Painting Music

Silence is the Healer

I am the ghost, the ghost of war
and I can feel the pain no more
and now I observe, I haven’t a prey.
I’m just shadowing the lives standing in my way.

We sent our troops in harm’s way.
Few will live to fight another day.
I was a ravaged angel in the storm
and now I’m home, safe and warm.

Silence is the healer
to inspire the better angels of our nature.
With these gifts, the harm’s in us.
Yet prayer can overcome.
Let the doors they open open doors for you.

Out of nothing I’ll always rise above it all
and traffic in souls that reinvent time.
I am the daughter of the gods
and I know where I stand.
I harbour no remorse, no bloodlet on my hand—
Silence!

The wounds lie deep, but tomorrow renews
and with that promise, we can’t lose.

The Blizzard

[dedicated to the strength in me – inspired by “The Blue Bird“]

Martyred rose
alive in the blizzard,
reaching petals toward the light,
bless’d the promise of the night.

I rose one morning to a blizzard.
The wint’ry wind blew snow deep in my way
and I knew a storm was coming,
so I set out to find what debt I had to pay.

Sleep and Death, Sleep and Death
representing its last breath.
Just to meet –
the dead in the house of the unborne;
the rose knows about Death and Sleep!

…and the spell of the absent one moves forth.
And the wisdom of the deepest
holds the weeping eye so dear -
to chase away the fear.

Encountering the waiting ones
who seek their incarnations.
Slashing at their natural zeal,
we’ll scorn the sweet sensations.

Deep in the new theatre
lives the flaming youth
where the transformation quickens
and the plot of life thickens.

Can’t speak to an absent mind
that smothers such impressions.
Wonder is enlightenment
in its truest expressions.

…and the spell of the absent one moves forth.
And the wisdom of the deepest
holds the weeping eye so dear -
to chase away the fear.
To chase away the fear.

Baptized Again

Born from a bad beginning,
I played the Chicago blues.
When everyone failed me and left me alone,
I’d nothing left to lose.
My radio kept me from losing my mind.
I heard what I understood
to be the first music of its kind
from the Delta and the backwoods.

Baptize me again
each time I slide back down.
I wanna be baptized again -
my lower self I must drown.

Elvis taught me gospel and heart;
his rhythm and soul bled through.
Impassioned holy-rollers pulsed
as songs in my heart, they grew.
In tiny, white-worn chapels
where music raised the dead
rejoiced in jubilees of hope.
The preacher man was led.

The preacher man’s dark cries,
with fire blazing in his eyes,
and the rhythm of tambourines
was moving through my veins.
On the long dirt Blues Highway
I paid my dues this way
I shot emotions through my guitar
and said what I needed to say.

Gospels, hymns and the spirit of song
arms raised to heaven’s gate
borne of pain and sensual tales,
sprang from broken hearts and hate.
Baptize me in my music
to overcome hardships and pain.
Its waters filled with a soul force;
got down in a torrent of rain.

A Very Private Person

I’m going down to the corner store.
I always remember to lock and bolt my door.

’cause I’m a very private person
and I don’t want anyone.
I make a cold, hard living
and I work from sun to sun.  Oh, yeah.

Don’t want anyone in, no one to call.
It’s my artificial personality, my brick wall.

Insincere visitors have so much to hide.
They want so to come on the inside.
They know that I’m paying a hard hard price.
But never want to offer any good advice.

’cause I’m a very private person
and I don’t want anyone.
I make a cold, hard living
and I work from sun to sun
and I ain’t got no time to mess with anyone, oh, no!

[watch video here]

Spectres

Felicity I’ll never know; cannot feel, I cannot grow.
Masterwork by crippled hands… holding on an angel’s strands.
Spirit killed by society. I can’t take sobriety.
Sleepless eyes at unseen dawn; restless nights will never calm.

So why does it hurt like such a loss?
Why can’t I meet such a cost?
I’m dying in a gin mill, running on the treadmill.

Throaty is my narrow range; rehab, to me’s, foreign… strange.
I have known no sweet relief; I’m not sure of one belief.

Supporters aren’t my looking glass -
I observe when meetings pass.
Mine is not their rise and fall;
no similarity at all.

So take my flowers, take my song.
Bloody money all is gone.
Don’t want my fears to overcome,
but I can’t breathe, my nerves are strung.

Never knew a strong will.
Cannot take the big thrill!

The Awakening

[inspired by “The Blue Bird“]

I burn the candle at both ends
in the forest where the lights go
when they are blown out.
My life could be the story
so beautiful from beginning to end.
But instead it stings my senses,
awakening in me
emotions so long dormant, so seldom seen.
It’s the flashing light of the awakening.

And this is the palace of happiness.
And these are the days of the daydream.
Go on to the night of the bedlam.
“Oh gaffer! Your blackbird is blue.”

Sound the note of infinity -
the note of a fragile phantasy.
So all the world’s a song.
It’s the war inside that tries to take me
and the helpless feeling God can’t wake me.
This black foul!
It’s the flashing light of the awakening.

Water cleans it all away.
Monster dreams disappear when the light comes on.
Rulers of my destiny
go away when I release them to the wind.
I’m drugged by fools! This black foul!
Weighted with malevolence!
This black foul!
Till I create no more.

When with the awakening, they let me live.
Let me live – truer to myself.

This moment contains all the love.
This moment contains all the hate.

The Blue Butterfly

[for Henri Matisse]
She heard an echo.
She understood in her soul
and from all the lives she’d lived before…
Intuition must be trusted. Blind faith cannot tell
when the mysteries are found at the bottom of the well.

Risks and faith in the smouldering fires
and the burning of his deep desires.
The Genie of the lamp’s
full of demons and The Dance.
Singing Harmony in Red.
His passionate view of joy they said
crossed the Green Line, o wild fauve;
paint the red room and orange grove.

The blue of that butterfly and Cezanne
made you more of a spiritual man.

Blue as a sulphur flame
filled with Mediterranean light.
Such a blue, it pierced his heart.
He knew he had to buy– that cherished butterfly.

The painting spoke in its own clear voice.
She knew right then that she had no choice
but to breathe in the harmony.
She made the greatest sacrifice
to decide and not think twice.
Cross the blue line, o wild beast,
break the mold and paint a feast.

[watch video here]

My New York Mood

I’ll flood my heart to overflow
with Broadway lights and wine.
I’ll walk to the wild weather.
I’ll stammer to the beat.
I’ll catch with the flow,
dangle on the skyline.

My New York mood sets me off.
It moves me.
But could this be the day I go there?
To feel the touch of a thousand feelings:
street man, grass-chamber-minstrels, outdoor pomp.

The mood will stir me -
the city, the tears, the drama, the fears
(the applause of a hundred thousand critics).

I’ll go there sometime
to feel common mime
to look for a rhyme
to step out of time.
My New York sublime
that’s known for the crime
and the peddler’s dime
and the businessman’s climb.

I’ll look at you and laugh.
You’re not a photograph!

The Fragile Men

The fragile men I know, I love with all my heart.
They hate like hell to admit when I am just as smart.
Their fragile hearts can break as easily as I do
and break at every chance they get when not admitting to.

The faults they have are like mine, though equal we are not.
When we fight I understand his strength is what I want.
We eat, we drink, we play together every day.
He stays the same as I grow fat when doing things his way.

The fragile men are greater as vegetarians.
When they can’t put away the drink, they seem less masculine.
Well, that’s the way society goes, and that’s the way they see…
a man is only strong and brave when he is not like she.

Blue Memories

In turquoise, aqua blue, I’m free — swimming in a crystal sea.
It is a replenishment — cold, refreshing, innocent.
Splashing in a sparkling pool, the stinging of my eyes is cruel
Yet underwater I can see long past my eternity.

I closed my eyes to a blood red light.
I lay in sand and dreamt of night,
the summer sun, the cocoa scent and the waters’ refreshment.

Splashing in the mist-filled skies,
the stinging of my salt-filled eyes;
my days of youth on the beach
are too far away to reach.

But when I breathe the cobalt skies,
when I gaze in sapphire eyes
and the jade aquamarine
turns to royal or blue-green.

Cerulean waters, phthalo deep are the memories I keep.
Hidden in the midnight blues are the secret underlying clues.

I love blue –

And now I have released the pain –
bleating in the pouring rain.
The doors’ flung open to a dazzling light;
the shock erupted from inside.

Splashing in a sparkling pool,
the stinging of my eyes is cruel
Yet underwater I can see
long past my eternity.

I love blue –

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