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?

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The poem was inspired by:

Royalty free music for professional licensing

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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

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Vacation . . .

Paris

I have some time off . ..  and I am looking forward to another trip this year .. .. This one will be a little longer .  .  . and of course I will take pictures and share them with you . .  Don't I always? I am not sure how I will do it yet . . . but you will find out here as soon as I have a plan . . . probably I will store the pictures in albums in Picasa .  . and of course there will be stories to tell . .  and poems and of course I will still listen to music on Jamendo . . . of course . . . 


Look . . . I found a great album today:

Call Of the Wild
by SoLaRiS

Royalty free music for professional licensing

And a poem by me:

Well, I have always known that SoLaRiS is good . . .
even great . . . I have always loved their music . . .
But getting even better . . . amazing . . !!!

fly to the northern seas . ..
where the light shimmers on the tossing waters . .
dive deep beneath the waves
and swim in the whale song . . . the ice cold depths . .
filtering light through, like splinters of gold . . .
the seas and the mountains, the valleys and skies
gift the bright stars with captured song . . .
as steam rises from the voice of the wolf . .
like incense it flows upward . . . ever . .
following the trail of the light . ..
there is a song in the wind as it follows
the sunset . . .and every molecule of nature
dances to that melody . . .

its beautiful, SoLaRiS . . . a symphony of beauty . . .
giving the gift of peace and tranquility . . . and vision


And this one . . . an old favorite (and dedicated to me on Wolfsongs):
Moonlight (single)
by Livio Amato

Royalty free music for professional licensing

Poem and review by me:


I was so touched by this piece, when I first heard it on the album, Wolfsongs, that it took my breath away.

This song brings me into a meadow, under the moonlight, where I hear the crickets and I feel the light of the moon bathing my face, in powerful moving waves.

I am the wolf, flying along the moon-soaked stream
in the heart of the meadow . . . I am like smoke,
here and then nowhere . . .
a flash against
tall grasses moved by breezes . . .
and then gone . .
I am one with the earth
and the music gives me wings . . .

cold splashes of water lift my awareness . .
and I feel the long, warm call of the earth
as she responds to her children and her mate . . .
wolf knows these things . . .
and the music brings it home,
quietly and gently,
with a peaceful understanding . . .
and the heart of the mother beats . . .
as she envelopes her children . . .
and the heart of the mother beats . .
beneath the light of the moon . . .

Thank you, Livio . . .
you are one of the most inspiring musicians,
on Jamendo .. ..

and I wish you well . . .
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And one more before I go to bed:

Synthetic Breath
by Vanderson

Royalty free music for professional licensing

And a poem/review by me . . .

The Sound of Peace

Stunning! A spacey, imaginative trip through haunting and forbidden places . .  sound so clear and impossible . . .. so unreal . . . as if time itself were stretched beyond reason . . . and diving back on itself . . . perhaps finding the ultimate divine . ..

I walked in silence through liquid sound . ..
parting before me revealing astonishing things . . .
dream like and solid as smoke . . .
the heady scent of flowers
falls on me like a heavy cloak . .
a kaleidoscope of sound forms shapes
and swim past me in changing colors
a trip which calms my soul . . .
vibrantly supporting this frail frame . . .
with something substantial as
the song of the stars . .
and the sound of peace shrouds me in
wings of cold splendor . ..

The Meaning of Life . . .

Intro:
I collect little rabid bits of paper . .
believing that every thing has a  voice . .
and a song . ..
and if I collect enough and collate them correctly . .
put the pieces together . . . then
I will have the complete song . .  the one
which tells the story
of the world . .
I know it is there.  . I
often feel that story and suspect that it
has merely been misplaced . . .

I hear the voices of the crowd
and identify each as my love . .
I hear you clearly . . .
your hearts resonate
with mine . . .

in the old world
I looked and saw a flame
and as it consumed the
face of the land
it sang of the  spirits to come . .

A Play in Three Parts . . 


Part I

"Why do dogs stick their noses
out of car windows?" She asked .  . .
He answered, "because their scent receptors are
capturing all the latest news."
She looks pensive for a moment . .  even shocked, and
then glanced at him sharply . .
"And you know this how?"
he blushes . .  and she continues,
"I think they are feeling the ancient winds on
their cheeks and on their ear drums . .
and remembering
when they were wolves . . . "

Part II

She walks slowly with her hands
behind her back, held loosely,
fingers curling, uncurling  . .
she is looking down at the small child
skipping along besides her . .
his face turning as he looks at the things
around him . .
The woman is speaking so softly,
as to be indiscernible to the child . .
"I remember when you weren't . . . but even then I knew you . .
you were an angel in my dreams . . .
you were the rose leaning over my deck, watching me . . .
you were the laughter in the air
when the geese would gather . . .
you were the sound of the wind chimes . .
as a tender breeze stroked their dusty sides . .
you were the moonlight trapped on the ocean . . .
rolling with its tempers .  .
you were the song in my heart . .
about to fly . .. .

Part III

the students are lining up obediently
as the teacher directs them . . .
her arm pointed forward . . . she narrows her eyes . .
fluttering her other hand until the children are in
a very straight line . ..
they smile with anticipation . .
She advises in a firm but warm voice,
"Stay in a straight line .. .. very straight."
She looks at them sternly . ..  with a glint in her eye .. .
she sees their suppressed laughter . . . . 
and she is prepared for the ritual,
She turns her back to them and guides them down
the empty hallways . . .
the children behind her silently,
begin to dance about . . .
weaving in and out . .  hopping, skipping . .
arms waving wildly . ..  hair flying,
and with utter silence, they all participate
in this impulsive choreography  . . .
they dance to their inner song . . ..
each one knows where a foot is placed,
and that all is safe . . . as the floor will not collapse
neither will the ceiling fall upon their heads. . .

She turns suddenly and they all freeze . . .
her face attempts to look sternly
at these small characters . .. their faces red,
their chests rising and falling quickly
their eyes glow and
her heart melts
with love at their silliness . .  her eyes glitter
with an un-shed tear . .
arm out, she again lines them up
and again advises . .. 
"Walk in a straight line . . . " but these
are children who dance outside the lines
they are the ones who beat the drums
and dance around the fire
beneath a dark and evil sky . . .
these are the images of her heart .. ..
and the face of the earth . ..
reflections of a dream and
she recognizes in each and every one of them
a piece of herself . . . and she knows that she has taught 
them well . . .

Hidden Songs
by Noise Dream
 

Royalty free music for professional licensing

No review . . . Just Enjoy!

Stardust

Silver Man . . . living statue .. .. downtown Portland

Without Words there is Love . . .

Pages of Life by Livio Amato

Royalty free music for professional licensing

Poem by me:

Without Words there is Love

There is immediacy in this music
as it draws me through the needle's eye . .
and all things become focused . . .
yet dreamily misty
like a long ago lullaby . . .

I am sensitive to those green leaves
as they tremble beneath the fingers
of rain outside my window . ..
my gaze looks through like an arrow
as I search for my memories . . .
like a carpet of photographs . . .
some covered in tears . . .
they are spread before me as far as the gray horizon . . .

My angels are flown . . .
and I am alone . .. yet the musician has given me
the gift of his heart . . .
and so there are two . ..
beating in a rhythm . . sublime . .
spiritual . . wordless . .

I am melancholic and yet content
as I relax and rest in this music . . .
like a magical hammock it takes me aloft . .
I am afloat in this mysterious sea of eternity . . .
oh . . .
what this music does to me . . .

A Dream of You and I . ..

. . . and we would take long walks on the beach together
walking in the sand . . . 
holding hands
maybe kissing . . . oh yes . . . kissing . . .
the foam flying at our feet 

like mis-formed birds,
white as snow . . . building up
across the shiny sands . ..  ..
flat sands where the salty waters were left behind,
reflecting the sky
 . . . a barrier to the racing waves,
running and clopping like a herd
of horses down a long cobbled road,
flying at you,
towering over you until they tumble down .  . ..
shushing and swishing like hissing
snakes over the shiny sands
until they touch your toes . .. 
gently kissing those sweet appendages
and then retreating beneath the incoming racers
  . . .  those wild waves
 . . . calmed and happy
 . . . . content to have reached you . . .
and the waters around the world
will whisper of the wonder of you . . .

Jami Sieber . . .

One of my favorite artists on the Internet . . . is NOT on Jamendo, but you can find her on her own site (Jami Sieber.com) and on Magnatune.com  .

Her music is graceful and creative and such a pleasure to listen to, that I find it difficult to stop once I have started .. ..  I was listening to her this morning and relishing in the high quality of the music and the power behind these perfect compositions using the cello, flutes, drums and other instruments including her voice . . .  Here is one album . . . not necessarily one of my favorites because I love all her songs equally . . . I hope you find her music as enjoyable as I do . . . but if you don't  . . . its ok . . . because we all have different tastes . . .

 


    Lush Mechanique by Jami Sieber 

(ending comment regarding bullying on Jamendo was removed June 16, 2011 )

Shades of Scarlet . . .

My pencil is but a mere stub

                                          of what it once was

                                                                        in its glory days .. ..

I carry it everywhere with me

to jot down thoughts,                                              

                           and half baked ideas . . .

these days its nearly flat   . . .               

and without a sharp point

                                         it cannot draw the fine details

of stamens in the cup of the flower. . .                       

                                          nor the passion of the bee

who, covered in pollen,

and golden, like the precious daughter                                           

of Midas . . .

                                     a child who seemed to exist,

merely to give a lesson                             

                              on the powers of love

and the subliminal values

of existence  . . .                                            

..... my pencil, again,

intrepid yet inanimate . . .

                                                a slight pressure and. . .

she scrawls . . .

                the latest nonsense from                                                            

            my flickering brain. . .

thoughts and feelings                                       

that slide down below

                                               the surface before I am ready

 to capture their essence                                          

with a touch of revelation and insight . ...                              

                                        like a torch in the painted caves,

revealing the forms of                               

visions and dreams . . .

                                       if I walk down those sloping pathways,

deeper into the hot bowels                                                     

of the earth . . .

                                          past the sleeping dragons,

I expect I will meet myself                                              

retreating from my old dreams . . .

                                              and my demons;

you see . . .

my life never follows the

                                      well lit road

nor the easy path . . .                      

                      I dig my own way

over the rough stuff 

and I find myself                                               

in the arenas of other gods . . 

                                                those I never thought 

to meet. . .

and thus I am never truly prepared                                                     

for my future . . .

                                     so I watch the hungry earth

swallow up my troubled blood . .                                   

                                   shades of scarlet

in the shadows of                                               

my dreams . . .

Geese in the Rhododendron Gardens, Portland, Oregon

Today's Favorite . . .

Ethereal Lounge
by Sagnik and Krishnaroop

Royalty free music for professional licensing

Review by me:

Sublime . . . effervescent . .  dynamic

just a few words I sensed as I began to listen . . .
and I listened and listened .  . this  album is addicting,
captivating and most beautiful  .. .

Deep in the universe of my soul .  .
I am aware . . . a consciousness
is added and

an opening appears on the lines of space . .
and I travel them to find the golden exotic land of India . . .
and the incense of life . . . ancient life . .
an old wise soul sits in the center
of this life . ..  exalted yet humble . . .
and music emanates from this being . . .
forever traveling through space .  . timeless . . .

timeless . . . the garden emulates the plain of stars . . .
we sense what we wish and find the rest . . .wordless . . .
deep in the heart of the gods . . .

I am moved by the song of man
the grace and tears of the gods . . .
and the weights that hold me down
to the ground
are lifted for a time . . . so I can fly
in the golden light
of creation . . .

here I float on the oceans of solitude . ..
comforted and at rest . . .
the golden orb of the sun
joins the music
as I rise above my woes . .
and perhaps I dance across
the clouds . ..  as they veil
despair and unrest . . .
lifting me ever higher . . .  giving me
the blessed . . .

Peace and Harmony
have settled in my bones
and my heart flutters like the butterfly. . .
a splash of gold
in my space . .