unfinished
Nature is not a forgiving force
but she gives us time before she collects her due.
though we can't leave things unresolved like the way I left things with you.
Some days when storm clouds gather
And a Spirited Wind whispers in my ear
I stand a face the things to come with measured fear.
Tonight as I lay my head upon my pillow
in the half light and shadows of a darkened room.
I let the dust of the day slip away and whisper a prayer that dreams come soon.
-dani shaw
words
Write it on your heart
that every day is the best day in the year.
He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day
who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.
Finish every day and be done with it.
You have done what you could.
Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in.
Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day;
begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit
to be cumbered with your old nonsense.
This new day is too dear,
with its hopes and invitations,
to waste a moment on the yesterdays.
ralph waldo emerson
I found an old friend
When I gave the forgiveness I said I’d never give
I found an old friend.
All the locks and chains fell away.
And my heart began to breathe again.
Once, when we were still children we said forever.
Then life happened and we fell apart.
Who knew darlin’ that one day what was lost could be found.
The world sings, bells ring and every beautiful thing laughs out loud.
When I gave the forgiveness I said I’d never give
I found an old friend.
All the locks and chains fell away
And my heart began to breathe again.
Now when I look at your faded blue eyes
All I want is to reach past your body, reach right to your soul.
I want to find a way to kiss you in that old rocking chair
And write a new story there.
When I gave the forgiveness I said I’d never give
I found an old friend.
All the locks and chains fell away
And my heart began to breathe again.
inevitable lightness of being
So, I haven't been blogging in sometime... having given up livejournal for my own obvious reasons. I put up some information on myspace but with it's less than favorable reputation with those in my work community, I think I'll keep to the music and away from the blog there.
However, I have been writing more lately. I've spent a good deal of time journaling, mostly poetry. And, I am feeling more than inspired to finish the short story project that I put away so long ago.
There is something to be said for the inevitable lightness that comes when you are relieved of relationship burdens.
what am i supposed to do
play with your name across my lips.
how i imagine what is just beyond my finger tips.
oh, to get close enough for one sweet kiss.
tell me what am i supposed to do?
with all this love that I have for you.
i am just a crazy, love sick fool.
there's a good reason why I try and hide
that you're the moon that pulls my tide.
it's cause she's the one on your mind.
so i keep it all inside.
sweet baby tell me what am i supposed to do?
with all this love that i have for you.
just call me a sad, love sick fool.
i wish you knew all this love i have to give
that even what is bruised and broken still burns to live.
and still reaches out for you in the end.
oh, please
tell me what I am supposed to do.
when this love I have for you
that burns true...
sometimes
sometimes i think about brushing
your beautiful long lashes with my finger tips
and wonder about the taste of your full red lips.
would you smile when i let down your hair
and ran my fingers through the long dark strands?
what would it feel like to hold your hand?
and if i took you close
to slide you beneath me
would you be mine finally?
sometimes i wonder about you.
a review of Outerspace
I don't think I'd make a good reviewer. You have to have the ability to write critically and I just don't have the skills. But, I'll tell you Susan's cd is exceptional. ..so here's my amateurish review.
In Outerspace, songwriter Susan Gibson has found a cd that is travelling in the same direction as her unique personal style. Using skillful and mature variations in the delivery of each song, it stands out like the songwriter herself, being unique in some ways and traditional in others. Her second solo effort is packed full of a variety of styles from country to folk to simple down home roots-rock. She'll even tell about her Methodist rap song in her introduction to "No Fair", sure to come with "potato chips sprinkled on top". With the addition of some ethereal qualities like the ones found on "Still Time", it is suitable to represent the title, Outerspace. She is even bold enough to experiment. While it is not this reviewers favorite result, she gets points for keeping true to her own creative vision. This is her most collaborative project to date with cowriters like Jim Lauderdale, "Happiest When I'm Moving"; Randy Scruggs, "Upon Re-entry" and others. A live version of "Wide Open Spaces", penned by Gibson and made one of the most recognized country songs of all times by the Dixie Chicks is included.
whatever, i tried.
communing with the trees
Here there is no history of mine.
I relinquish all that I was and let it drift away on the waters of this river.
There is history in all that surrounds me I guess. But I prefer the present.
Moments triumphed by nature.
A swift breeze, the sound of water over rock,
lazy locusts and croaking frogs.
If I listen close, I can hear the trees whispering.
They tell me to leave my hurried life and live among them.
It's hard not to find solace in their gentle persuasions.
The bird song scolds me for reflecting on my city life...
for allowing it to crowd my mind.
Cities do not give humans room to move freely
anymore than thoughts of cities give the mind room to think freely.
Instead I want space and room to penetrate this place with my body,
to dip my hands deep within this earth
and play among the roots.
I want to slip over the trees skin for skin
And, lastly, I want to melt into the water and drift away from myself.
the indian runner
I am watching the Indian Runner. The movie, inspired by a Springsteen song, was written and directed by Sean Penn. I think springsteen and penn could be the same person.
It is a starkly beautiful movie shot in the early 90's but has the very feel of a movie crafted out of 70's style cinema. There is an extraordinary collection of odd characters as well. The socially inept pink lady is a priceless detail.
In thinking about it, I tend to be attracted to those characters who are both beautiful and dark. Who are in constant conflict with their internal tenderness and the ghost that haunts their very soul making them crazy, mean or both. They are always adored and feared equally by the ones who love them.
What is frustrating to me is that I am unable to write one of my own. There is no clear way I can realistically demonstrate the conflict or the melancholy or the tortured internal struggle. And moreover, I do not seem to have a genuine way of showing human fallibility without trying to justify its existence or explain it away. I want to and I have tried over and over again to create someone I believe in. Always unsuccessfully.
I love the soundtrack...especially that Jefferson Airplane song. It just puts me in a mood.
I saw you. I saw you, coming back to me.
Maria and Lupe
What a productive day thus far... I've searched the internet for hours, posted comments to journal after journal and done just about anything else I could to avoid real work. About every hour or so I'll drop back over and spend about five minutes of moving text around, throwing up a picture or what not before returning back to the distraction on the web.
Maria and Lupe - part 1
Enrique Marta tried to put the bag in the undercarriage of the El Norte bus. Maria said thank you but no thank in fractured english. He let go, nodded and bowed. Lupe danced in small circles while watching the exchange and rolled her eyes after catching him licking his lips as he walked away. Men always did something like that to Maria Garza Soto Cruz. Lupe always saw them.
Lupe handed her own weaved bag to the white haired bus driver and followed her mother onto the brightly striped bus. AS they rode along, Lupe watched her mother's reflection in the smoked glass window. She watched it lift and drop with each bump from the dirt road. Lupe knew for sure that her mother belonged in the movies. Beautiful and strong. More beautiful than the woman in the picture show they saw once. It was a western on the big screen with horses and deserts like the one they were in now. It was a love story too where the white man loved the mexican girl from the village. Mi amor'. Mi amor' was all she ever said.
They had been on the road for awhile when Lupe heard the bus driver say something in English. He then repeated in Spanish that they were about to make a stop. He said not to wander to far. They had thirty minutes to rest, stretch their legs. Desperezarse. Lupe looked out the window and wondered where they would wander that they would not see or be seen. A flat desert rolled out in front of them. There was nothing else but a cactus and mountains. They were so far in the distance they looked like ants.