JAZZ . . .

 

expressive and dynamic
yet peaceful and calm . . . 
subtle . . .
a great evening's listen and some of the best jazz
on Jamendo . . .
the emotional piano, percussion and bass . . . work
so well together as to be seamless in the overall
presentation . . .

Royalty free music for professional licensing

Why is jazz my favorite music? I have been trying to understand that myself . .. but maybe its because it pulls to the surface my emotions of the moment .  .
whether cheerful or sad . . . 
blue or mad .  .  . 
When I hear good jazz like this,
I feel it in the pit of my stomach . . .
that thumping of the bass . . .
like a bloody heartbeat . . .
the piano like crumpled wings
trying to break free .  .  .
and the percussion . . .
a wet road in a maze of life . .. 
and together they become
like building blocks
creating the beat of my life . . .
growing like a tree,
lifting up my inner soul
like a baby bird, on the branches
of life, . .. Sometimes protected and
sometimes exposed . .
Yes . . . Jazz often expresses my life . ..
giving me meaning and understanding . ..
like a poem . . like a  song . . .

 
Electric and funky . . .
a little bluesy and a lot jazzy . . .
vibrations and chimes . ..
delivering a punch  to the psyche . . .
tremendously good . ..
day-dreamy jazz . . .Royalty free music for professional licensing

Ancient Ways . . . Ancient Songs

She walks her trail with a pathway
of obliging stars as eternal guides . ..
her tribe has gone before her
to part the tangled seas of grass . .
They have taught her the ways
and wisdom of her people . ..
to forsake the taming,
but seeking the instincts of the wild,
together, they climb to the mountain top,
where they sing
of the beauties of a dreamlike creation . .
and of a life giving abundance,
for all that draws breath,
to cherish and share . . .


Their ancient story
is of loss, fear, and fragility
of love, strength and tranquility . .
and those that hear their song
are released from their prisons
and renewed . . .
for it is such that causes even the angels to lean in,
a little closer, to hear these ancient songs
and then pause to gaze,
in wonder, at this small blue planet . . .

I am the hunter

finding . . .
A place to cling
on the peak of the moon's
distant rays . .
I have lost my way home . .. 
thus needing a place to rest
my weary heart,
I looked into the eyes
of the dream weaver 
and know . . .

I am the hunter
endlessly searching for beauty,
finding broken dreams
and misplaced memories and
often 
the bizarre. . .

I am the wanderer,
searching for planets
yet unnamed . . .
and finding the dispossessed
at the crossroads
of eternity. . .

I am the dreamer
watching and wanting
a web disrupted
at the seams of time
I wait for the meaning
and measure of me

I have but to wonder
and though
I am fearful of what I seek
I always find it
in the darkness of my night . . .

 
I hear your song . . .
it reflects in my whispers
and the aching of my heart . . .
it tugs on my dreams . . 
and releases 
my memories . . .

Royalty free music for professional licensing

 

 

I cannot catch the sun
in my net . . . it burns . . .
with that fire . ..
the ravenous greed of the sun
is reflected on the green leaves of summer . .
the dust lifts up like old dreams,
flecks of what has been . . .
flying in the careless winds . ..
reaching an apex. . .
culminating in old boxes
and bundles of yesterday's rags . ..
brown with moss
and slick with age . . .
it adheres like glue . .
leaving traces along the pathway
of time . . .
lost memories retrieved
as I sit by my window . ..
I look at the moments. . .
each parting of those waves
reveals a road not taken . . .
a sorrow not grieved
a heartache unhealed . .
a knot . ..  stiff and rusted . .
the dust rises up
like the ghosts of the lost
and dance an everlasting waltz
with the last human on earth . . .

And So . . .

Piano . .  quiet, dark and emotional:


A cry tears through the night . . .
the quest of the piano . .
splits the waves of silence . .
There is a peace in knowing pain .  .
that sharp blade
that slices through the heart . ..

Royalty free music for professional licensing

and so
my tears fall heedlessly . . .
and my heart is slowly breaking.
I watch you walking away,
not an easy thing
to let my heart know . . .
although I did expect
you to go . . .
for many reasons,
but not least,
the belief
that you deserve to have
your heart's desire
which weaves 

its transparent shell
around my soul . . .

and so
although I ache,
I will not crush the petal of the flower . ..
that wishes to break free
nor tear the wing of the song bird
that longs to fly away . .
a silken thread trails against
a deep blue sky,
it leaves a memory
floating quietly with strength
to hold that solitude . ..
through the dances in the air,
and though the waters fall
and lightning strikes,
like fire from heaven  . . .
it sails on.

and so
I will but soak the soil
at the feet of the rose .. ..
and bejewel the graceful neck
of the singing bird
with my tears,
like pearls on a string
reflecting warmly
the ashes of your love . . .
and but one tear
is left for me,
preserved for always
in my memories . . .
like butterflies in amber

**********************************************************

Songbird . . .

songbird . . . my sunny songbird
      why do I let you fly
                      so small and frail
      against the stormy sky . . .
you are blown away from me
              so quickly . .
a moment's salty froth
                 leaping into the air
dissipated against the rocky shore . .

I hear you singing in the breeze . . .
a slight flutter like a leaf, blown
carelessly . . . the shadowy branches
scratch against the night sky. . .
your eyes are like the star's glance,
a mere twinkle and a sigh. . .
I leave you in the clouds
             that drift. . .
                          love is like that. . .
the feather
           soft in the breeze
your presence, like
           the song's burst
an echo in the night
           your dream, a fragile bubble
bursting at first light

Royalty free music for professional licensing

Music . . .

somewhere in France

Some, may think that I only listen to music from Jamendo.com . . . but that isn't entirely true . . . on a daily basis maybe . . . but I also have an extensive collection of music, mostly blues and classic and some New-Age, CDs and tape. And of course, music that my musical friends, scattered all over the world and the Internet share with me . . . I also have an account at Magnatune where I find some of the most enjoyable music . . . so I share some here . ..  enjoy these Celtic/Folk tunes . . .

    ForeignLander by Lydia McCauley

Here is a new album and talented musician on Jamendo . . .  acoustic guitar with a great singer . . . a little dark and melancholic and a little experimental . . . a very enjoyable listen:

Royalty free music for professional licensing

Don't forget to check out my "Trip to France" page (on the left side) Several photo albums have been added. Enjoy the pictures . . . I had tremendous fun and now I have the traveling "bug."

A Morning Walk

Detail in yard near park.

Pictures taken at Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden, Portland, Oregon
Music: Dancing with the Swans by: Sagnik and Krishnaroop
from the album "Ethereal Lounge" http://www.jamendo.com/en/album/92226

What is yesterday
                 but a fleck of dust,
                           blown in the wind,
          and soon forgotten
after leaving a footprint
                 in the shifting sands . .

What is today . . .
             as I sit by a lake
filled with spring waters. . .
               I watch
the curious ducks float by,
                  sparks dribbling
from their bills
             I hear
                    the cargo train
passing through on the other side
            of the green . . .
his voice is humming
                     with the day's burdens . .

The water tumbling,
              down the cliff,
                      leaps and shines with
white glee,
          sparkling with expectations. . .
                     for it is new
                             with birth
               and not yet settled
and still 
                like the pond below . . .
                           scummy and wrinkled
         with a life lived
                      and a collection of detritus. . .
old feathers . . . dead leaves . . . 
          the unknown, and filled with
                     algae and green slime
     so that
           the geese are happy
                 to feast there . . .

The old tree stump
                 in the middle of the lake
        is a harvest of green
                      and reflections,
                                  perhaps ancient memories . . .
                   and rooted deeply
             in the sands
             of experience
still making
             an offering to life
                     on the alter of death . .

There is abundant water on this earth

                   a huge burst
                        of elixir
                             the manna of life
                                              an         expectation
              of beauty, evident
                             to the furthest reaches
of space. . .
a glowing blue planet
of promise
and love . . .
 




***********************************************************

Loneliness Part II

Interior of Maison Henri IV; Cahors France

I walk through life
naked and alone,
full of unmet dreams,
unheard melodies.

I walk through life;
my thoughts divided,
my heart aching,
straining to see you,
to hear you . . . to know you. . .
there on the other-side,
you . . leaning in towards me . .
as we pass on our road,
a glance flickers . . .                            

                           eyes with tears . . .

a sad smile
 and yet a division
a barrier . . . restrains . . .
inhibits . . . rebukes a fullness
of intervention,
incomplete communion .. ..
that barrier
an insurmountable wall .  ..

my breath clouds the glass
as I look at you . ..
and you don't see me
through the darkness
you don't hear my voice
though I shout in agony,
distress . . . my sobs . . .
my song bouncing
back at my heart
to that bottomless hungry black pit
in my soul . . .

I walk through life
alone . . . within . . .
yet I am here,
and so are you . . .
why don't you see me,
why can't you hear?

Do I know you?

********************************************

The poem was inspired by:

Royalty free music for professional licensing

**************************************************************

Detail in Maison Henri IV, Cahors France

I am always inspired by music . . .

whether sad or joyful,

I can always find myself moved

by music which

communicates to my soul

and makes me feel connected

somehow

with others

and there I do find

that I am not so alone

with my feelings and emotions . . . 

I find

that others share too . . .

and know me

and I know them  . . . .

Detail in Maison Henri IV, Cahors France

Loneliness

There is a moon tonight . . .
shining over the city bridge . . .
the metallic span is sparkling
with the ice of his cold touch . . .

the distance of uncounted sighs
stretch further than the end of time . . .
and the cries from the waters beneath. . .
scratch with rough fingers
at the shoulders of my back . . .
giving me a chill
that reaches beyond my dry bones . . .

a sullen island,
an appearance of trees, shaken
by a wistful breeze . .
leaves and branches, flaking off the
elusive black trunks . . . a shining,
and then a quick dance
of darkness,
black cutouts .  .  . shapes
fluttering down to the
bleakness beneath . . .

I find it hard to be
real
in this empty space of time . . .
a spear of light overhead
and then
a star flashes
into the stillness  . . .
a solid emptiness inside of me . . .
pours out like a pitcher
of ice cold water and
fills the cups of my eyes . . .
to the brim
and then spills over
to salt my face . . .

The Salt of the Desert

Lizard on castle wall, France

After the wandering
through the land of the sun . .  .
where the dying is done . . .
this pain severs our souls . .
and we are prostrate with grief . .

our children's spirits have withdrawn
from the fury of the heat . . .

this family's heart is deeply carved
by the blazing passion
of the angry gods  ..

we have followed the stars
faintly lighting our trail . .. 
we have wandered
and suffering by night. . .
diminished by white hot day . . .

our feet are bleeding. . .
scored deeply by piercing stones
defending against our way . . .
our breasts are withered,
sunken eyes like waterless wells . .
the bones of our backs . . .
cast deep black lines
sketches on our ashy skins . . .
a shadowy tale
of this journey through death . .

statue in medieval village, France

keen eyed raven

rustles feathers over head,
waiting . . .
silently watching
as our people fall in the heat . .
a black feather drops
a single offering to loss . . .

the soul is weary
and grieves
as the dry rivers flow . . .
and forever lay down
a trace in the desert . .

a trail of salt
in blazing white . . .
a silent sacrifice to an angry
god's fire . . ..

detail on building in Rocamadour, France

**************************************************************