woodland girl

Dear Blog Readers,

Thank you for continuing to follow me despite my long absences. I’m living in Germany at the moment and here is one of the songs from a wave of inspiration I had in early autumn. It’s a little change of direction, not completely where I want to be as a songwriter, but a step there!

she’s a quiet one,

she’s like a woodland girl and she sings,

she’s just a little child to me

i’ll go out walking with her,

peach petite,

and i’ll buy her ice cream on the beach

oh, if only he had known,

and if only he could see

the sad soul that’s in me

you thought it’s sweet,

the taste is sticky, sickly,

as if you’d tried to kiss me,

creepy

quiet man

why do you think that it’s okay

to come so close to me today?

oh, if only he had known,

and if only he could see

that in my self i am free to choose,

and not diminish in the pretty little game you play with me

and not be under any kindly little boy’s abuse,

cause there’s a fire in me

little boy,

though you think you have a toy,

i am no ordinary fairy

i’ll fly away,

another place, another day,

and then i’ll find a proper man who gives me room,

is big enough himself to let me choose,

even if i seem ever so nice and cute, well

it doesn’t mean i respect you

if only you could know

how strong my true love goes

you’d run a mile before you tried to play with fire,

simpers and smiles will never match up to desire,

i need a flame that burns much brighter

than a woodland creature

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Aphids

If ‘you and me’ became a thing,
Then would you be
Content to bring
Your heart unto the table alone,
And share your part in brine and bone
But ask for nothing less from here?

O, I could give you that, I fear,
Too easily; but idols fade
So fast, and love can wither
Like the grass, so I would rather
Live first deprived of glamour,
Shorn of the bloom of summer,
Even though we’re at the height.

The golden beams will glisten;
The apple, it will shimmer,
And we’ll cry out in the heat
And the humidity. But none
Shall falter, none shall take that forward path
So bold, and yet so wandering.

Yes, let us fade, instead of this
Too too ornate temptation; let us take
The greener and the humbler way,
The naked and the day-to-day.
Instead of seizing greedily
Those things which we think make us free,
Like tiny aphids let us strive
And crawl towards a better life.
Although we whisper, let our voice
Carry beneath the general noise
And outlast all this earthly splendour
In cold stone holy, natural grandeur.

At times

Every time I write, I feel a fool
When all the thought, the work
Into which I pour my all –
Dissolves.
Sometimes, it’s true,
Mad paper shreds won’t buy
My sanity, and bleed no genius,
But waste.
At other times, as sure as gravity
God will drop through the thought,
Clunking at the bottom
Like gold.
But even at these times,
Have I been gullible? Have I lost
My wit, over-gestating, still too much
Waste paper?
Oh, all my heart, it bleeds for you;
And all my lungs, they breathe
For you. For you,
Alone,
On whom it all –
They all, that is, all of my parts
Collected – gathers, never will dispel,
Or fall.

Liminal Work

It’s like prayer –
Out of fear you come,
you go.

You never want to stay,
you stay – away,
You play
Around,
Ellipsical,
And taper out the day until you cannot bear
One moment more of sun —

So then you plunge;
The water’s cold;
The fear is old,
but bold
and plays
In several tortuous ways
On innards,
Swirling,
meeting.

Just ask,
you say?
Just knock,
and it will go away.
To knock,
the door is all in dark,
and you must reach it-
plunge in deep —

One moment more,
This lasting fear
Will soon be gone
And you’re absorbed
In light-full patterns all around-
It’s like your eyes are full of light,
and beaming, LIGHT,
On every book that can be found.

It’s LIGHT that is of You,
The life of men,
The light that never dies, the darkness
Has not seen it. But it lasts –

and Penetrate the broken shards,
deep unknown cavity of dark –
I’ll stay a lifetime in this dark,
Just to be beamed upon by You.

London, Brave Heart

Aslan calls Lucy ‘Brave Heart’ –
and do you say- you do?
to me?
 
It’s right, you see, you say,
I shout – to London
‘My brave heart’
 
and how would I have known?
how would I know without You?
that voice within me,
trumpets,
‘Brave’,
and this is where,
this is where you were belonging,
with words unspoken (no words needed) –
‘this is where you belong’.
 
From Scotland I come,
rushing headlong
in the rugged land shouting within,
‘London, I come!’
 
From the north I come,
Finsbury Park (spare home)
And all the dregs are nearly stifling my candle flame- from the ride on the train –
but, together, we come –
I am not one,
With You I’m done;
London, we come.

III (untitled June poem, published belatedly)

Today, the day he walked away
Was the day the Muse came back to me.
A handsome boy with ruddy cheeks
And corn-made hair, and happy weeks
Ahead: all fade in moonlight now,
He loved another, he loved before,
He’ll love again and I’ll grow grey:
Yesterday he walked away,
And today the Muse comes back to me.
 
Today, the day of emptiness
I found a sound way to be full
With sighs and groanings, not a word,
Not chasing wind, and not absurd
But God’s around, and God has heard
And whispers to my drowsiness:
Today, the day he was away
is the Day my heart came back to me.
 
Today, the night of sadness
Was the night my voice was rasping, hoarse,
And I loved to hear the sound, of course;
The night I listened to some words,
And smiled with people, all absurd,
But wished for nothing, like the night
And liked to talk, up late at night
And think-meander poems slight
About how my love and how my God
Vanished, and we came together again:
Most blessed am I, above all men
For the night my God came back to me.