Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Hello My Sunny Girl



Hello my Sunny Girl . . .
my tasty sweet and wild girl. . .
you create the music
that makes my world
whirl like a top
and a dream . . .
there is a roaring
in the atmosphere . . .
somebody's moon is melting the slow ice . ..
and cold crisp water runs down
the walls of my blue prison . .
I remember the song you sang
on the day I first heard you . . .
but now my feet are cold
as winter grips them
in chains woven of tears . . .
and the black skies lower their bellies
to smother me . . .

my design is a tree
that grows me to you
my sunny girl . . .
waiting to be held
in strong branches . . .


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               This Beautiful Music:

                       Peaceful and quiet,
         floating in a still sky . . . 
                           weighted like a feather . . .
             drifting
                          silently by . . .
                                  Moved by the winds
             that blow o'er the night,
                          dreaming in the meadow
         beneath the starlit sky
                   The snow falls down around me,
                        a blanket smooth and bright
              the music fills the atmosphere
          with melodies like bells . . .
                                teardrops slowly falling
                 crystal daggers
                             in my blurring eyes . .


Monday, February 6, 2012

18th Century Chinese Vase


You were my universe . . . turmoil seethed in me
like star fires and billowing clouds of darkness,
bright with light reflected
from the unknown gods . . .
a small bubble of blue; a magnet
for lost souls and questing angels . .
do you know what I feared more than
anything else? Not being loved . .
and yet I managed to survive for a time . .
without another soul to comfort me . . .
Alone, I was, on the green meadow . .
still trying to cross the river that seems
to be but a trickle . . a mere wisp
dangled like a carrot before me . . teasing
with offerings of bones full of helium  . . .
and gifts of grace to float away . . .
sailing up a sunbeam . . . I always felt they were ladders for souls . . .
for angels .  . . and I would gaze at them until
the spots before my eyes transformed
into winged creatures coming and going . ..
gold dripping off the tips like honey from a spoon
held over a warm cup of tea . ..
my hands warming in the steam . . . I would take a deep breath
and make a wish as if I were looking over the genie's brightless lamp . .
and I in a soot darkened cavern . . . lost for all eternity,
could dream with eyes wide open
while listening to the song of water
crashing against crystal walls . ..
the hollow caves of me .  ..  dark and empty
the things that rattle around there,
a wayward mouse . .  dusty and gray,
a frayed ribbon, green and blue,
a crust of toast, stale and moldy,
and a few odd bones, discarded long ago . ..
with the stench of rancid grease clinging to the breaks.
I know the heartache of loneliness,
it comes with a terror
and a deep knowledge . . . that I am unworthy
of being loved . .. 
that no one will ever be there to hold out a hand . .
to help me over the river,
and through the misty valley . . .

and a Chinese vase, deserted on someone's driveway,
holds the ashes I left behind . .

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I have to agree that album cover pops right out at you, it stands out amongst the crowd .. .. and does justice to the music . . . 'tis a beautiful choice . . .

. . . and the music . . . how gorgeous . . . a little different from Van Syla's usual beautiful musical excursions . . . this one (even more gorgeous) takes us to medieval times . . . and so romantic . . . a Shakespearian choice for sure . . .

Delicate and tender . .
like old lace and lavender . .
a romance choses to bloom
against a robin's eggshell blue sky . . .
'Twas Spring dancing in the meadow. . .
her hair flying in the breezes
and dreams of love's gentle song . .
where only sunshine could exist
and nothing could go wrong . . .

or could it . . . . .

"For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo." - W.S.

but in the end the story gives us
exceptionally beautiful music . .
so we forgive the tears. . . .
and listen to the tale told twice
and then -
again and again . . .

And such a wonderful Jamendoan reviewer as our Carybe, who exists in our lovely Jamando kingdom, is one to deserve a gracious dedication . . through such a romantic and well made music . . . the sound so perfect and the love so deep . . .

Thank you, Van Syla, for sharing . . .
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