The music is coming through you

I can hear it in your voice

What will you do with your song

I will listen if you let me near

Soft notes filling air and ears

A song called into being

First Song

He's pacing the stage as the band finishes setting up
behind him. His thin black sports coat fits well with
his faded black dress pants. Both have survived many
nights that have started like this. The bass player is
looking at him while the drummer is impatiently
rapping his fingers on his snare drum. The guitarist looks
up to let them know he's almost done tuning. The sound
guy lets them know he's ready whenever they are. Drake
stops pacing for a moment to give him the thumbs up.
The guitar player nods at him. He glances over at his
keyboard player set up next to his backing vocalist Nancy.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. We're Mutual Fools."
Four clicks on the hi-hat and the music began. The wash
of color from the stage lights might as well have been
the barometer for their souls. The room swelled and filled
with the sound of a band roaring to life. Drake moved
side to side across the stage with the microphone grasped
firmly in hand. Each gesture of his hands and body
accented the music in a way no punctuation could alter
the words on a page. They moved in perfect time as
the music moved from verse to chorus, to verse to chorus
to bridge and chorus. Nancy looked as glamorous as
an old time movie starlet with her sequined dress hugging
her body tight as she sang and played the tambourine.
As the final beat of the song approached Drake turned
his back to the audience and threw the mic straight into
the air. Without looking he reached for it in air and caught
it as the final beat landed with the power of pure conviction.  

movement

moving slowly
as if trapped in honey
rhythm seeps into
bone and flesh
soon enough
you don't resist
and move and
move and move
to the universe
finding itself
within you

Hold These Together

my hand will not be held unless I let it be
this life is boundless in it's changes and
pitfalls living through these days I am left
to think about my mistakes and good luck

must I reorient myself to a larger goal to
move towards I think upon this and believe
this should be the case what goal and to
what end do i wish to move towards it

we could have met this morning but I know
that will not be so maybe in a few more
weeks we'll have the time to be together
again even if just for a morning breakfast

am i ready Alice to see the place of your
spirituality the place where the waters of
the soul moved as waves back and forth
to the invisible shore of the heart and soul

the simple act of you singing and playing
guitar is enough to overwhelm my heart
to know you exist to know this is your
effect on me doesn't fail to astonish

I who desire peace and enlightenment
what am I doing to nurture this change
in the world words cannot be enough
action however small is still action

He plays his guitar
Sings sweet words over his strings
His eyes closed tightly

Reasons

How much sense do my reasons make 
if I were to tell you why I write, why
I make music? 

They may not make sense to you, or 
even seem justifiable. It doesn't matter
much to me, really. 

I have to. I cannot let this part of me die.
I give it life as often as I can in order to
give myself life. 

It is both blood and water. It is inspiration
and heartache. It is rapture and catharsis.
It is to be as fully human as possible. 

To wake and
find oneself
in a calm 
and meditative
peace.

Bossa Nova in the morning
to move the heart
and wake the soul.
Bossa Nova to lift the spirit
from night and into day.

Song of Morning

Your voice greets me in your absence 
Slow strum of the guitar
as words drift languidly in air
Towards another shore
you have journeyed
Some future day
perhaps I'll see you
waving from the beach

Moving languidly
Beat floats into morning air
Do you stir now Dear

Hands glide over keys
Your feet picking up the beat
Fingers plucking notes

Dancing by yourself in your room
Waiting for the rain
Beat moves through the air
Voices fill the morning
Move your feet
Do not stay still
Rain will fall
Pitter patter rhythm
Is coming back again

Who Will Replace the Old Gods?

To Paraphrase Dennis

The best music you feel in 
your head
your heart and
your feet

Waste Your Life

Waste the hours of daylight
and moonlight
whenever possible

Lounge about as though
you are bored royalty

Wake up and stay in bed
Daydream as soon as possible

Rise only when necessary
Travel to a secluded beach
and empty conscious thought

Fall in and out of love everyday
Let your heart be broken wisely

Listen more intently than necessary
Speak only as a last resort

Embrace the creative act
Participate as often as possible

If a muse should appear
Be grateful and follow

Until the world has exhausted itself
And new life springs from ash

If everything is free
then nothing is for sale

On Virgil

lost in the night
walking cracked 
                          and dirty streets
with broke and dirty people
you realize
you have always been
one of them

Brief Moments of Immortality

There was the time Bear listened to Olive sing
in her living room. Bear was enamored
with her singing as he always was.
Olive was performing that night
to celebrate her new album.
Bear was driving her
and they brought a bottle of whiskey
and a bottle of tequila to share.
Walls intimate with art,
a bare floor with a chair for her.
She sang and sang
and sang, until there were no words left,
until there was relief and joy,
until the bottles were empty
and the night could barely
hold itself back from morning.

slow parade

A slow parade of discovery
with no drum major leading
the band. Music in and
out of time, rhythm
merely a suggestion.

Keeping Time

My heart is an unsteady metronome

It can't help be off time 

     when you're around

Jumping 

     ahead of the beat

It rushes at your touch

Tell me

How is your metronome today?