Oh, it’s in the darkness we wait
for mornings of bright novelty,
from the shady waves of cavern lakes,
bearing cups of springtide clarity;
brimmed by gold from depths of ancient founts
the words collected all through winter;
the morning of the world is
Blue the sky
As is your song,
Longing for crashing shores
And heart-song seas;
Forever you’re waiting
For tales to re-appear
From down below the blue
That is your mind.
Sage to the kettle and cloves to the stove,
Basil to windchimes and sunflowers dead,
Thyme into river and heather to heart,
A rhyme without meaning,
A spell just to read.
(Just a two-minute drabble for the pure enjoyment of writing and to show you how everybody can make up useless witchy words for writing stories or whatever.)
I understand the magic of illuminated cities,
I really do, I see it in those reflections
And dancing shadows you don’t notice;
And yet I try to remember the last time I smelled wild camomile,
I believe it was next to the motorway,
A holographic shadow of adolescent years,
Of rubbing our hands against wildflowers in the fields,
Of the taste of those summer evenings;
But I traded one magic for another,
Choosing contentment over being torn
Between great happiness and greater pain;
Camomile was lost in moving times,
Yet lingers on in streetlamp nights.
does it matter,
making up the universe
blacker than black,
pulling apart coordinates,
guiding the light.
Words, words in hands,
And mountains the shapes of wolves;
Running away from thoughts,
To deserts of ice and snow.
Tired clouds and sleepy stairwells,
A castle of night on tides of sand,
The waves crashing heartbeats
Against wooden drums;
Oceans of stars and tide-pools of dust,
Sleepless walls leaning into cotton,
The winds blowing gently
Through bone-flutes of reeds;
A million steps marching soundless,
Across dreamless strands,
The caressing fingers of darkness
From deepest depths play hair-harp tunes.
Sometimes when my thoughts go so fast
They bend back into themselves
I feel like curling up
Into a ball
Another Friday, more obscure music you might not know yet. Today featuring the pirate band Ye Banished Privateers. I met them first when after the second day of a festival they sat at the crossroads and serenaded the visitors home with “All for Me Grog” while toasting with their tankards, with the police on security duty looking a tiny bit confused and also amused.
Annabell – A song I hated in the beginning, then came to love it and started singing it many days in a row. A melancholic story of a difficult life. Also, interesting Video.
Louise – An instrumental piece with awesome fiddling ladies.
Cat o’Nine – Fun one, telling the story of a sailor with certain inclinations.
I Dream of You – A love song?
Gangplank – The title says it all. Throw’em in the sea!
Bottle of Rum – The obligatory song about rum.
In sleepless nights I think in lines,
In rhythmic words and steady streams,
The feel of water, pulsar thoughts,
Consciousness in flow and pearl,
A growth of rhymes and fleur de lis,
Carrying over to mornings full of haze,
Coffee fumes and snakes in cups,
Winding around neurons like nebula hands,
Keeping secrets, trusting space,
Thrusting rockets down to bathwater blues,
Burning the sky in cinnamon truths,
Alive in watery states of mind,
Graveyard thoughts on living spectres,
Walls walking into fading gates,
Morning rails and morning words,
Rattling and rustling from page to page,
Hand to eye and haze to dust
Midnight to morning, how did we get here?