My Love is a Mystery

Multnomah Falls, Oregon

Multnomah Falls, Oregon

sparkling is the water
shattered beneath the cliff . .
like crystal and memories
on the stream set adrift . . .
shining the wings
flying o'er all . . .
silently beating
the breezes to rise . . .
warm is the sun
on my cheeks,
a  light kiss ..  .
my love is a mystery
where life strikes a chime . . .
like the flight of the eagle . ..
and the cling of the vine . . .
no understanding . . .
no dreams .. .. visions grand . .
my love is a shadow
my love has been cast
the heart slowly broken
and slower to mend . . .
I know not the future .. .
nor remember the past . ..
yet hope is the song
to my soul closely clasped . . .

This is quite a striking album . . . beautiful, stunning music . .. peaceful and quite captivating . . . an elegance of sound and a beautifully balance album cover. This one has been around since the beginning of July and somehow I missed it . . . but here it has emerged to flow into my heart and soul and be a soothing delight . . .  Some of these songs are so tender that they are like the effervescent dew . . . delicate and ephemeral . .. tending the moment with intense peace and vision . .

Royalty-free music for professional licensing

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

I Miss You!

Tunnel at Multnomah Falls, Oregon

I Miss You

it hurts. . .

a knife deeply gouges
right into the center
of my everything,
where blood is spilled as
transparent drops
flooding down my face,
like a song,
flowing from my heart

I taste the salt
of my despair
as my memories
place you
in the pockets
of my vision;

I hug the red pillow
where your head laid
a few hours ago
and I breath deeply of
the living essence of you;

I touch the places you touched
imagining the grains of time
you left behind . .

and yet far away you stand
on this small planet
as if a universe were created
within this interval,
between now
and tomorrow;

and the rain comes down 

through the hole
torn in heaven . . .

and the rain comes down

with a wistful sigh. . .

and the rain comes down

and mingles with my tears,

and the rain comes down.

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Delicately beautiful, dreamy, sad and a little lost . . . 
A new artist on Jamendo . . . 

Royalty-free music for professional licensing