Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I Wanna Be Your Blues
This poem was originally posted in this very space; now you can hear a performance with appropriately bluesy guitar. You may read the text at my poetry site.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Power of a song
Grant that the lip-sticked pig is gone for good. Nice of her to have SNL write her resignation speech, though.
Labels: politics
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Na Na Na
Just a song before I go, something to cheer you in case the heat has got you down.
NOLA immigre Theresa Andersson (originally from Sweeden) has the most talented feet in music.
Labels: music
Saturday, June 20, 2009
I Can See For Miles
Petra Haden & the Sell Outs perform the classic Pete Townsend tune. Impressive acapella work.
Labels: music
Sunday, June 14, 2009
My Last Poem
This video is for Natalie, who commented that she wished she could hear the poem. The text of the poem is available at my postcard site.
Labels: poetry
Thursday, June 11, 2009
You Tube Premier
There's a couple of stumbles here - who knew I'd be so unsure in front of a camera? - but I think the point of the medley comes across. Shot with a Flip Ultra.
Labels: folk music
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Crow Time
You live in my heart
but now
you're a victim of crow time —
struck dumb by green patches
fenced in by brown & gray —
and by the mystery of ashen urns.
Sky pure black, sparked by dove stars
and the moon is a sliver balancing
a firm ball of light
on its thin point — &
I'm reminded of your simple black hair,
sparks hidden in its strands.
You live in my eyes,
but still
you're a hostage to crow time —
lost amid men with broad shoulders
and women who live up to men's lies —
and until you notice your own smile,
you're doomed to servitude suffering.
Some trees with minor leaves
frame the cemetery evening,
but even now I can't help
thinking of you, thinking
of your warm woman's heart beating
like wind-blown love.
You live in my hands,
which are still scented with crow time —
though you may be far or
you could be across the midnight street —
and here where silence is an answer
I could think of you
studying my smooth hands
or weeding the wild moss on my chin.
Trees, stars, moons —
all the lies of romantic bleeding —
must have betrayed me.
Now you've gone.
You live in the memory of your head
pressed against my hair —
only the honor of crow time
could tempt us apart.
15.March.1980 (with some changes)
This one's for Dr. O and seattlecrows.
but now
you're a victim of crow time —
struck dumb by green patches
fenced in by brown & gray —
and by the mystery of ashen urns.
Sky pure black, sparked by dove stars
and the moon is a sliver balancing
a firm ball of light
on its thin point — &
I'm reminded of your simple black hair,
sparks hidden in its strands.
You live in my eyes,
but still
you're a hostage to crow time —
lost amid men with broad shoulders
and women who live up to men's lies —
and until you notice your own smile,
you're doomed to servitude suffering.
Some trees with minor leaves
frame the cemetery evening,
but even now I can't help
thinking of you, thinking
of your warm woman's heart beating
like wind-blown love.
You live in my hands,
which are still scented with crow time —
though you may be far or
you could be across the midnight street —
and here where silence is an answer
I could think of you
studying my smooth hands
or weeding the wild moss on my chin.
Trees, stars, moons —
all the lies of romantic bleeding —
must have betrayed me.
Now you've gone.
You live in the memory of your head
pressed against my hair —
only the honor of crow time
could tempt us apart.
15.March.1980 (with some changes)
This one's for Dr. O and seattlecrows.
Labels: poetry
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