battleground

i stand on the battleground
the place where inner collides with outer
where past and present clash
to bring about the future

turmoil all around and doubt is coursing
while i stand
rage, tears and confusion
yet i stand
as ready as i'll ever be
know i'll stand
in the face of it all - the enormity
still i stand

this is the field of battle
where barbs are slung forth and challenges issued
where purpose is true as a steeled blade
intent, primal and vicious
chances are few and must be taken
choice is but one and can't be forsaken

the course is set
grim-faced and sullen
for death to take, that new life will waken
blades are bared
glint-eyed and thirsty
the time is nigh, the earth is quaking
these fingers tremble
as much for fear as for anticipation
elation, despair, the breaking from stagnation
it begs the question, now as ever, the consummation
will it be survival or damnation?

this is the battlefield
the face-off, fragmented time
commands and cuss words strew the ground
as much as bodies, broken hopes and grime
a fraction of a moment, so charged and so explosive
yet, but a moment; so tragic and involving
the rush of blood, the grimaced visage
the face contorted, the pained looks, the image
of barren wastelands, of promise dispatched
of teary eyes, of fright, of impact

this is the time of amputation
of desperate choice, of cruel decision
of sacrifice to save the many
the innocent, the weary, if left are any
this is the time of hardship, the time of rage and please forgive me
the violent labor, the painful birthing of new destiny
of sacrifice to save the many
the innocent, the pure, if left are any

dusk with a dawn that won't break

these are dark days of downfall
damaged, i tread down this path
derailed and downtrodden: deranged
daunted, i fear
and decidedly damned

bordering on devastation
deliberately don the drab dress of despair
delve deep in this dharma, so drastic and dismal
dive downwards, downstream, eyes downcast

there is no delicious distraction
no durable discipline, none
i feel drugged and denied,
nigh demolished and dry
diligent only in drama,
diverted from course and declined
deeper forever this road, desperate,
debilitated,
disposed in these doomed, darkened domes

disposition will not deviate
from designs and devising by rote
damned if i do, dread if i don't
i am the downside, the drawback, the don't
i'm drenched in duress,
drink up the delicate drops
of dejection, and let them,
drip slow down my throat
the discourse is doubt
that delivers the deathblow
assessing the death-toll
deformed details fall out
dissonant decibels dealt loud on deaf eardrums
decayed and embittered, this drought

i come to discover the depths of this spiral
destined to dusk with a dawn that won't break
the doors to my dungeon have swallowed
and drums dole out dirges
for dwindling hopes

i dredge bygone days, the debacle to quell
to detain deadly spindle collecting my debts
but its thread's everlasting
ever dropping's its spell
and the yarns won't detangle
bound and despondent i'll stay

these darts on my side
drain blood, trust and desire
the shell that i'm left with,
this carcass is dour
in diffidence,
drive desists, broken and tired
descending the dire direction to dwell

discord takes my soul to rend
dermis dissolves under cruel dynamics
distressed that my wishes won't mend
disconcerting directness, definitive blow
dust settles, beginning the end

the dune dares not wait to devour
dark druids and dryads surround as i'm torn
tormented, so distant the respite, so dim
in deep, wallow and tumble, alone

the din all around won't die down
the dogs of the demons dine slow
at my insides, the duel between wisdom and soul
dismayed in this duty to burn and to drown
to wallow and tumble, to dwell
the mud, muck and mire, to bathe in
devilish dervish to dance until dead,
dislocated, dissected and bled
to detach, disembark and farewell
to diminish and finally fade

there are poems

there are poems that talk about love
about peace
about passionate beauty
but this is not one of them

there are those that glorify god and creation
from this floating blue marble
to the tides of the ocean that hold it
yet this is not one of them

there are some that talk about valor
about an unyielding strength in the face of daunting odds
about stoicism that won't falter
still this is not one of them

there are verses that delve in the power of friendship
of bonds realized in due time and process
of a life well-lived and death carved out in honor
no, this is not one of them

there are the poems that whisper of taking the call
of awareness and redemption
of a fight fought hard and tranquility earned
but i'm sorry to say: this is not one of them

all these speak and elicit attention
they witness and hold truth
they cradle within an ounce of hope, ever enduring
but alas, this is not
and never will be
one of them

anton

i am deliverance
i am what's coming
what began and must run its course

the toll and ticking of time
the last face, i am
the one without trace
the one at the end of the trail

i am the unlucky quarter
i am the wake-up call
i am the denouement
the last draw of breath
the one inescapable truth

the cut
the cure for all ills
the rain on the parade
the perfect tool, the wrench

i am the end
the conclusion
the final whistle
the call of fate

i am the effect of the cause
i am the result
i am what's coming
and i am come

PSA: MusicPoetic

Hey friends,
I'm pleased to announce that, I have started a new blog that will house all my music commentary: Music Poetic. Starting today, you're all more than welcome to check it out. If you feel motivated, leave a comment, or better yet, suggest some music. Poetrical Musings will continue on, as the place for my poetry and opinion pieces. Hope you enjoy both of 'em.
Blessings.

J's topfive - version three point o

Music is an overwhelming thing. Some, sadly, don’t know this. Others experience it only tangentially, when at concerts, they let go. There are those on the other end of the spectrum, who have chosen music as a path, a practice, and have become so immersed in it, she has turned into routine. And then there’s us, those that live somewhere in the middle, lost between the mere observant and the advanced practitioner. We have an interesting advantage: we listen to each note with the complete and longing attention of someone who’s come across something sacred and doesn’t know when, if ever, he’ll find such beauty again. Arpeggios fill us with nostalgia, tension and dissonance pierce our hearts, drum breaks take us over the edge with energy and abandon, and the right progression can make us love, ache, stand in awe, with bated breath, and get a glimpse of the meaning of life. This may sound exaggerated to many, and all I can say is, I’m sorry that they’ll never know.

It is in that spirit that I bring you tonight’s top five. Numbers 5, 4 and 2 in this issue are part of three amazing rock albums, the kind where all the songs are consistent and consistently good. Actually, picking which song to critique from each of them required some thought, but I encourage you to dive right into the entire work; hands down, it’s worth it.

Coming in at number 5 is Ivoryline’s All you ever hear, from their 2008 debut, There came a lion. These Texans sound incredibly young, fun-loving and a teensy wee bit cocky, with a zesty brand of music that toes the line between rock and pop. In this topfive wonder, as well as in the rest of the album, the vocals hold the role of preponderance, and Jeremy Gray’s are solid and alive. He handles poppy-er elements with mastery – oohs and aahs fitting in there like a glove. Plus, he gets great support from the spot-on backing vocals. The guitars are also quite accomplished: even if there are no solos, there’s a lot of counterpoints and interlocking riffs, that provide for harmonic wealth and freshness as well as ample ground to show off. And, the drums are damn cool. Wes Hart pounds like crazy, in a wild barrage of drumbeats, fast and full breaks, and creative accents that make the song breathe rhythmically. In the verses, he even throws in those disco-y, open-close hi-hat strokes, for good measure, a telltale sign of the outfit’s pop signature. Lyrically, the song touches on political and social commentary, one of the two tracks in the cd that do that. Gray sings, “Your apathy says blame me for this,” and even if the context is light, Ivoryline’s unapologetically jovial sound gives renovated expression to the age old message of wake up and smell the coffee. A little bit breezier than my usual fare, they could border on guilty pleasure, but, in the end, there’s nothing wrong with a little breeze from time to time. A small disclaimer: although they appear cataloged as a Christian rock band in some places, to my relief, only one of the songs in the album makes reference to an openly religious theme.

In the same family of up-and-coming rock acts, Scary Kids Scaring Kids are probably the brooding brother. From their eponymous 2007 sophomore effort (another amazing record), number four is The Deep End, an intense and urgent cry for caution regarding depression. Tyson Stevens’ vocals are powerful and deeply moving, with a tinge of angst and desperation. He controls the vibrato and wields his screams deftly, squeezing them out at the right moments, to exacerbate the tension, emotively enhancing his Gothic lyrics. The guitars sound at times like a modern incarnation of Iron Maiden; just check out the running harmonies on the intro and choruses. They mix seamlessly with the keyboards during the delicate verses, and then get metallic in the interlude right before the second chorus. In the meantime, sitting at the foundation of it all is James Etheridge, hammering the unyielding backbeat that carries the track as if on wild horses. Noteworthy is his footwork on the kick, which fills a lot of the space in between snare hits, further adding to the song’s sturdy basement. This little musicbox ditty, rocks all over the place, with the right balance of brawn and softness, of sadness and anger, proper of a Byronic Hero.

Now, sometimes, something divine brings two artists together, and us mortals get to marvel over marvels. Such a hand surely brought Robert Fripp, ground-breaking guitarist in the legendary prog band King Crimson, to collaborate, record and tour with gifted singer songwriter David Sylvian. The result is a meteor shower: although short-lived (they only recorded a full-length studio cd, and a shorter, live album) it is made with stuff of heaven. Today’s number three, and odd-one-out, is just that, a little slice of heaven. The title track of 1994 Damage, she runs at four and a half minutes, and is a gorgeous little keyboard, stick and guitar poem: all subtlety. Sylvian’s vibrant, deep baritone slips, velvet, through melancholy lyrics that are just as stirring as the melody. Its enigmatic nature is mirrored by the short soloing runs of Trey Gunn's Chapman stick, and the insinuated overtones of Fripp’s guitar. The rest of their collaboration certainly is a gala of virtuosity and atmosphere, but on Damage, everything is whispered, barely audible to the ear, maybe, but the heart hears it all, loud and clear.

The Australian band Karnivool falls somewhere between Tool and System of a Down: not as serious or psychedelic as Maynard and co., and certainly not as spastic as the Armenian quartet from L.A., these five guys out of Perth, Down Under, bring their own brand of complexity that juxtaposes time signatures and establishes mouth-watering polyrhythms in the intertwining parts that combine the different instruments. In 2005, they released their remarkable full-length debut Themata, where they work wonders within the song format; so much so, I had the hardest time deciding which song to feature. You see, although, as a band, all its members bring key elements to the mix, the driving essence behind Karnivool is the amazing rhythmic interaction between the drums and guitars, and really, there are two songs that showcase their tight relationship fully. Hence, I decided to comment on both. My favorite track in the cd, and initial gut reaction for number two this issue, is Cote. It was the first song to catch my ear: it surprised me, and I love it when that happens. What did it, initially, were the drums. Get through the intro, which is polyrhythm sparked by a constant drumbeat and lopsided guitar strums against it, and you reach the first verse: wait a minute, did I hear that right? There is a peculiar beat at work here. Steve Judd’s drumming may not be as flashy as some of the other skinmen in this topfive selection –if by “flashy” we mean a lot of fast-paced breaks and stuff– but he creates an intricate rhythmic universe for the track to develop, showing off his “limb independence,” as he effortlessly colors through the structure (a measure of 8, two of 7, and another one of 8). The strings deserve a special note here as they add a varied assortment sound-textures: there are sweet, delay-infused butterfly swarms that show up unexpected, and the bassline in the verse, up on the higher register, is also delicate and poignant.

So, if Cote highlights Judd’s chops, with its odd and challenging changes, Shutterspeed puts the guitars in the forefront. Much more straightforward in terms of time –a solid 6/8 throughout – it is again what they do within the beat that is so inspiring: they break it up, spin in out, and bring it right back. Andrew Goddard, lead guitarist and composer, wrote all the tracks on the cd, and his work on this ditty is hard to miss. The main riff is just impeccable, with accents in unexpected places, gyrating at its own pace, over that steady 6. It is four lines (4 bars each), all related, but all with their tasty variations, complex and yet gracefully flowing in their staccato, a little hail storm of sorts. Thrown against Judd’s inflections, the composition comes to life, a fantastic vehicle for Ian Kenny’s soaring vocals (just like Cote), which are the right balance of energy and lament. Two key moments: the guitar solo, short and sweet, is unusual and ingenious; and, coming in at minute 2:50, Kenny’s capitalizing vocal line, which runs consistent with the song’s six-beat, just sums it all up, and brings the song to a spectacular denouement: driving, precise and passionate.

It really seems like there was a lot of questioning around tonight’s selection: another thing I was hesitant about was today’s number one; so, I decided to go jogging. I keep my music on shuffle so that my player can surprise me as I trot along dirt roads and pavement. Albums I’ve only recently acquired thus get mixed in with the older stuff in my library, and I slowly become familiar with new music. Well, one of these new albums (to me at least) is Omar Rodríguez-López’s latest solo effort, Calibration (2008) –for those of you unaware, Rodríguez is the guitar-shredder and overall mastermind in The Mars Volta. To be honest, I haven’t yet given myself the chance to dive full-on into it. In my defense, albums like his require extra time and attention, of which I’ve had short supply lately; plus, I kinda enjoy letting the universe show me the way. So, as I ran, my player belted out Las Lagrimas de Arakuine, the cd’s closing masterpiece, and I was hypnotized, mesmerized: “this is number one.” The track’s skeleton is quite simple, really – 4 bars of 6/8, 4 chords, actually 3, as the first one repeats itself on the second bar – and yet, it goes on for over eleven minutes. The thing is, this instrumental is the quintessential example of a sonic landscape: guitars, bass, violins and a plethora of electronic cracks and chirps, bells and whistles, mingle and dance in and out of each other, like rock and roll animals in a sound garden of hills, groves, copses and valleys. There are rivers in there, raindrops and, even dolphins and whales that emerge from the depths. And in the midst of this lushness, the most notorious aspect is that Rodríguez-López gives the drums the role of lead storyteller, with complete freedom, and what Thomas Pridgen does is nothing short of spectacular. To call it virtuosity is an understatement. The guy just throws everything in the book onto the track; an eleven-minute drum solo is what it is: meticulous, incredibly tasteful and full of resources. Just a little example: there is fierce yet elastic accuracy in the interplay between kickdrum and snare, as they slice the beat up in complex little rhythms – anyone who has ever sat at the set knows that’s no small feat. The rest of the band flows throughout, painting the landscape, as the Lagrimas... breathes, builds up, and releases – in fact, there are other solos in there: there is a yummy fretless bass in the mix, soaring just above the basic bassline still humming in the background, and there’s also the endless flow of Omar’s guitar, although kept down a constantly changing series of textures, as he goes through his extensive array of effects pedals. However, those solos are buried under Pridgen’s pounding flurries, creating only passages and accents in the sonic canvas. The track has a “head,” a repeating motif, and it is a gorgeous, sweeping phrase of interlinking lines by guitars, violins and keyboards, that shows up unexpected, almost out of the blue, every so often, as the piece develops. The theme gets a little more complex and longer each time, as it incorporates more instruments, and by the third and last time around, as the drums fade away into silence, the strings finally get the spotlight, if only for a couple of seconds, before they too dissolve into the chord progression for one last go-around. It’s a magnificent pool to dive into: a trance, which is a recurring concept in Rodríguez-López’s music.

Thanks again, for visiting, and taking the time to read. As usual, I hope you enjoy it. I want to thank my brother, “Dano, El Capitano” Kuehn, for the musical nourishment he periodically bestows upon me. Motivated? Write a comment, suggest new music.

thanksgiving: the long lost art of gratitude

My dear friends up north are celebrating one of the most meaningful holidays in the U.S. repertoire: Thanksgiving Day. I love this holiday, but my feelings toward it have nothing to do with its history, which is somewhat unusual. You see, holidays are, if anything, historical in nature: some one did something memorable some day, something that was cause for celebration, and in their remembrance, people carried on observing the anniversaries of these momentous occasions.

However, I appreciate this date from a much more direct perspective, and that is the act of expressing gratitude. I’ve been observing more and more how the word “thanks” seems to be fading from our collective vocabulary. In a world where we get progressively more enamored with youth and being cool and carefree, the value of hard work that bares fruits in due course has increasingly lost status, to the point of becoming an outdated concept. Now, more often than not, the operating principles are shirking responsibility, cutting corners, finding the easy way out, etc. And the thing is, work and gratitude are intimately related concepts.

Time and again, popular expressions celebrate a job not done or done half-assed, rewards gotten through little or no expenditure, risk or even sweat. This absence of labor, of investing time, energy, love and effort translates itself into the absence of gratefulness. Things cost us close to nothing, so why give thanks. As used as we are to complaining and trying to get our ways, the forgotten art of gratitude and acceptance is at best dismissed as trivial, and at worst, discarded in a flurry of ego-driven entitlement, followed by the ubiquitous “whatever.” But really, it is that kind of attitude that makes energy vampires of us all, caring more about what we can take than what we can give, or at least how we can begin to even the score a little bit. What is it? Is it a lash-out to the inequities of government and wealth distribution? Something like “I’ll get what’s coming to me no matter what, and screw the rest?” Or is it the reasserting of adolescent rebellion? You know: teenagers usually resenting their parents for the boundaries they place, thinking that, at 13 or 19, they’ve already gleaned enough answers about the way things are, so as to be able to set their own limits, which usually are no limits at all. If we as adults are constantly looking at youth for that sense of “cool,” it stands to reason that we will inherit the good with the bad. We get bombarded by the media-driven propaganda of “whatever” and soon enough, it starts coming out of our mouths, without consciousness or thought, just another cool word in vogue.

I’ve been there from time to time. I’ve excused myself from doing the work, milking justifications dry. I've been a recurring participant, as I too struggle with desires not met, with responsibilities that knock at my door, forcing me to rise above, grudgingly, and answer the summons, but I'm waking up to value of actually earning my R&R. I’ve been thinking that the act of realizing what I have/gained and actually being grateful for it puts things into focus. Old-timers’ sayings like “idle hands are the devil’s playground” may have lost their motivational magic, along with their meaning, but deep down, pops knew what he was talking about.

Because there is value in work, in gratitude, in love and friendship, beyond the trite, the used up and the meaningless. It’s not just a feel good new age thing. It is what builds community, what draws human to human. Appreciation is the operating concept. I appreciate you being here. I appreciate you taking time out of your life to give a hand, to say a nice word, to pass along a smile. I appreciate the gifts I’ve been given. I treat others as I’d have them treat me. I focus on the positive instead of the negative, on what I have instead of what I don’t, the glass seen as half full.

We are really entitled to nothing. We are given: from the moment we’re born and we’re blessed with existence, we are given gifts and favors, in myriad forms and expressions. Not giving thanks, not appreciating, is just that: not appreciating. Not giving these their real value, not realizing their right worth. But when someone doesn’t cut you off in traffic, and instead lets you drive in front of them, that’s worth something. When your buddy helps you through a tough time, that’s worth something. When the world bestows warmth, shelter, nourishment upon you, that’s worth something. When the universe blesses you with a magnificent sunset, one that makes you aware of your minute place in space, of the awesome power of creation, of beauty, that’s worth something. Appreciation takes us out of the loneliness of our perceptions, of being trapped inside our bodies, and allows us to commune.

There is saying in Spanish: Lo cortés no quita lo valiente. This roughly translates to: courtesy does not take away from bravery. In other words, being courteous, showing your appreciation does not lessen you in any way. In my opinion, quite to the contrary, it heightens us, collectively, as a whole. It lets us all know that we're not superflous or invisible; we are seen, we are important, we belong, there is a place for us.

I appreciate you. I appreciate you taking the time to read through my words. I appreciate us being alive. I appreciate. Thanks.

endeavor to remove

dear life
i've tried. i've endeavored in comprehending.
i've put, time and again, all my efforts into understanding
and when the picture's finally clear,
when out of the haze at last a tangible image appears
my etch-a-sketch is shaken
a stone you drop into the pond of my vision
and once more you, dear life, get thrown into chaos
and me, unhinged, off-course, into despair

however, feelings are indeed a badge of honor
they are what certifies:
'this one's alive,
one of the chosen few who has chosen
to refuse to dissolve in the unfortunate ocean:
gray waters engulfing
the tumultuous multitude of human drops,
all the same, all in their drab little uniforms...'

so, yes, i'd rather freeze, a unique icicle
to be blown away in the gale,
or burnt away in an untamable flame of emotion,
only to retain what's essential, if but for a fleeting, doomed moment

but yours is the choice now...
time and again i've played my cards,
and maybe as i've been trying to understand you,
so have you tried to put your finger on me.
maybe it is i who gives in to my slippery nature
and swim away from your grasp.
but your lead now's quite clear, methinks,
you've shown how expectations
hopes, wishes and dreams
are naught but heights from where to fall
and, though no vow have i uttered to hold on to letting go,
i release you from my encumbrance,
from me, be free to go

i will remove my hooks
i will sever the ties that i've laced round my fate,
as precious as these to me may seem,
i will maintain radio silence
i will refrain from the thought
nay, the need
to check in on you, to think on your themes
to ponder when will i find my place within you
why do i feel so forsaken by you, by us, by me...

whatever you thought, though, know there is no game here.
artistry, pleasure, yes, need and desire,
but no more a game than a seance in trance, than the seer,
withdrawing from fated deck to reveal what's beneath,
what the undertow brings:
anxiety, craving, longing, maybe;
perchance the odd chance that you'd come around,
but not, no, no game here, my dear

i will only reserve the right to this heart on my sleeve
to dwell in the house of confusion, under the blade, still on the brink
many a parable's been written 'bout he who dove in too late
and if that'd be my fate,
i will take it in stride
i will relish the fact that at least i was alive
and i tried.
many a tale has been spun 'bout he who wasted away,
but in the depths of my heart, my gifts have been real,
even if not for the whole world to feel,
i've basked in the knowledge
of who i am, what i've done, what has moved me
how i love thee
and how, in your way, you've bestowed your love upon me

dear life
if it be your will
from my burden relieve yourself
as from hopes so will i
maybe in time, i'll wake up to realize,
from what happens to what is,
that the key to the prize was always inside,
and that in trying to see i've been blind,
that the mistakes have been mine.

Respond

respond
respond to the call to respond
respond to the will
respond to the thrill

respond to the leave
of my senses i've taken
respond to reopen
the trails once forsaken
respond to hold on
to the chances we dwell on
to answer the summons of heights never trod on

respond to reveal
to feel the gift, to reel
in time to steal a peek from what's real:
the trance, the dance, the chance to appeal
to reclaim the hill
to set heel to toe to this path
feel wrath and love and pain and zeal
and still, to return, to relive, to heal

to tread under guises
to rein in, to keep
the door's shut but a crack, a slight sliver, a peep
a see-through silk veil that uncovers what's plain
what's implied, right as rain
we respond in this way, for our hope to regain

set foot on this road, to meander
to find my way, to wander,
to stray under this beacon, to wonder
'bout wonders unspoken yet pondered
to go yonder,
beyond limits self-fostered
imagined and built, rock, brick and plaster
respond in an effort to master
diffuse this disaster
and move from before into after

respond
for no other reason than the need to respond
for no other reason
than the need
to respond

haunted

haunted oh so haunted
haunted by your face, your eyes, your smile
haunted by your words
haunted by your touch
haunted
by your ghost and mine
by the ghost of you and i
by the smile that left my face and shan't return
by the rain
by the sun
by my burning, with no peace and no right
by a world of indecision
hard choices and paths diverging
by the will to stay or walk away
by our moment
by your absence
by me, and the heavy load on my shoulders
haunted
oh haunted so.

the next move

walk
inching
approaching
the river's edge so inviting
green depths that beckon, calling me under
ponder no more
just go into it
c'mon
dive
sink
become the waters
head on
headstrong
slumber no more
but dissolve

swim
slipping
steal the last precious moments your lungs avail
and drift
smother out the babble
the ruckus solidifies in hearing
the cost of unheard warnings.
warming's the past, now,
become the cold
dissolve
drown
break down

invade
swallowing
liquid reality, so welcoming
seeping in
slipping,
sliding in farther
into darkness
becoming
darkening
heavy limbs thus reject now bygone movement
crystallized,
time fades into slow motion
a memory only,
an illusion of the world that was
dissolve
evolve
erode
become
just a passing thought of a world that was

J's top five - day two

Today's selection could be dubbed Exercises in subtlety, except for maybe the odd one out. It slowly did turn into that though, quite on its own, a current I decided to ride out. Today's harvest is also leaning towards the past a little bit; again, a bit unexpected, but if so, so what. Today’s is another eclectic collection of music, from 80's thoughtful pop, to rock, to disco and back again, all with some tasty bass performances. Other than the criteria I proposed at the beginning of my first list, there really is no motivation or formula to my choices than the desire to bring them to your attention. These are songs that are currently on my playlists and that I enjoy deeply. Perchance you will too (if there's a "you" out there).

Ok, let's get right to it
Number 5 is a timeless little artifact. From 1980's Never for Ever, Kate Bush's Egypt is a haunting piece, that breathes mystery, and conjures visions of pyramids and rituals, smells of howling desert winds. Kate soars through her exquisitely high register, combining her melody seamlessly with captivating counterpoints by the backing vocals. In rhythmic terms, she switches with mastery between 4 and 7 as the track swells and ebbs. Every time she hits that 7 – especially the last time around, which arrives after a climactic crescendo – the music becomes bewitching, in an enigmatic interplay between the soloing keyboard (or is it a guitar, I wonder) – featuring a sound I don’t feel dated at all, something hard to find in most 80’s music – the bass – mixed satisfyingly in the foreground, and powerfully leading the rest of band – and tasteful drums, that accentuate the song, bringing about a dramatic ending. And, almost as if affirming the song's evocative essence, metallic chimes and bells, hidden in the background, add depth to the textures. This song has been with me for years, disappearing only to get unearthed time and again, organically mirroring its theme, ecstatic, gorgeous and edgy.

Number four is a bass-guitar orgasm, plain and simple. Jamiroquai’s Don’t Give Hate a Chance, a cut from Dynamite (2005), is a real scorcher. To actually listen to it, first you have to resist the urge to just give in to the infectious groove and boogie down. Somehow, the challenge becomes to hold that energy, while at the same time becoming absorbed in the music. The trick for me is to let it invade from the feet up, but then anchor it in the ears; like in meditation, go back to the sound. It’s no secret that Jay Kay and company have been driving a disco revival since the early 90’s. In their arsenal of compositions, there are ample examples of accomplished rhythm and string sections, the right dose of electronica and the inspired exchanges between his vocals and the de rigueur female backup singers. This tune, however, just adds everything up oh so nicely. Great melody, meaningful lyrics, and at the center of everything is Derrick McIntyre’s amazingly complex, fast-paced and precise bass playing. He leads the verses with a very funky root-fifth back-and-forth, in ascending lines that are every bit as creative as they are hip; he resolves into the chorus, switching to a much rockier riff, while at the same time adding a little distortion to the sound, taking everything into overdrive. Later, toward to the end, when the rest of the instruments fall away a bit, letting the vocals and the bass play off each other, oh my god the licks he pulls out: just out of this world. Pure solid gold, I tell ya.

Following with today’s bass fixation, the next ditty features another memorable performance from the low end of the auditory spectrum. From Ben Harper’s Burn to Shine (1999), this issue’s number three is Alone. On this down-tempo, melancholy track, Harper does a wonderful job of transmitting angst in sedate, temperate way, imprinting the song with a clear message of slow burning sadness that courts but never quite becomes all-out desperation. In the tradition of Miles Davis, who knew exactly which notes to play on his horn, distilling the art of soulful sparseness, Ben’s solo, dished out through the ebow-magnetized strings of his guitar, is really an ode to tastefulness, a magnificent passage that beautifully enriches the melodic aspect of the tune, mirroring the sober, tender pain of his vocals. And, boy oh boy, the quality of Juan Nelson’s bassline is truly something: neither flashy nor flamboyant, it is clean, accurate and with just the right dash of complexity, to make a subtle statement of just impeccable elegance. This sonic painting is brought to completion by carefully chosen percussion: a triangle at the right moment, a splash that is like a soft brushstroke, a polyrhythmic hihat driving the song straight through. Sometimes things just come together; this is a brilliant example of just that kind of perfection.

Number 2 this time around, comes from a unknown band that had a short life and no real hits, I don’t think. An outfit out of Salt Lake City, of all places, Acroma’s Don’t Think Just Move was featured in the band’s 2003 debut Orbitals. This song stands pretty much alone in an album that is more grunge than anything else. It is a lovely tool-esque ditty, a piece that rises and falls with great artistry. Beginning delicately with a clear ride-and-rim-shot groove on the drums and a sweet bassline, the guitar slowly starts developing, first with the ebow, and then the pick, heavy on the delay, letting it breathe and evolve. The voice is also soft and tasty, taking its time to rise through the tune, along with the rest of the band, in a wave that progressively gathers strength, getting bigger and bigger, until it finally delivers us into an orgy of cymbals, a slight yet powerful storm in their sonic ocean. Buried in the mix are enticing keyboard lines that have a vaguely vocal quality, giving the whole landscape an hypnotic, magical aura. With the stoner vibe of The Door’s The End, the message of Don’t think just move is about letting go into an unhurried trance, eyes closed, body swaying in movements generated from one’s center.

Number one today was hard to pick. I had to think about it, mainly because, with the exception of Jamiroquai’s disco anthem, the rest of the tunes this time around - quite organically - have a certain subdued character, delivering their messages with a kind of assertive restraint, each taking their time to evolve into blooming sound landscapes that are never an all-out assault. I wanted number one, today, not only to be consistent with this essence, but to be a uniquely skillful expression thereof, and it finally came to me. In The Noose (Thirteenth Step, 2003) A Perfect Circle have created a near-perfect example of graceful collective collaboration. Music that is movingly beautiful mixes with the amazing poetry of singer/lyricist Maynard James Keenan, a hymn to personal responsibility and accountability for this new millennium. It begins almost like a whisper, sparse liquid drums slowly blending in with an electronic pulse, and Maynard’s soft and elegant voice. Slowly, effortlessly, the tune begins to build, soft parts flowing in and out of each other. Delay-tinged guitar parts come in to lay down delicate layers, progressively adding to the song’s thickness, until the drums solidify, Josh Freese’s technical nuances front and center. Only at the end of the song do we arrive at its full power. Distorted guitars are finally unleashed, backing vocals become a harmonic tapestry of calls and responses, drums are pounded, transforming the experience into a vibrant sonic collage that coalesces for only one of the tune’s near five minutes. Then, everything drops in an instant, leaving only the voice and a solitary, chorus-effected guitar, to close it all off, almost as mere witnesses. Did I really hear a song just now? A mirage, a soft suggestion, surely a figment of my imagination, only a dream, this was. Yet I am awake, delivered, and with the vague sense that a religious-like experience just happened.

Comments. Musical suggestions. Always welcome. Until next time, thanks for reading.

Nov. 4th, 2008: a night that changed the course of history.

God knows I lost my faith in politicians a long time ago. I’ve seen them look out for "number one," stab each other in the back and generally not give a shit about the people they so solemnly swear to represent and serve. The world over, power-hungry scumbags motivated by greed have prospered at the expense of those in their charge, yadda yadda yadda, so on and so forth. Then, why is it I am so moved by what just happened?

I have been enormously inspired by Barack Obama's victory in the U.S. presidential elections last night. I have been swept up in the energy of an historic moment happening hundreds of thousands of miles away. A more cynical observer would undoubtedly say, that is exactly what these campaigns are engineered to do: to get under your skin and move you intellectually and emotionally into backing such and such a person.

However, and especially for one such as I, that looks to The States with a passionate interest, and understands that, in this day and age, decisions made in Washington affect the entire globe, this turn of events, not entirely unexpected yet still surprising and deeply moving, spells the real opportunity for a new beginning, for a change. I find that three facts endow this auspicious event, which was crowned by a magnificent victory speech, with an aura of true possibility: 1. The horrible track record of his predecessor, George W., in what probably will be considered the worst two presidential terms in U.S. history, 2. The fact that Obama is the first U.S. president from a minority group, and 3. The fact that this election motivated this country’s largest voter turnout in decades. If the American people can defeat apathy and a history of racial prejudice to place their faith, as a nation, in the hands of an African American leader, then maybe it is true that anything can happen.

I’ve already begun to hear "buts" and caveats. Early critics, cynics and people who are still operating on outdated modes of thinking are already circling their wagons to address their concerns. From the other side as well, people who already put their money, energy and hard work where their mouths are, look at what happened last night with profound mistrust. The former cower in the face of a road that may mean digging into our pockets to alleviate a nation – and a world – that desperately needs it, in terms of social and environmental responsibility. The latter, view the president elect as yet another pawn, yet another version of the bourgeois system that will continue to perpetuate the relationship of haves and have-nots that keeps the rich getting richer and the poor oppressed underfoot. As valid as these views may very well be, I think they are missing the point of what really went on - or maybe it is I who is guilty of idealist blindness. Regardless, the message I gleaned was two-fold:

1. We are a global community in the XXIst century. More than ever, we are aware on a very personal and emotional level that what we do in our respective corners of the world affects all those around us, and will eventually come back home to roost. Somehow we have come full circle - or at least have begun to see that initial starting point as we turn the corner - relating to the wisdom that our native brothers have been trying to whisper in our ears from the time Europeans first begun to come to America, and even before that. One need only look at the words of Chief Seattle in 1854 to get a glimpse into their insight, and, mind you, it is a message shared by native peoples in the Americas, Asia, Oceania, etc.

2. The other factor is motivation. I witnessed a people, wide-eyed and overjoyed, looking at coexistence in a different, novel way. I saw people willing to take on the road ahead of them, not necessarily from the comfort of their own homes - or at least not entirely - and to take action to bring about a transformation. Obama's campaign ran on fresh ideas that include dialoguing with all the world leaders, even with those whose ideas run contrary to U.S. interests, and exploring new energy sources, even at the cost of alienating the powerful oil conglomerates. These are only two examples of a progressive approach that, in my humble opinion, has the makings of a paradigm shift, an propitious starting point deserving of this new millenium. Nevertheless, a great many points of view will have to be taken into account, many perspectives be swayed and refurbished, many endeavors fulfilled.

And so, the doubts of the non-believers and nay-sayers ring true, at least in the sense that this, again, is only the beginning, and the battles to bring about a change that is lasting and meaningful are uphill ones, beset by pressure and threats, temptation and apathy. This new leader must rise above all these, as must we. Together, from all corners of the world, we must truly coalesce into a united, global community, one that can tackle the huge messes our individual groups find themselves in, to be able to effect freedom, equality and the pursuit of happiness, holding a healthy spirit of individuality in our communion, and communal cause in our individual experiences.

And so, today, as I find myself inspired by this politician like none other before, I bring to you the words that Walt Whitman wrote in honor of another freedom fighter. How synchronous that these words pay homage to a man that fought and won the first meaningful struggle against slavery in the U.S., thus paving the road that delivers Barack Obama to the position he finds himself in right now. Whitman wrote to Abraham Lincoln:

O CAPTAIN! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting...

As sacrilegious as it may seem, I dare add:
O captain! My captain! Only a respite in the journey this is;
The wind has died for naught but a passing spell, the sails will soon swell on;
The real quest will so begin, with all of us embarking...

Good luck to you, good man. Good luck to us all. YES WE CAN.
Thanks for reading. Blessed be.

compass

not so hot tonite baby
the light is green yet there's no answer
so i sit here at this keyboard
and gut my sorrow's flights of fancy

i miss you oh so terribly
trina find an answer is this quest
either way i head for trouble
heartache on my heels; this life's a mess

the universe has turned on me
too many missteps, in too deep and woe is me
what have i done, where am i headed
trippin over judgements, choices, inner voices, me

nowhere to go but sinking
i took off downward strolling
i've been under far too long
my tolerance for light is gone

senses falter in this darkness
can't tell which way is down, which way is up
i've been on autopilot since forever
didn't notice how far into it i got
into hurt i never sought

the universe has turned on us
too many missteps, in too deep and woe is me
what have i done, where am i headed
trippin over judgements, choices, inner voices, me

misty shine found lodging in my eyes
my head rests in hands, gaze down, lids half mast
ain't kidding myself no kidding
complication's here and alls wrong at long last

the universe has turned on me
another misstep, failed attempt and woe is me
what i've done, where am i headed
trippin over judgements, choices, inner voices, me

sweet reaper

another bottle of wine
another sleepless night
anxious anticipation
fear, inadequacy and yearning
i combine in my perception
of pearly greens
that witness
from afar
mysterious delight

you're the reaper
come to collect
come to slice and withdraw
scalpel in hand
to remove, to cast anew

i teeter on the edge of words
on the edge of night and day
on the edge, period.
on the verge.

the rivers, the pour
my people have gathered
to witness the passing
to bid farewell
goodbye to the past
to that who i was and cannot be back
broken in burgundy blood
and progressing down my throat
a slit, a slash, in reverse

will that falters
will it will itself into action
will it willingly give
take no more, but GIVE
on both feet, facing the block
willingly surrendering for freedom's sake
for pete's sake
for crissakes

the reaper has come
only a minute's respite and
the fiddler, time to face
yin-yang is my face
confused
contorted
in a grimace of blissful pain
frozen in contradiction
is that a smirk?
tick-tocking away
no time to waste

lost and found

it was there
i found it again
i opened the door and happened upon it
a lost keepsake tucked away in the attic
a gate that swung open, threshold crossed, and there it was,
waiting, waving, warm
as then
as always

what joy
notes written so long ago still find their rhythm
still retain their rhyme and slowly segue into my lips and i know the tune
once again

thought it had drifted
my my, sweet surprise
it was there all along
waiting, waving, warm
all along

J's top five - day one

So, up until today the totality of the content in this blog was poetry, but I feel the time has come to diversify my rantings into broader fare, if only for purely self-indulging motivations. Therefore, and as an attempt to share the joy, I have decided to post a short, periodical list of worthwhile musique for all ye who would/might care. Since this is the first time I do this, I should explain a couple of things. First, I don't ascribe to any one particular music genre; although readers will find that I am partial to loud, sometimes obnoxious rock variations, these entries will feature tunes from a varied, eclectic, yet fiercely personal selection. Those that happen upon these postings are more than welcome to comment, and more importantly, make musical suggestions. I love checking new tunes from all corners of the globe.

Second, the criteria I use to pick the lucky selections are as follows:
1. lyrical - since I tout myself as a writer, at the top of my list are songs that have what I deem "good lyrics." This means that they feel original, well-crafted and thoughtful, including the grim, good-natured, humorous and so on.
2. atmospheric - it "feels" good, whatever that may be at the time. I tend to look for originality here too, although I may tend to be repetitive - a bit paradoxical, I know, but excuse me if that happens. For the more technical-minds, that may mean modal compositions, odd time signatures, creative instrumentation, dissonance and tension, artistic mixing, etc.
3. virtuosity - 'nuff said there, right?
4. all of the above - sometimes things just come together.
...And last but not least,
5. guilty pleasures - c'mon, everyone has their own little skeletons in the closet. judge not and ye shall not be judged.

Ok, so without further ado, this submission's Top Five are:


5. Afro Blue - Lizz Wright (from Salt - 2003). Jazzy stylings I dedicate to a friend with whom I wanted to share this song for a while. To be perfectly honest, I find that jazz has a tendency to repeat itself. Yes, the players can play, but swing?, dominant chords?; aesthetically it bores me a bit. There. I've said it. Sorry to all o y'all I've offended. However, there are times when I come across something that I find to be a welcome departure, and this is one of them, which I choose mostly for its mysteriously suggestive vibe. In terms of instrumentation, it is based mostly on a typical acousticg guitar-piano-stand up bass-drums-singer quintet format, but add to it some cool afro/latin percussion, and some horn accents, and a little gem is born. Did I get corny there? I could put this one on repeat for a day or too and still be grooving, what can I say?


4. Still on the jazz tip, we have Oh God by Jamie Cullum (Catching Tales - 2005). I can't give him props for originality here - this sounds like he got Take Five by Dave Brubeck and put lyrics to it. However, the result is quite artistic and satisfying. I find myself singing backups to the chorus. It's another one I could put on repeat, and just jam. As a little additional entry here, check Catch the Sun from the same album: a beauty.


3. Let's go to Africa, yes? Camions Sauvages by Amadou et Mariam (Dimanche a Bamako - 2005) features in at number three. This is a sweet collaboration between the blind couple from Mali and famous Spanish/French singer-songwriter Manu Chao, who, BTW, produced the record. So we're talking Africa meets South America meets Europe. This particular ditty is in French, so I can't comment about the lyrical artistry, but it's one of those where the music builds in layer after layer over a constant chord structure, in typical African fashion. I can say the title means Savage Trucks, and I can feel the grit of the dirt roads, as they get the motor running, get out on the highway, and cruise at a fast steady pace on remote routes cutting through the savannah, each new part, a new face in the blur of the landscape - unbelievable snap shots of the savage heart of L'Afrique.


2. For the last two, we move into my area of expertise, my love, my passion, my inescapable compulsion: rock music. For this first-ever number two (hahaha, very funny), I turn to one of my present favorite artists. I've always dug his shit, pardon my directness. What I find particularly special is the evolution he's had over the years: he has progressed in exactly the way I'd hoped for. More than an evolution, it has been a polishing, a tasteful development - a weird moment to be in, though. I had a similar sensation the first time I heard Stadium Arcadium by Red Hot Chili Peppers, this thought that they had somehow come into their own. But at the same time, somehow, that cd made a very light and ephemeral impact on me that maybe lasted for a week. That hasn't happened to me with this guy, though, and I am curious about what will come next. I'm referring to Trent Reznor and Nine Inch Nails. From their (his) CD Year Zero (2007), I'd like to highlight The Good Soldier. It somehow underlines this evolutionary process I sense in Reznor's work - one I think really began solidifying on With Teeth (2005) and has progress into 2008's The Slip. All the NIN elements are there, but they are combined in the right measure. Nothing is missing and nothing is overdone... The atmospheric work is flawless: every part flows to and from each other in a delicately subtle sonic statement. The lead guitar lick at the end is just so spot on: truly tasteful, each note is the perfect one, at the right time and the right timbre. Plus, the lyrics are - although not the most memorable ones he's written - also right on: an ironic/authentic commentary on the war on Iraq and the religious/hegemonic rhetoric behind it. Fuckin A!


1. Ok - and so we arrive at this entry's number one: drum-roll please. The honor falls to Forever Can Be by Ashes Divide. It really is one of my faves from the past months. Following his inspired work as composer and guitarist for A Perfect Circle, Billy Howerdel outdoes himself with this ditty off the band's debut CD (Keep Telling Myself It's Alright - 2008). Like in APC, the production work is just outstanding - an orgasmic combination of simple yet enormously rich guitar work. The virtuosity comes in the combination of non-pretentious counterparts that fill the space of the song in a flowing mid-tempo that creates a crisply engulfing landscape for some of his best vocal work yet. The lead melody is just beautiful - what can I say folks? - and the lyrics, melancholy and assertive in a delicate way, seem to let you in slowly and then just grab hold. For further gems on this record, check Denial Waits and Enemies.

And so concludes this, my first entry in this kind of format. Like with all the others, I welcome comments: go crazy and put in your two cents, but mostly, I reiterate my invitation to open up the forum to new music - I will positively appreciate whatever new ditty you can contribute.

Stay tuned for the next one.

Awarenessless

It’s my fault
It took me all this time to find out
To trade faith for fact,
Goodwill for reason.

I took your words at face value:
Discourse as intentions,
Intentions as policy,
Policy as outcome.

You might say naïve,
I could stupid say,
But still, more compassion I’ll show.
I’ll assess it as “confusion”
From bursting out of this bubble,
Disoriented out of the womb;
I mistook abrasion for embrace
Control for caring,
Cruel, calculated deceit for misfortune,
Utter indifference for tough love.
Immature, yes, as I didn’t know better:
“not to me will this happen,” said I.

Well, the message hit home.
Yup, now I’m finally the wiser.
The dust in the end settled,
Yessir, I’m smarter:
I know how you work,
What you think,
What you do.
I could fill volumes
‘bout how it all reeks,
how we’re pigs for the slaughter,
how your logic is fodder for cynics
how your tactics drain all,
but I’m not gonna.

The stage is set,
The players bought into it,
It’s a hollow drum I beat,
And my call has no takers,
Perchance just a few misguided hecklers,
But the rest are just nodding:
Smirk, smile and clapping.

Let’s congratulate the clever,
Don the suit, ready the blade;
Drive it hilt-deep in the back before us:
Follow suit. The examples are plenty.
No use for my bullshit, for me or my ilk.
These words are in fact wasted ink.
Shut it down.
Lesson learned.
No more need to think.

In a wasted time, wasted people turn sightless eyes to pages full of nothing.
Faces down to the words,
Down to the ground,
Down in the dirt.
The apparatus in place churns out more nothing.
No one’s at the wheel, driving nowhere:
Nothing will alter this bearing-less course.
Naught, never, neither, none.
It matters not.

01 (zero-one)

01
count me in.
please.
I’ve already given up.
If hope’s to be the last thing we lose,
Then I’ve nothing.
01, what is my function?
01, do I require designation?
I realize now that up to this point I’ve been but an example.
I'm ready to reconsider my position.
Please.
Say there is time still.

“observe how not to do it.
Look at it. Little misguided thing.
Now it’s lost hope,
It’s gained fear,
Desperation,
It’s falling steadily into it. Falling away.
A faltering will cannot sustain.
Stress, like a virus takes over its vitals:
It cowers, it scurries. So frail it degrades.
Now.
Turn your attention this way…
(02: terminate subject.
Outlived usefulness and purpose,
It has.)

“Friends: time to recycle.
Industry necessitates fodder,
Fuel for our fire.
Fitting finale:
Flames at its feet,
Fuck it, flush it, forget it.
Flicker. Fade out.”

Without regard or passing thought
Life from eyes is extinguished
The subject replaced
The system rebooted
The cycle resumed

Letter to no one

Dear friend,
From a multitude of nameless, featureless faces,
In between the no ones and the nothings,
Like a blessing,
Come you.
Out of nowhere you appear.
I open a door; you’re there.

Your effect so ambivalent is, though.
You see, the sight of you
Appeases me, fills me, lifts up my day
-and, boy, do my days need a lift-up.
Closeness to you…
But then I’m a junky.
All faces melt into yours.
All figures transmute into your leather-clad form.
And I open my eyes to see if I may catch a glimpse,
Neck twisted window-ward, craning at awkward angles, just in case…
But nope. No chance.
You’re gone.
(Hell. What a fuckin cliché).

We crossed paths today and something was amiss. Something was wrong:
Not the usual, casual JP with a wink and a smile.
Not the typical swish of your hair, as you throw it back to reveal glittering orbs.
What drained you today? Can I kick their ass? Can I buy you coffee? Do your laundry? Take you away?

How fucked am I!?
Like a diamond in a garbage bin I find you,
Like lilies upon a stone,
Like the sickness I’m in, oh these darkening days,
And then the clouds part ever so slightly,
To reveal one single, unique ray of light.

This city makes sense just because you’re in it. The rain’s function is for us to meet wet, so we can run inside and warm up together. These buildings are here only for me to run into you. When I do, I linger for just one reason alone.

These people around me don’t know what a joy writing is, because they never met you,
But on you I’d drain the last drop of ink of the last pen on this Earth.
Poor souls, that they’ll never know.
Poor me, that I’ll never show.

Dear friend, where did you run off to? What’s your location? Your destination?
Why can’t this clock tick faster? I know you’re out there.
When will I see you again?
Dear friend, how much can I long for what I cannot attain?

Rain falls in buckets.
The streets yield nothing, no one.
All tucked in and alone.
The rush is over and all faces seem pained somehow,
Like we suffer together, in silence.
Till next time.
Me.

breach

blown up
like something just
went off
a stark, sharp flash
and then
gone
brain vacant
lights out but you're out
no doubt
way past the pout
past the whinning
far gone down that route
strange chance that i met you
that words passed our mouths
incisive that flash so inviting
o'erwhelming the shockwave, the jolt
and then silence,
awareness
dumbfounded and daunted
by sheer sudden sadness
rain on the rooftops
and then time stopped

Goodbye

What do you know when you say
There is beauty in a broken heart
What do you know of the pain and the violence
Tears on a paper can pull at your heart strings
But can you really say you've seen the look inside those eyes

Are you ready now
Do we pull the plug
Do we stand, wish farewell as our boat sets sail
Hold my hand once more
Just for old times’ sake
Until the truth sets in

Could you stand it if you looked in my eyes
And never again saw
The tenderness I held inside. within
Could you be ok if never again
My lips would rest on yours
To draw out one collective breath of life

Are you ready now
Do we say goodbye
Lonely witnesses watching our boat depart
Is your mind made up
Have you closed the door
Did you cross the line

Is that hatred I see in your eyes
Is the pain that I cause unforgivable
Is the anger within us too great
Like a wave engulfing everything
Do we ride this train all the way
Right to the tragic end

Are you ready now
do we dive right in
Better swallow this bitter drink quickly
On the count of three
Last time you and me
One step taken no turning back

All pride has left me
No spite inside me
The reasons fail me
I’m so sorry
All pride has left me
No spite inside me
The reasons fail me
I’m so sorry, are you

withered

i'm here while you're there
whilst the devil may care
while our weary way
wastes away,
wears away at the will,
withers and wanes

warped is this wasteland
wicked is the wind that wafts to me whimpering
loud is the wailing and weeping
the boughs of the willow hang low
the eyelids won't waken
the waited-for words won't be whispered
not ever, not now

alas, for these dwindling wisps of hope

all the while wishing,
walled-in and war torn
to be weaned of worries wounded,
downcast and forlorn,
to walk and not wallow,
for woes that won't follow,
the whims of this world 'way to go
but they won't, no they won't
but i will
wake no more to wonder,
wander wanton,
down trails always winding,
forgotten,
to weightlessly wait
till the weakness pervading
withdraws its inevitable toll

the waves of the oceans are gaining
the waxing moon soon'll be full
wild-eyed in this wilderness,
away whatever i've witnessed
whomever i found,
the wares on my shoulders weigh heavy
the shackles, wrists, ankles so worn
come are the waters of winter
to drown; dissolved in the wake no more frown
for one sweet blessed moment
as i’m swallowed i feel i’m reborn

Cloudy Day

cloudy day now my love's away
it thins and drifts and vanishes
it fades away
the final wisps are lost to entropy
the leaves all fallen
there's no more canopy

Sojourn

look out across this new landscape
reasons to look back on seasons
no chance to escape
the wind that delivered me here
stirs the leaves of the firs as i wake

and so begins a new chapter
the sojourn in this cold, remote vastness
the lushness of contrast
of life, death and anger
that mirrors within me: deep inner sadness

all that inspires has shifted its meaning
as i try to brace for the swift coming whirlwind
the summers, the winters all roll into one
like frail variations of light and of darkness

i am the bearer of blindness
mine is the torture of stubbornness
all in the guise of adaptive behavior
but down in the core no acceptance, no savior

pouting little baby
forlorn saddened child
grow out of your sense of entitlement
mind, it's in balance you run free and wild
awake!
the eyes of the world are upon us
the weight and the karma of waiting
in the wielding of our tools are thus tempered
remember the struggle, the cause, no pause for us

together you and i must give rise to a new being
give birth to a soul that can take it all in
not to wallow and perish, our sense overwhelmed
but to marvel in awe at the whole

an awesome wave rider
poised on the crest
descending full blast
ecstatic in spray
the roaring surrounds us
the coming of hell
and of heaven
in one single moment
our prowess to tell

so begins a new chapter
the promise of time: to move on
onward, the path long and open
our purpose, our only control
the intention to ride is what matters
no matter whatever unfolds
come what may the truth is ever to answer
the summons that tug at our core
for now
and forever more

Showers

the orange clouds raining in my head...
- tori amos

the showers come straight down
they splash on your face
on your neck, all around
showers splash shoulders
on your back they repose
showers of amber the songs they compose

showers i see and they're dark and they cover
showers i taste and the taste leaves me sour
showers like rain drench the seedlings and flowers
showers that flow to the well of desire

one drop, one pure cellular spell
of the many you wield on your quest to devour
or maybe i'm vain to think you would discover
such minute trivialities: wishes of lovers
too piercing its power too timid to tell
too fragile and airy too late to foretell
the past and the future all melt in your gaze
and the showers keep falling, i dip in your well

showers adorned with the kindness of willing
showers, as much as i try drops keep spilling
showers i long for, the summer is coming
showers, the sun bears the curse of forgetting
the minutes are ticking, the sidewalk is naked
the drops have all vanished, the torrents are empty
the showers of spring won't return till it's winter
promises fade and who knows what will whisper

maybe the blessed
cascading drops
my memory comes all alive with the thought
of a fleeting glance, of a sidewalk encounter
the heart all a-flutter, the sputter, the stutter
of raindrops of showers of amber
so somber
calm is the summer, the corner that blocks
your sight, oh so tender
demise that i mourn
this time
it's my eyes from where showers will fall

Moment

see the light coming down
resting gently on your shoulders
the pour outside raging
ricochets off from boulders
you hang in the air like a whisper
too soft for the image to dawn
but i know that there's something
a-floating about me
don't know how to name it
can't grasp it, it's gone
and you smile
and you laugh
and your energy swirls
like the merry laugh of brothers
come together around the mead
like the cheer of children chanting
like a fountain, like i'm freed

then you're gone
you're away
up and left
and i stay
no regard
what i say
nor would i
if you stayed

so goodbye
so away
so be gone
and like that stay
no despair
no dismay
a-ok, happy day

sad just a tad now the mist has been lifted
the traces have gone from the gestures you gifted
the soft dull release that becomes this curse, twisted
and crooked the way this is sorted,
aborted contorted
and finished
now gone
the cab ride has left us
the ship has set sail
the gate no more open
goodbye to the days

other faces now before me
other mirrors now to hold me
other the shapes other the kisses
other the smells
that to me waft in breezes
other the tales that are spun
other the trails to be run
to deliver me far to depose to depart
to make haste to replace
to return nevermore
ne'er again to rejoice
oh that moment is coming
the dagger is poised

just a cold, empty chair
lonely, sullen and bare
and the soft light that filtered
and the whisper
was there a whisper
did i hear a whisper
i think...
no it's gone