisible wings
holding back
the tirade of everyday horrors . . .

I would dream of
torrents of waters
created by a wisp of a breath . .
an avalanche, a flood . . .
where the essence of life . . .
a lightening bolt of blue . . . vibrant
with energy,
is a fragile bud
pushing through broken gray rock .

I would dream of her skin
marked like a city map
cracked and bloodied
where roads would fall . .
a warrior's valor . . . standing
on the brink of helplessness
she carries the weight of a universe . .
in her womb

I would dream of
a solitary melody wafted from a
piano rippling below her broken hands .. .
the stretch of fingers
lost somewhere in the weight
of a tarnished golden ring . .
a space of silence loops around
where in the grave
she will be still. . .
and her children
keen at the marred knees
where once they bent before the gods . ..

I would dream of a shattered vase . . 
cutting away the memories of yesterday's rose . . . 
and shining ribbons of scarlet blood
wrap around the effervescent islands .  . 
like a slender chain 
stretching into tomorrow
where the rain blurs the shadows 
cast by an ever hidden sun

I would dream of palaces and castles
built on love's great foundation,
where sunlight sings the name
of everyone she loves . .
I would dream beyond the pain,
letting sorrow fly away
with a ray of hope, an elixir carried
in the seraphim's heart . . . like honey,
and leave a single drop to glisten on your lips
as if a kiss
from angels . .  just a moment
of a dream . . .
let it pass
and let it return in strength . . .

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My Comments:

Compelling . . . after all . . .

24/01/12

This was better than I thought it would be . . . 
after glancing at the sad and obscure album cover . . . 
feeling turned away . . 
yet I stepped into this album and found it to be very, very good 
as a matter of fact
. . . very imaginative . .
vibrant and articulate . . . sharp and clear . .

"Forest Temple" leading me straight into a dark and mysterious jungle
hot and humid . .
yet cooling
where thick green leaves
stay the violent and abusive sun . . .
"Mystery" the swishing of angel wings,
the sigh of something lost,
a quiet and tender touch,
a syncopated moment in a breeze . . .
the clang of a distant chain
upon a metal pole . .

Each track a mural . . a vision
a picture of what is to be . .
or what was . . ..
a dream . . .
a memory . ..

Cahors, France

Fragility . . .

Profound as the imperishable sky
and deep as the dynamic sea . . .
where the blue of the morning glory . . 
whispers of that crepuscular night
when my lonely and broken body
cast asunder on a rocky shore . . .
tossed, devoured by the shades of time . ..
stormy were the intemperate waters
. . . waves pounded on the salted heart
and the drifting sands reverberated
with a fearful timpani .  ..
along with the melancholy winds. . .
sighing like a thousand violins  . .
streaming through that dark and blistering night . .
and the distant cry of a lonely beast . .

oh that long and lonely night . .
a ship so lost along the way
o'er powered by clashing tempests
and a star that would not shine . . .

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Listen . . 
things that fly in the wind
rub together . .  a friction
like a single star that flickers through clouds
a glittering tear
on the shoulder of the mountain
as she ascends with a thousand children
and a hundred thousand hopes
. . . the dreams that whip
like streamers through the night
. . . . are stretched and frayed
as they wind around the
sharp black crags
. . . . fingers scratching at an unmoving sky
. . . . silhouettes leaning on a bloated moon
. . . . they move slowly through the
unrelenting night . .
phantoms of the lost
delicate tendencies and
apparitions bespoke,
the lost are but the stumbled,
chance taken . . . broken . .
when they reach the highest wing span
where angels never fly
. . . . their thoughts expand and reach to god
held gently in a tender hand . . 

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A Simple Song . . .

Yesterday . .
as if in a dream I flew, 
like a wayward Autumn leaf
from the highest tree top
to the ends of my dream .. ..
into the long gray sea I dived . . .
where the salt rubbed my wounds,
making tears
from my eyes . . . to stream . .
like pearls . . .
and they shine as beacons
from the blackest caves . .
like throbbing hearts . . .
or streams of thought ..
beneath the waves of brine . .
I hear a melody
a song sung so tenderly  . .
as a cry into the abyss . .
beneath my feet . ..
like a sentimental kiss
my heart is warmed
by this lullaby . .
sung by an angel of the deep
a mermaid
with webbing on her precious feet . . .

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A Seabird Cries in the Night . . .

Water flows through fragile veins. . .
a space, a circle
      an infinite cycle. . .
a white rose withers in the dead of night,
the seabird calls at the peak of his flight . ..
and in the desert 
the mother comforts her child . .

And the nights are but dark black holes
of despair and tears and loneliness . . .

They walk slowly,
at first,
hand in hand,
under the distant sky . ..
so black and dark and cold,
          it was,
    the eyes of the stars looking down . . .

but the endless days . . . 
              eternal and cruel . .
where hot sands shred, and
         the white sun sears
the naked flesh,
exposed by unrelenting tears . .
silently running,
                     running . .

Deep are the white sands and
          hotter then the hottest sun . . .
where the mother bends over her child
             protecting her from that burning . . .
                   and the tears stream down 
            drying, white and crusty as trails  . . .
over the silent face of the tiny one . .

Still and stiller yet, 
                and the little girl rests
in her mother's arms . . .
           a heart beat, 
                       just a feather . . . adrift
in a heartless void . . .
               the woman 
                       holding her child to her breasts
walks in the dark of night
          seeking help
                       seeking a light . . ..
 
The sand is ripped by a hasty wind,
          taunting with dry pools, 
flowing rivers and ripples . .
                 like ocean waves . .
The mother tells a tale to her listless child . ..
            of a whale with her babe in the deep cool sea . .
                      how they frolic . .  
                                 how they play, 
                and leap above the waves
                                to fly as only whales can .  .. 
and there they perceive the sky,
               while the seabirds call overhead . .
 
          Despairing. . .
as she watches her little girl die,
                 the mother says," Look up, look up . ..
see that bright star over there?"

     The child peers through
dulling eyes . . . at the brilliant and icy star,
          and the mother, beholding
the star in her little one's eyes . ..
         "Make a wish, make a wish . . " she urgently whispers . . 
through dry cracked lips . . .
          and kisses the shell-like ear .. .. 
                       so frail and tender and burned . . .
so cruelly burned . . .

                 She prays to the reflection
                                 in her daughter's eyes,
for perhaps twas an angel floating there . ..
              and when she stumbles and falls,
                                she hears the seabird cry . . 
        and slowly, the uncaring sand,
                         drifts like a shroud over both
 .  . mere shadows on the shifting ground  . .
                                          and a well of salty water seeps . . 
unseen . . .
          from beneath the mother's eyelids . .

Far away . . .  in a summery sea,
                         a whale . . . calls to her child. . .
                                                 after they both have slept . ..
                      deep, deep beneath the waves . ..
          deep beneath the sea . . .
                      a moment . .  for just a moment
                                           they remember a passing dream of
a harsh sea of hot and unforgiving sand
                                   and a cruel sun . . .
              burning endlessly .  .
                                and a seabird cries . . .
                                                    in the night . . .

 and a single star

shines, reflected . .

in the eye of the whale's child . . .

Bright . . . as bright can be . . .

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Review for "Green Ants"

The energy . . . the beats, didgeridoo, shamanistic vocals, and the flow of the wind music . . . drove my heart this morning . . . My whole mood improved with this delightful album . . This music is better then coffee (TRUTH - especially if you know how important my morning coffee is to me!!!)

I discovered that my life was incomplete when I saw Daisylis' review for this album . . . these guys now have two, very professionally produced, . . . highly creative albums on Jamendo . . . Their "Live 2007" album is very popular on my blog . . and was one of my all time favorites on Jamendo . . .

This album is no less powerful in its presentation, sound and energy . . .The percussion is stunning and the shamanistic vocals gave me chills . . . .

This Zmeiraduga mob has worked its way into my heart and I just don't have the words to express my excitement at finding another album by them . . . There must be some magic here . . .

AH . . . off to dream and dance . . . "embracing the freedom in the sky!"

Another album that inspired me:

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