TRACKS
In Transition
Vox, like a
frightened sound, moved me...
sounding like the
demons leaving.
Tore at the fears
of my soul.
I can't fear those
things, I know.
(But) phoenix
moved me most when she's in flight.
Ignited pyre,
consumed in flames of light.
That's the way I
am.
It's just the way
we are.
In transition for
the moment... here and now.
Repeat the cycle
out of ashes.
It's the moment of
transition.
Passing from life
to death to birth -
the death of love,
the birth of life.
The keenest sense
is mourning loss of time.
Letting go of
hours is a crime.
Feeling the
change, seeing the score,
we'll come lately,
never more.
Don't explain or
justify.
Define and mourn
but just don't cry.
Famine's 'tween
two people that keep living.
Justice never sees
to it they're giving.
That's the way I
am.
It's just the way
we are.
In transition for
the moment... here and now.
Living in a Gaff
Climbing air, my
hands are weak, pulling on a gaff.
I can't bear to
pull it out.
The pain could
make me laugh.
Religious leaders
in a gaffe -
selling words,
while plates they pass.
Old man blowing
tubes of glass.
He's a gaffer, old
and crass.
Headlines read
"The gaffe is back!"
like a faux pas
when they attack.
It's a blunder,
it's a hoax.
For all the
ordinary folks
read it in the
news tabloids
where they call
the black "negroids."
Read it where you
buy it cheap.
See how the
religious creep?
Living in a gaff
Living on a
butcher's hook
Living in a hoax,
a fraud
Living as a
fake... applaud
Too much pain to
bear
Gaff it up to
cheat your love
Living in a cheap
theatre
behind the curtain
call.
When your time's
up, there's no mercy;
in the music hall
you fall.
Dance the
Charleston on your knees.
Abuse her, strike
her, if you please.
Living in a cheap
theatre
behind the curtain
call.
When your time's
up, there's no mercy;
in the music hall
you fall.
There are secrets
I keep hidden -
even from myself.
I cannot trust.
Breathe Life
Listen for the
silence of within.
Listen to the
breath of life flow in.
Feel the rhythm of
your heart.
Let the water take
you out.
Breathe in---
Breathe out---
(You're a) drop of
water in the ocean that is God.
Breathe out,
breathe in.
Now breathe life.
Dream in quiet
sleep as you are.
Drifting in deep,
floating star.
Feel the pulse of
your filling lungs.
Let the spirit
move you, speak in tongues.
Breathe in---
Breathe out---
Now you're the
ocean in the vastness of God.
Spectres (of the Gin Mill)
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!
No Time to Cry
My home is the
universe, my family all mankind.
My mission is the
search for truth;
the light has
filled my mind.
Wealth cannot be
measured, now, by things
the eyes can only
see.
We must believe a
new reality.
Wounds will heal,
there's no time to cry.
Though troubles do
arise, you'll see
they're blessings
in disguise.
No time to cry (We
can't live without light)
No time to cry (We
can't see without sight)
Body, mind and
spirit balance in the end.
We're living in
such darkness,
but truth can heal
and mend.
Rage and hate
descend and die
so love can heal
the hurting heart.
Once there was a
time we thought we'd nothing left to give.
But now we are
aware there's no time to cry,
no time to die,
no time but to
live.
Holding Hands Forever
Sitting in a
circle on the floor,
the last one to
enter shuts the door.
They've come to
hear a bit about themselves -
clues to get them
through another day.
"What do you see
for me, St. Catherine?"
"Do you have
a clue, St. Catherine?"
"What is your
message, St. Catherine?"
They want to know.
Holding hands
forever.
Holding hands
forever.
Nervous pulse,
candles calm
forever linked as
chains by palm
Impressions flow
from astral lips
- clues to get
them through another day.
"A pure white
cloud - a nun in habit -
transfigures
softly over her face."
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!
Listen for the Snow
Listen. Listen.
Can you hear the snow?
Listen for it now.
I can hear it now.
Listen. Listen.
Listen.
Listen for the
snow.
Listen to the
snow, it's gently falling to the ground.
I can hear it
fall, I can hear it coming down
around the corner
of my soul.
And now the rock
cannot roll.
Near the hour,
through a doorway, I slipped,
hands held firmly
descending.
Now in open air's
a bitter freeze
bites my face and
the chill is fierce.
People slip by
mummified (and) wrapped themselves in warmth.
Casting off the
chill and ascending.
Guards by the
doorway of their homes of love.
Inside my home's
kept warm.
My admiration
prevails.
I lunge into the
thickened grandeur,
lured by the
stranger strutting on street lamps
and whi--sh-sh-ing
on rooftops.
Listen. Listen.
I can feel it
penetrate my mind
with its
overtones...
whistling at me
and whistling through my bones.
Listen.
Outside the
no-good winterkill's revengeful.
It draws children
as playmates.
The no-good
winterkill is wild and thoughtless,
yet I stand as a
spectator.
Listen. Listen for
the snow.
I can hear it now.
I can hear it
coming around... me.
It's in me.
It's through me.
It's all around.
White, crisp,
cool, clear.
I love the snow
more than children.
The Searching Penguin
Such monotonous
landscapes of
glacieresque
pre-nature thought,
my penguin friend
longing to explore Japan
where the sun is
set, light, night of the dark moon
luminating his way
so...
what could he say,
"Screech, speech, lafff..."
Sponging his way
through ice water,
ice after way...
other way
to reach Japan
where his own language could move
the oriental
men... their eastern thought.
Song after
screech,
his penguin speech
and the following
of frozen creach
who pier at each.
Passing bay in
awe.
Bay of awe holds
shapes of light,
of ground and
sound which grow arctic colours;
swerves and spurts
of clouded, eluded,
time-captive cool
fluorescent streams on jagged,
japped
glacier-sides.
The penguin keeps
to himself
for in each
mind-adventure and escapade,
Japan can only be
a dream.
Meditations
Let not the
faucets of our minds
drip slow the
dreams flowing velvety
through the plains
of our consciousness.
Free the
meditations from within.
Free the strain and
flow out of secrets, deep
and seldom seen on
the other side
from without the
seed of thoughtlessness.
Free the
meditations from within.
Open, let the
petals bend and
scents of sweet
pour laughingly
upon the meadow
tops which wave in the breeze,
releasing
perpetual peace.
Motion to
creatures colours, comfort...
the indigo of
midnight blue.
When all is peace
and only one star shines.
Free the
meditations from within.
Breathe in the air
that is fresh, alive.
(It) lifts high
the creatures - you and I.
Breath is the
life-giving wonder.
Free the
meditations from within.
All is peace and
know that "I" am God.
All is peace and
know that "I" am God.
Free the
meditations from within.
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