by John Rutter
How do you capture the wind on the water?
How do you count all the stars in the sky?
How can you measure the love of a mother?
Or how can you write down a baby's first cry?
Candlelight, angel light
Firelight, and starglow
Shine on his cradle till breaking of dawn
Gloria, Gloria in excelsis deo!
Angels are singing
The Christ child is born
Shepherds and wisemen will kneel and adore him
Seraphim 'round him their vigil will keep
Nations proclaim him their Lord and their Savior
But Mary will hold him and sing him to sleep
Find him at Bethlehem laid in a manger
Christ our Redeemer asleep in the hay
Godhead incarnate and hope of salvation
A child with his mother that first Christmas Day
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Candlelight Carol
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Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Don oíche úd i mBeithil
Traditional
Don oíche úd i mBeithil
beidh tagairt ar ghréin go brách,
Don oíche úd i mBeithil
go dtáinig an Bhréithir slán;
Tá gríosghrua ar spéarthaibh
's an talamh 'na chlúdach bán;
Féach Íosagán sa chléibhín,
's an Mhaighdean 'Á dhiúl le grá
Ar leacain lom an tsléibhe
go nglacann na haoirí scóth
Nuair in oscailt ghil na spéire
tá teachtaire Dé ar fáil;
Céad glóire anois don Athair
i bhFlaitheasaibh thuas go hard!
Is feasta fós ar talamh
d'fhearaibh dea-mhéin' siocháin!
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Saturday, December 17, 2011
For You
by Jody Stephens
Sometimes I can't help but worship you
I love you and all the things that you do
I thought I'd sit and write this song just for you
To let you know that I am thinking of you
When I come home so cold at night
You'll have the fireplace burning bright
Thoughts of how it's going to be
And how I'll spend those cold, cold nights warm by you
And in these autumn days I wander through the leaves
Thinking of those winter nights I'll spend with you
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Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Fum, Fum, Fum
Traditional
A vint-i-cinc de desembre
fum, fum, fum
Ha nascut un minyonet
ros i blanquet, ros i blanquet;
Fill de la Verge Maria,
n'és nat en una establia.
Fum, fum, fum.
Allí dalt de la muntanya
fum, fum, fum
Si n'hi ha dos pastorets
abrigadets, abrigadets;
amb la pell i la samarra,
menjant ous i botifarra.
Fum, fum, fum.
Qui dirà més gran mentida?
Fum, fum, fum
Ja en respon el majoral
el gran tabal, el gran tabal;
jo en faré deu mil camades
amb un salt totes plegades.
Fum, fum, fum.
A vint-i-cinc de desembre
fum, fum, fum
n'és el dia de Nadal,
molt principal, molt principal,
quan n'eixirem de matines,
farem bones escudines.
Fum, fum, fum.
Déu vos do unes santes festes
fum, fum, fum
amb temps de fred i calor,
i molt millor, i molt millor
fent-ne de Jesús memòria
perquè ens vulgui dalt la glòria.
Fum, fum, fum.
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Monday, December 12, 2011
December
by Gerard Love
I'll take this chance to tell my friends
What I'm thinking of
On second thought, I'll think some more
And tell you later on
She don't even care
But I would die for her love
My mind is full of several things
Resembling a thought
I'll take this chance to tell my friends
What I'm thinking of
She don't even care
But I would die for her love
I've had this plan for many years
But now I can't remember
I wanted to assassinate December
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Labels: frustration, longing, melancholia, romance, winter
Thursday, December 8, 2011
In dulci jubilo
by Heinrich Suso
In dulci jubilo,
Nun singet und seid froh!
Unsers Herzens Wonne
Leit in praesepio,
Und leuchtet als die Sonne
Matris in gremio,
Alpha es et O, Alpha es et O!
O Jesu parvule
Nach dir ist mir so weh!
Tröst mir mein Gemüte
O puer optime
Durch alle deine Güte
O princeps gloriae.
Trahe me post te, Trahe me post te!
O Patris caritas!
O Nati lenitas!
Wir wären all verloren
Per nostra crimina
So hat er uns erworben
Coelorum gaudia
Eia, wären wir da, Eia, wären wir da!
Ubi sunt gaudia
Nirgend mehr denn da!
Da die Engel singen
Nova cantica,
Und die Schellen klingen
In regis curia.
Eia, wären wir da, Eia, wären wir da!
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Tuesday, December 6, 2011
from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
by Hunter S. Thompson
San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run ...but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant ...
History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of 'history' it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.
My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights—or very early mornings—when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder's jacket ...booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) ... but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that ...
There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda .... You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning ....
And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave ....
So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark —that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.
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Labels: anxiety, change, disharmony, history
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Minuit, chrétiens
by Placide Cappeau
Minuit, chrétiens, c'est l'heure solennelle
Où l'Homme-Dieu descendit jusqu'à nous,
Pour effacer la tache originelle,
Et de son Père arrêter le courroux.
Le monde entier tressaille d'espérance,
À cette nuit qui lui donne un Sauveur.
Peuple, à genoux, attends ta délivrance
Noël! Noël! Voici le Rédempteur!
De notre foi que la lumière ardente
Nous guide tous au berceau de l'Enfant,
Comme autrefois une étoile brillante
Y conduisit les chefs de l'Orient.
Le Roi des rois naît dans une humble crèche;
Puissants du jour, fiers de votre grandeur,
À votre orgueil, c'est de là que Dieu prêche.
Courbez vos fronts devant le Rédempteur!
Le Rédempteur a brisé toute entrave,
La Terre est libre et le Ciel est ouvert.
Il voit un frère où n'était qu'un esclave,
L'amour unit ceux qu'enchaînait le fer.
Qui lui dira notre reconnaissance?
C'est pour nous tous qu'il naît, qu'il souffre et meurt.
Peuple, debout! Chante ta délivrance.
Noël! Noël! Chantons le Rédempteur!
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Monday, November 28, 2011
November Nights
by Gram Parsons
You say that you're restless
You say that you know me too well
You've seen all my best
And you've heard all the stories I tell
You think you've been taken for granted
You're probably right
I remember a November night
When the dawn on your doorway
Shone white with frost
And the soft love that always began
With the touch of your hand
And recall the mornings that tossed
Your hair in the wind
Time has made it meaningless
I'm not the same, you can tell
But why am I leaving
Unless time had only meant well?
There's nothing left now to excite you
No reason to try
I remember a candlelit sky
And the summer surrounding the ground
Where you and I lay
And though we were always alone
With our secrets known
We both were aware and afraid
The closeness might end
My love's like a dancer
She weaves through the dangers complete
With well-rehearsed answers
And rational reasons for feet
But if it decreases
Or ceases to always seem right
I remember a November Night
When the dawn on your doorway
Shone white with frost
And the soft love that always began
With the touch of your hand
And recall the mornings that tossed
Your hair in the wind
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Thursday, November 24, 2011
For the Beauty of the Earth
by Folliot S. Pierpoint
For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies,
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.
For the beauty of each hour,
Of the day and of the night,
Hill and vale, and tree and flower,
Sun and moon, and stars of light.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.
For the joy of ear and eye,
For the heart and mind's delight,
For the mystic harmony
Linking sense to sound and sight.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.
For the joy of human love,
Brother, sister, parent, child,
Friends on earth and friends above,
For all gentle thoughts and mild.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.
For Thy Church, that evermore
Lifteth holy hands above,
Offering up on every shore
Her pure sacrifice of love.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.
For the martyrs' crown of light,
For Thy prophets' eagle eye,
For Thy bold confessors' might,
For the lips of infancy.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.
For Thy virgins' robes of snow,
For Thy maiden mother mild,
For Thyself, with hearts aglow,
Jesu, Victim undefiled.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.
For each perfect gift of Thine,
To our race so freely given,
Graces human and divine,
Flowers of earth and buds of Heaven.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.
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Labels: God, hymn, thanksgiving
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
You Take My Breath Away
by Freddie Mercury
Look into my eyes, and you'll see I'm the only one
You've captured my love
Stolen my heart, changed my life
Every time you make a move, you destroy my mind
And the way you touch — I lose control and shiver deep inside
You take my breath away
You can reduce me to tears with a single sigh
Every breath that you take
Any sound that you make is a whisper in my ear
I could give up all my life for just one kiss
I would surely die if you dismiss me from your love
You take my breath away
So please don't go
Don't leave me here all by myself
I get ever so lonely from time to time
I will find you anywhere you go
I'll be right behind you
Right until the ends of the earth
I'll get no sleep until I find you
To tell you that you just take my breath away
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Saturday, November 19, 2011
Goin' Back
by Gerry Goffin & Carole King
I think I'm going back
To the things I learnt so well in my youth
I think I'm returning to
Those days when I was young enough to know the truth
Now there are no games
To only pass the time
No more colouring books
No Christmas bells to chime
But thinking young and growing older is no sin
And I can't play the game of life to win
I can recall a time
When I wasn't ashamed to reach out to a friend
And now I think I've got
A lot more than just my toys to lend
Now there's more to do
Than watch my sailboat glide
And every day can be
My magic carpet ride
And I can play hide-and-seek with my fears
And live my days instead of counting my years
Then everyone debates
The true reality
I'd rather see the world
The way it used to be
A little bit of freedom's all we lack
So catch me if you can, I'm going back
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Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Deck Us All with Boston Charlie
by Walt Kelly
Deck us all with Boston Charlie,
Walla Walla, Wash., an' Kalamazoo!
Nora's freezin' on the trolley,
Swaller dollar cauliflower alley-garoo!
Don't we know archaic barrel
Lullaby Lilla Boy, Louisville Lou?
Trolley Molly don't love Harold,
Boola boola Pensacoola hullabaloo!
Bark us all bow-wows of folly,
Polly wolly cracker 'n' too-da-loo!
Donkey Bonny brays a carol,
Antelope Cantaloupe, 'lope with you!
Hunky Dory's pop is lolly gaggin' on the wagon,
Willy, folly go through!
Chollie's collie barks at Barrow,
Harum scarum five alarm bung-a-loo!
Dunk us all in bowls of barley,
Hinky dinky dink an' polly voo!
Chilly Filly's name is Chollie,
Chollie Filly's jolly chilly view halloo!
Bark us all bow-wows of folly,
Double-bubble, toyland trouble! Woof, woof, woof!
Tizzy seas on melon collie!
Dibble-dabble, scribble-scrabble! Goof, goof, goof!
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Labels: nonsense
Friday, November 11, 2011
For the Fallen
by Laurence Binyon
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
————— mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal,
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation,
And a glory that shines upon her tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables at home;
They have no lot in our labour of the daytime;
They sleep beyond —————'s foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known,
As the stars are known to the night.
As the stars will be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
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Labels: disharmony, memory, war
Friday, November 4, 2011
from The Catcher in the Rye
by J.D. Salinger
Lawyers are all right, I guess — but it doesn't appeal to me. I mean they're all right if they go around saving innocent guys' lives all the time, and like that, but you don't do that kind of stuff if you're a lawyer. All you do is make a lot of dough and play golf and play bridge and buy cars and drink Martinis and look like a hot-shot. And besides. Even if you did go around saving guys' lives and all, how would you know if you did it because you really wanted to save guys' lives, or because you did it because what you really wanted to do was be a terrific lawyer, with everybody slapping you on the back and congratulating you in court when the goddam trial was over, the reporters and everybody, the way it is in the dirty movies? How would you know you weren't being a phony? The trouble is, you wouldn't.
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Labels: prose
Monday, October 31, 2011
Nun freut euch
by Martin Luther
Nun freut euch, lieben Christen g'mein,
Und lasst uns fröhlich springen,
Dass wir getrost und all in ein
Mit Lust und Liebe singen:
Was Gott an uns gewendet hat,
Und seine süsse Wunderthat,
Gar theur hat er's erworben.
Dem Teufel ich gefangen lag,
Im Tod war ich verloren,
Mein' Sünd' mich quälet Nacht und Tag,
Darin war ich geboren,
Ich fiel auch immer tiefer d'rein,
Es war kein gut's am Leben mein,
Die Sünd' hat mich besessen.
Mein' gute Wert' die galten nicht,
Es war mit ihm verdorben;
Der frei Will' hasset Gottes G'richt,
Er war zum Gut'n erstorben;
Die Angst mich zu verzweifeln trieb,
Dass nichts denn Sterben bei mir blieb,
Zur Hölle musst ich sinken.
Da jammert's Gott in Ewigkeit
Mein Elend über Massen,
Er dacht' an sein' Barmherzigkeit,
Er wollt' mir helfen lassen;
Er wandt' zu mir das Vaterherz,
Es war bei ihm fürwahr kein Scherz,
Er liess sein Bestes kosten.
Er sprach zu seinem lieben Sohn:
Die Zeit ist hier zu 'rbarmen,
Fahr' hin mein's Herzens werthe Kron'
Und sei das Heil dem Armen,
Und hilf ihm aus der Sünden Noth,
Erwürg' für ihn den bittern Tod
Und lass' ihn mit dir leben.
Der Sohn dem Vater g'horsam ward,
Er kam zu mir auf Erden,
Von einer Jungfrau rein und zart,
Er sollt' mein Bruder werden.
Gar heimlich führt er sein' Gewalt,
Er ging in meiner armen G'stalt,
Den Teufel wollt' er fangen.
Er sprach zu mir: halt' dich an mich,
Es soll dir jetzt gelingen,
Ich geb' mich selber ganz für dich,
Da will ich für dich ringen;
Denn ich bin dein und du bist mein,
Und wo ich bleib', da sollst du sein,
Uns soll der Feind nicht scheiden.
Vergiessen wird er mir mein Blut,
Dazu mein Leben rauben,
Das leid' ich alles dir zu gut,
Das halt' mit festem Glauben.
Den Tod vorschlingt das Leben mein,
Mein' Unschuld trägt die Sünde dein,
Da bist du selig worden.
Gen Himmel zu dem Vater mein
Jahr' ich von diesem Leben,
Da will ich sein der Meister dein,
Den Geist will ich dir geben,
Der dich in Trübniss trösten soll
Und lehren mich erkennen wohl,
Und in der Wahrheit leiten.
Was ich gethan hab' und gelehrt,
Das sollst du thun und lehren,
Damit das Reich Gott's werd' gemehrt
Zu Lob' und seinen Ehren;
Und hüt' dich vor der Menschen G'satz,
Davon verdirbt der edle Schatz,
Das lass' ich dir zur Letze.
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Saturday, October 29, 2011
Debaser
by Black Francis
Got me a movie
I want you to know
Slicing up eyeballs
I want you to know
Girlie so groovy
I want you to know
Don't know about you
But I am un chien andalusia
Want to grow up to be
Be a debaser
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: disharmony, nonsense, surrealism
Saturday, October 22, 2011
The Death of Autumn
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind
Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned
Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,
Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,
Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,—
Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes
My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,
And will be born again,—but ah, to see
Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!
Oh, Autumn! Autumn!—What is the Spring to me?
Thursday, October 20, 2011
East Coker (Pt. V)
[Pt. IV here]
by T.S. Eliot
So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years—
Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l'entre deux guerres
Trying to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate—but there is no competition—
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.
Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
There is a time for the evening under starlight,
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.
[The Dry Salvages]
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: aging, Eliot, Four Quartets, poetry
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Hey Hey
by Ken Block
Save yourself
Save your breath
Save a little hope for me
Take a rest
Take your time
Take the whole bottle of wine
Lay your head
Lay it down
Lay yourself down on the ground
Stop me if I'm embarrassing myself
But I can let this slip away
Hey hey, what do you think about
Maybe staying around because
Lately all I can think about's you
And you think, could I be good for you?
I think, 'What am I gonna do?'
All I know is I love being with you
Write the books
Right the wrongs
Write the little radio songs
See the light
See the signs
See in between the crooked lines
Help me if I'm embarrassing myself
I can't let this slip away
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Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Were Thine That Special Face
by Cole Porter
Were thine that special face
The face that fills my dreaming
Were thine the rhythmed grace
Were thine the form so lithe and slender
Were thine the arms so warm, so tender
Were thine the kiss divine
Were thine the love for me
The love that fills my dreaming
When all these charms are thine
Then you'll be mine, all mine
I wrote a poem
In classic style
I wrote it with my tongue in my cheek
And my lips in a smile
But of late my poem
Has a meaning so new
For to my surprise
It suddenly applies
To my darling, to you
Friday, October 7, 2011
The Home Front
by Patterson Hood
The hours creep across the face
As she paces across the floor
She can't even get to sleep
Since Tony went to war
She feels bitchslapped and abandoned
By a world she thought she knew
Cold beyond comprehension
As their little girl turns two
Now they're saying on the flatscreen
They ain't found a reason yet
We're all bogged down in a quagmire
And there ain't no end to it
No 9/11 or uranium
To pin the bullshit on
She's left standing on the home front
The two of them alone
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: disharmony, Drive-By Truckers, history, war
Sunday, October 2, 2011
The Hippopotamus
by T.S. Eliot
Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.
And when this epistle is read among you, cause that it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.
The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.
Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.
The hippo's feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.
The 'potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.
At mating time the hippo's voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.
The hippopotamus's day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way—
The Church can sleep and feed at once.
I saw the 'potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.
Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.
He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr'd virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Downtown Train
by Tom Waits
Outside another yellow moon
Has punched a hole in the nighttime
I climb through the window and down into the street
I'm shining like a new dime
The downtown trains are full
With all those Brooklyn girls
They try so hard
To break out of their little worlds
You wave your hand and they scatter like crows
They have nothing that will ever capture your heart
They're just thorns without the rose
Be careful of them in the dark
If I was the one
You chose to be your only one
Oh, can't you hear me now?
Will I see you tonight
On a downtown train?
Every night is just the same
You leave me lonely now
I know your window, and I know it's late
I know your stairs and your doorway
I walk down your street and past your gate
I stand by the light at the four-way
You watch them as they fall
They all have heart attacks
They stay at the carnival
But they'll never win you back
Will I see you tonight
On a downtown train?
All of my dreams fall like rain
All upon a downtown train
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Saturday, September 24, 2011
I'm Going to Go Back There Someday
Paul Williams
This looks familiar
Vaguely familiar
Almost unreal, yet
It's too soon to feel yet
Close to my soul
And yet so far away
I'm going to go back there someday
Sun rises, night falls
Sometimes the sky calls
Is that a song there?
And do I belong there?
I've never been there
But I know the way
I'm going to go back there someday
Come and go with me
It's more fun to share
We'll both be completely
At home in midair
We're flying, not walking
On featherless wings
We can hold onto love
Like invisible strings
There's not a word yet
For old friends who've just met
Part heaven, part space
Or have I found my place?
You can just visit
But I plan to stay
I'm going to go back there someday
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Friday, September 23, 2011
September in the Rain
by Al Dubin
The leaves of brown
Came tumbling down
Remember in September
In the rain
The sun went out
Just like a dying ember
That September
In the rain
To every word of love
I heard you whisper
The raindrops seemed to play
A sweet refrain
Though spring is here
To me it's still September
That September
In the rain
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Young
by Chris Thile
Young and with no clue
And I want to love you
Give me the key to
What it's about
Everything I've read
Everything you've said
Prove you're over my head
Help me climb out
I know that you don't need nobody
Are you sure you're that sure about me?
Hey, what did I do?
I've spoken too soon
Listen to this tune
Forget the words
Wait until someday
'Cause when I know what to say
I'll say it in the best way
You've ever heard
I know that you don't need nobody
Are you sure you're that sure about me?
Young and with no clue
Still want to love you
Give credit where it's due
I've got good taste
It's not like I want to get married
I never asked you to kiss me
Just don't want you to be sorry
You didn't try
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: frustration, longing, patience, unrequited
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Ronnie and Neil
by Patterson Hood
Church blew up in Birmingham
Four little black girls killed
For no goddamn good reason
All this hate and violence
Can't come to no good end
A stain on the good name
A whole lot of good people
Dragged through the blood and glass
Blood stains on their good names
And all of us take the blame
Meanwhile in north Alabama
Wilson Pickett comes to town
To record that sweet soul music
To get that Muscle Shoals sound
Meanwhile in north Alabama
Aretha Franklin comes to town
To record that sweet soul music
To get that Muscle Shoals sound
And out in California
A rock star from Canada writes
A couple of great songs
About the bad shit that went down
'Southern Man' and 'Alabama'
Certainly told some truth
But there were a lot of good folks down here
And Neil Young just wasn't around
Meanwhile in north Alabama
Lynyrd Skynyrd comes to town
To record with Jimmy Johnson
And that Muscle Shoals Sound
And they met some real good people
Not no racist pieces of shit
And they wrote a song about it
And that song became a hit
Ronnie and Neil
Rock stars today ain't half as real
Speaking their minds on how they feel
Let them guitars blast for Ronnie and Neil
Now Ronnie and Neil became good friends
Their feud was just in song
Skynyrd was a bunch of Neil Young fans
And Neil he loved that song
So he wrote 'Powderfinger'
For Skynyrd to record
But Ronnie ended up singing
'Sweet Home Alabama' to the Lord
And Neil helped carry Ronnie
In his casket to the ground
And to my way of thinking
Us southern men need both of them around
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Smells Like Teen Spirit
by Kurt Cobain
Load up on guns and bring your friends
It's fun to lose and to pretend
She's over-bored and self-assured
Oh no, I know a dirty word
Hello, hello, hello, how low?
With the lights out, it's less dangerous
Here we are now: entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now: entertain us
A mulatto, an albino
A mosquito, my libido
I'm worst at what I do best
And for this gift I feel blessed
Our little group has always been
And always will until the end
And I forget just why I taste
Oh yeah, I guess it makes me smile
I found it hard, it was hard to find
Oh well, whatever, nevermind
A denial
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: anxiety, disharmony, nonsense
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
(They Long to Be) Close to You
by Hal David
Why do birds suddenly appear
Every time you are near?
Just like me
They long to be
Close to you
Why do stars fall down from the sky
Every time you walk by?
Just like me
They long to be
Close to you
On the day that you were born
The angels got together
And decided to create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moon dust
In your hair of gold
And starlight in your eyes of blue
That is why all the guys in town
Follow you all around
Just like me
They long to be
Close to you
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Friday, September 2, 2011
Train
by Melanie Penn
Wait on the platform in silence
New Jersey Transit train
Factory with broken out windows
Across the way
We're a lot like them
Once perfectly clear
Begging to be seen through
Lately just shattered and edgy
Nothing to be seen through to
Please say something
But I don't either
We're not touching
Pride is our proud leader
My chest is aching and heavy
One million words weighed down
Inmates of my explanations
Imprisoned in my mouth
Oh to just say them
But I don't know how
To articulate the truth
When you are resentful and quiet
I know I am, too
Please say something
But I don't either
The train is coming around
So why don't we?
I'm still hoping
The end is so much sweeter
We'll start trusting
That Holy Ghost healer
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: anxiety, disharmony, longing, regret
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Like a Hurricane
by Neil Young
Once I thought I saw you in a crowded, hazy bar
Dancing on the light from star to star
Far across the moonbeam: I know that's who you are
I saw your brown eyes turning once to fire
You are like a hurricane
There's calm in your eye
And I'm getting blown away
To somewhere safer where the feeling stays
I want to love you, but I'm getting blown away
I am just a dreamer, but you are just a dream
You could have been anyone to me
Before that moment you touched my lips
That perfect feeling when time just slips
Away between us on our foggy trip
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Thursday, August 25, 2011
To You, O Lord, I Fly
Anonymous
from The Psalter
To you, O Lord, I fly
And on your help depend;
You are my Lord and King Most High;
Great God, my soul defend.
A heritage for me
Jehovah will remain;
My portion rich and full is he,
My right he will maintain
The lot to me that fell
Is beautiful and fair;
The heritage in which I dwell
Is good beyond compare.
I praise the Lord above
Whose counsel guides aright;
My heart instructs me in his love
In seasons of the night.
I keep before me still
The Lord whom I have proved;
At my right hand he guards from ill,
And I shall not be moved.
Life's pathway you will show,
To your right hand will guide,
Where streams of pleasure ever flow,
And boundless joys abide.
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: contentment, God, hope, hymn
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
by Bernie Taupin
And now I know
Spanish Harlem are not just
Pretty words to say
I thought I knew
But now I know that rose trees never grow
In New York City
Until you've seen
This trash-can dream come true
You stand at the edge
While people run you through
And I thank the Lord
There's people out there like you
While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
Turn around and say, 'Good morning,' to the night
For unless they see the sky
But they can't, and that is why
They know not if it's dark outside or light
This Broadway's got
It's got a lot of songs to sing
If I knew the tunes I might join in
I'll go my way alone
I grow my own, my own seeds shall be sown
In New York City
The subway's no way
For a good man to go down
Rich man can ride
And the hobo, he can drown
And I thank the Lord
For the people I have found
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: contentment, romanticism, Taupin, the city
Monday, August 15, 2011
The Church
by Derek Webb
I have come with one purpose
To capture for myself a bride
By my life she is lovely
And by my death she's justified
I have always been her husband
Though many lovers she has known
So with water I will wash her
And by my word alone
So when you hear the sound of the water
You will know that you're not alone
'Cause I haven't come for only you
But for my people to pursue
And you cannot care for me
With no regard for her
If you love me you will love the church
I have long pursued her
As a harlot and a whore
But she will feast upon me
She will drink and thirst no more
So when you taste my flesh and my blood
You will know that you're not alone
There is none that can replace her
There are many who will try
And though some may be her bridesmaids
They can never be my bride
'Cause I haven't come for only you
But for my people to pursue
And you cannot care for me
With no regard for her
If you love me you will love the church
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Spirits in the Night
by Bruce Springsteen
Crazy Janey and her mission man
Were back in the alley trading hands
Along came Wild Billy with his friend G-man
All duded up for Saturday night
Well Billy slammed on his coaster brakes
And said, 'Anybody wanna go on up to Greasy Lake?
'It's about a mile down on the dark side of Route 88
'I got a bottle of rose, so let's try it
'We'll pick up Hazy Davy and Killer Joe
'And I'll take you all out to where the gypsy angels go
'They're built like light'
And they dance like spirits in the night, all night
Oh, you don't know what they can do to you
Spirits in the night, all night
Stand right up now and let it shoot through you
Well now, Wild young Billy was a crazy cat
And he shook some dust out of his coonskin cap
He said, 'Trust some of this it'll show you where you're at
'Or at least it'll help you really feel it'
By the time we made it up to Greasy Lake
I had my head out the window, and Janey's fingers were in the cake
I think I really dug her 'cause I was too loose to fake
I said, 'I'm hurt,' she said, 'Honey let me heal it'
And we danced all night to a soul fairy band
And she kissed me just right like only a lonely angel can
She felt so nice
Just as soft as a spirit in the night, all night
Janey don't know what she do to you
Like a spirit in the night, all night
Stand right up and let her shoot through me
Now the night was bright and the stars threw light
On Billy and Davy dancing in the moonlight
They were down near the water in a stone-mud fight
Killer Joe gone passed out on the lawn
Well now, Hazy Davy got really hurt
He ran into the lake in just his socks and a shirt
Me and Crazy Janey was making love in the dirt
Singing our birthday songs
Janey said it was time to go
So we closed our eyes and said goodbye to gypsy angel row
Felt so right
Together we moved like spirits in the night, all night
Baby don't know what they can do to you
Spirits in the night, all night
Stand right up and let it shoot right through you
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: romance, romanticism, Springsteen
Thursday, August 4, 2011
East Coker (Pt. IV)
[Pt. III here]
by T.S. Eliot
The wounded surgeon plies the steel
That questions the distempered part;
Beneath the bleeding hands we feel
The sharp compassion of the healer's art
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.
Our only health is the disease
If we obey the dying nurse
Whose constant care is not to please
But to remind of our, and Adam's curse,
And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.
The whole earth is our hospital
Endowed by the ruined millionaire,
Wherein, if we do well, we shall
Die of the absolute paternal care
That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere.
The chill ascends from feet to knees,
The fever sings in mental wires.
If to be warmed, then I must freeze
And quake in frigid purgatorial fires
Of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars.
The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood—
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.
[Pt. V here]
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: Church, Eliot, Four Quartets, poetry, salvation, sin
Monday, August 1, 2011
Video Killed the Radio Star
by Trevor Horn
I heard you on the wireless back in '52
Lying awake intent at tuning in on you
If I was young, it didn't stop you coming through
They took the credit for your second symphony
Rewritten by machine and new technology
And now I understand the problems you can see
I met your children
What did you tell them?
Video killed the radio star
Video killed the radio star
Pictures came and broke your heart
And now we meet in an abandoned studio
We hear the playback, and it seems so long ago
And you remember the jingles used to go
You were the first one
You were the last one
Video killed the radio star
Video killed the radio star
In my mind and in my car
We can't rewind; we've gone too far
Pictures came and broke your heart
Put the blame on VTR
You are the radio star
Video killed the radio star
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: change, historical, history, music
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Sounds Better in the Song
by Mike Cooley
When I saw her standing there
With her bright eyes and shining hair
She was looking back at me
Some are meant to sing
Some are meant to talk
And some aren't meant to say a thing
But when she opened up her mouth
And that sweet voice came out
I lost track of my own name
Now she's found herself
And I lost mine
And I'm just another guy
Who can't give her anything
The drifter, he holds on
To his youth
Just like it was money in the bank
And 'Lord knows, I can't change'
Sounds better in the song
Than it does with hell to pay
I might as well have slipped that ring
On her finger from a window of a van
As it drove away
Now she's found herself
And I lost mine
And I'm just another guy
Who can't give her anything
Dreams are given to you
When you're young enough to dream them
Before they can do you any harm
They don't start to hurt
Unless you try to hold on to them
After seeing what they really are
She used to dream them with me
Every single crazy one
Until they started hurting her too
Now she's got some of her own
And outgrowing me
Might be the best thing for her
She's ever done
A light that shines as bright as hers
Can't be kept
In the shadows for too long
A heart that wants to live
And a soul that wants to give
Can't just sit at home alone
Lord, she's given me everything
And never wanted anything I couldn't give
Just what was inside of me
And now she's found herself
And I lost mine
And I'm just another guy
Who can't give her anything
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: change, Drive-By Truckers, longing, loss
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Bastards of Young
by Paul Westerberg
God, what a mess
On the ladder of success
Where you take one step and miss the whole first rung
Dreams unfulfilled
Graduate unskilled
It beats picking cotton and waiting to be forgotten
We are the sons of no one
Bastards of the young
The daughters and the sons
Clean your baby womb
Trash that baby boom
Elvis in the ground, no waiting on beer tonight
Income tax deduction
What a hell of a function
It beats picking cotton and waiting to be forgotten
Unwillingness to claim us
You got no war to name us
The ones who love us best
Are the ones we'll lay to rest
And visit their graves on holidays, at best
The ones who love us least
Are the ones we'll die to please
If it's any consolation, I don't begin to understand them
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: anxiety, disharmony, frustration, loss
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Grand Old Ivy
by Frank Loesser
Stand, Old Ivy, stand firm and strong!
Grand Old Ivy, hear the cheering throng!
Stand, Old Ivy, and never yield!
Rip! rip! rip the chipmunk off the field!
When you fall on the ball
And you're down there at the bottom of the heap
Down at the bottom of the heap!
Where the mud is oh so very, very deep
Down in the cruddy, muddy, deep!
Don't forget, boy!
That's why they call us
They call us Groundhog!
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: musical
Thursday, July 7, 2011
I've Been Delivered
by Jakob Dylan
I could break free from the wood of a coffin if I need
But nothing's as hard as getting free
From places I've already been
I've been waist-deep in the burning meadows of my mind
In the engine, in cold December
Shooting fire from the hose
Now turn off your lights
'Cause I'm not coming home
Till I'm delivered for the first time
I was first-born to a parade that follows in rows
Down a narrow, cold black river
Faceless shadows moving slow
I would move swift when the sounds of a trumpet would blow
I've been the puppet, I've been the strings
I know the vacant face it brings
Now the bells of curfew
They may ring before I'm through
But soon I'll be delivered for the first time
You might keep clean in the back of an angel motorcade
It doesn't matter who walks in
You know, the joke is still the same
You'll just wake up like a disposable lover, decomposed
I've been gone, I've been remembered
I've been alive, I've been a ghost
So now if downtown explodes
I'll still be on this road
Till I'm delivered for the first time
I have drawn blood from the neckline when vampires were in fashion
You know I'd even learn to cut my throat
If I thought I could fit in
'Cause I once heard that you gotta learn how to blend in to this mess
Where nothing's hard, nothing's precious
And nothing's smooth or flawless
Now no more amused
Just screaming to
Be delivered for the first time
Now I'm 10 miles in the deep and mighty blue sea
Looking back, towards a long white beach
Burning up into yellow flames
And I just wave back like a little boy up on a pony in a show
'Cause I can't fix something this complex
Any more than I can build a rose
So just keep on letting go
'Cause I must be close
To being delivered for the first time
Now I'd rather bleed out a long stream from being lonely and feel blessed
Than drown, laying face down
In a puddle of respect
I was once lost in the corridors of the arena in blindfolds
I've been the bull, I've been the whip
I just pulled down the matador
So now, turn on your lights
'Cause I'm coming home
I've been delivered for the first time
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: aging, melancholia, patience, surrealism, Wallflowers
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Do I Have to Come Right Out and Say It
by Neil Young
Do I have to come right out and say it?
Tell you that you look so fine
Do I have to come right out
And ask you to be mine?
If it was a game, I could play it
Trying to make it, but I'm losing time
I got to bring you in
You're overworking my mind
Indecision is crowding me
I have no room to spare
And I can't believe she'd care
Like a dream she has taken me
And now I don't know where
And a part of me is scared
The part of me I shared
Once before
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The Only One
by Aaron Tate
I come from a long line of leavers
Out of the garden gate with an apple in their hands
I expect and I believe
You're gonna run out of love
You're gonna give me the shove
'Cause that's the thing that lovers do
Then there's you
You found me cynical and jaded
You lifted my mask and lightened me up
And when my black eyes have faded
I found they were not gouged
Had the coal in my mouth
I've never seen the old age new
And then there's you
You're the only one
Who knows my secrets
You're the only one
Still you're the only one
Who never leaves
And I wake up to this mystery
I betrayed you with a little kiss
I thought you'd find someone better
And you forgave me even for this
Came to the upper room
You dragged me from the tomb
There is none both good and true
Then there's you
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: anxiety, Caedmon's Call, God, joy, salvation
Thursday, June 23, 2011
I Didn't See It Coming
by Stuart Murdoch
Make me dance, I want to surrender
Your familiar arms I remember
We've been going transcontinental
Got no car, we just take a rental
But we don't have the money
Money makes the wheels and the world go round
Forget about it, honey
Make me dance, I want to surrender
Your familiar arms I remember
Everybody's talking about you
Every word's a whisper without you
But we don't have the money
Money makes the wheels and the world go round
Forget about it, honey
Trouble's never far away when you're around
Take me on a train 'cause I'm not flying
I can see the world from a different side
Read about us in the morning papers
When we make it alive
I didn't see it coming
(Make me dance, I want to surrender)
I'm just not in the running
(Make me dance, I want to surrender)
And we don't need a lifetime
(Make me dance, I want to surrender)
We're following the right line
(Make me dance, I want to surrender)
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: contentment, joy
Sunday, June 19, 2011
If—
by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And – which is more – you'll be a Man my son!
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Thursday, June 16, 2011
from Ulysses
by James Joyce
from Episode 18 — Penelope
[...]the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharans and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Summertime
by DuBose Heyward
Summertime
And the living is easy
Fish are jumping
And the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich
And your mama's good-looking
So hush, little baby
Don't you cry
One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky
But till that morning
There's a-nothing can harm you
With your daddy and mamma
Standing by
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: contentment, idyllic, Standard, summer
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Runaway Wind
by Paul Westerberg
You don't blow like the breeze you were born to be
You die down in the trees and try to hide
Will you witness the dark?
All you need is a spark
A cathedral of torches light the night
On your mark
Here I am
I'm your spark
Runaway wind
You trade your telescope for a keyhole
Make way for the grey that's in your brown
As dreams make way for plans
I see you watch life from the stands
Come on, I'll help you burn them to the ground
He sees you like a river, deep and silent
And he runs to you like a shallow, noisy stream
I see what you've become and try to hide it
You need someone who sees what you were born to be
You don't blow like the breeze you were born to be
You don't know what to do with your life
As day returns to dark
Flame returns to spark
Come on, I feel I'm blowing out tonight
I'm your spark
Here I am
On your mark
Runaway wind
Watch you run
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: carpe diem, joy
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Promises
by Owen Thomas
I remember sneaking in through her parents' back door
In the middle of the night, in the middle of the storm
To tell her she was all I would ever need
And that the promises I made were the promises I'd keep
I was shaking like a leaf
And soaking to the bone
But I swore to her that night
She'd never run alone
'Cause promises are all you've got to give
When you're burning with desire, but you're just a kid
And promises are all you want to hear
It don't matter that they're just going to disappear
They might only last a night
Then another one is born
They make you feel alive
Like you're worth a little more
That's what promises are for
She went to college, and we both fell out of touch
I got a job tending bar that didn't pay that much
I wonder if she met a guy to love her like I did
Or if she looked him in the eye and made a promise to him
I could never give her up
Not without looking back
When we gave ourselves away
I thought we made a pact
I've been taking stock while the days roll on
I think about her when the night gets calm
So what if we were young?
So what if I was wrong?
Well, I believed in her
And trusted all along
That's what promises are for
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Ordinary Day
by Melanie Penn
It was an ordinary day
I woke up on a wave
I filled a sail
And made my way to the shore
I blew through the center of your town
Came upon your house
Waited there for you
To come to your screen door
I asked you
Can you hear me blow?
Though you don't know
Where I'm coming from
Or where I go
It was an ordinary night
I met some fireflies
I danced around with them
Until about 9 o'clock
Heard your footsteps on the road
I ran to bring you home
And I whispered through the leaves
Up and down your block
Oh I'm a summer breeze
I brush across your cheek
I have always been
And I will always be
You can hear me blow
Though you don't know
Where I'm coming from
Or where I go
It's me when you catch the fragrance of spring
When tall trees sway
It's me in the cold winter sting
In the alleyway
I am the sigh
While all creation groans and waits
You can hear me speak
If you're listening
I will always be
And I have always been
You can hear me blow
Although you don't know
Where I'm coming from
Or where I go
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: contentment, idyllic, summer
Monday, May 30, 2011
Dulce et Decorum est
by Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Friday, May 27, 2011
Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love —
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me —
Yes! — that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we —
Of many far wiser than we —
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Deep in a Dream
by Eddie DeLange
I dim all the lights
And I sink in my chair
The smoke from my cigarette
Climbs through the air
The walls of my room
Fade away in the blue
And I'm deep in a dream of you
The smoke makes a stairway
For you to descend
You come to my arms
May this bliss never end
For we love anew
Just as we used to do
When I'm deep in a dream of you
Then from the ceiling
Sweet music comes stealing
We glide through a lover's refrain
You're so appealing
That I'm soon revealing
My love for you over again
My cigarette burns me
I wake with a start
My hand isn't hurt
But there's pain in my heart
Awake or asleep
Every memory I'll keep
Deep in a dream of you
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Friday, May 20, 2011
This Guy's in Love with You
by Hal David
You see this guy
This guy's in love with you
Yes, I'm in love
Who looks at you the way I do?
When you smile, I can tell
We know each other very well
How can I show you
I'm glad I got to know you?
'Cause I've heard some talk
They say you think I'm fine
This guy's in love
And what I'd do to make you mine
Tell me now, is it so?
Don't let me be the last to know
My hands are shaking
Don't let my heart keep breaking
'Cause I need your love
I want your love
Say you're in love with this guy
If not I'll just die
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Saturday, May 14, 2011
The Rain
by James Wilson
I could blame it on the moon
For calling me out tonight
Maybe I'm just a little bit lonesome
And maybe my head ain't right
I could walk down to the station
See my reflection on the ground
Receding in the ripples
But I do not hear a sound
The devil, she comes to me
Says, 'Boy, do you want to go out tonight?'
She's got a 40-ounce Hurricane in her left hand
And a .45 in her right
You're dying just to touch her
But your heart just wants to scream
So you pull her just a little bit closer
And pretend it's all just a dream
I ain't the man I want to be
They call it freedom
As you're reaching for your chains
I'm haunted by the memories
Of who I used to be
When I didn't hate the rain
Like I hate the rain
I ain't trying to sing the blues
It's bloody fingers and guitar strings
'Cause 12 bars is just a prison
When there's nothing else left to sing
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: anxiety, melancholia, regret
Monday, May 9, 2011
Be Still, My Soul
by Katharina von Schlegel
Trans. by Jane Borthwick
Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side.
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In every change, He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heavenly Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
To guide the future, as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.
Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart,
And all is darkened in the vale of tears,
Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,
Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.
Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay
From His own fullness all He takes away.
Be still, my soul: the hour is hastening on
When we shall be forever with the Lord.
When disappointment, grief and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past
All safe and blessèd we shall meet at last.
Be still, my soul: begin the song of praise
On earth, believing, to Thy Lord on high;
Acknowledge Him in all thy words and ways,
So shall He view thee with a well pleased eye.
Be still, my soul: the Sun of life divine
Through passing clouds shall but more brightly shine.
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: anxiety, contentment, disharmony, God, hope, hymn
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Camera Eye
by Neil Peart
Grim-faced and forbidding
Their faces closed tight
An angular mass of New Yorkers
Pacing in rhythm
Race the oncoming night
They chase through the streets of Manhattan
Head-first humanity
Pause at a light
Then flow through the streets of the city
They seem oblivious
To a soft spring rain
Like an English rain
So light, yet endless
From a leaden sky
The buildings are lost
In their limitless rise
My feet catch the pulse
And the purposeful stride
I feel the sense of possibilities
I feel the wrench of hard realities
The focus is sharp in the city
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: the city
Friday, April 29, 2011
Jerusalem
by William Blake
And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon England's mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On England's pleasant pastures seen!
And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!
I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England's green & pleasant Land
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Girl Afraid
by Steven Morrissey
Girl afraid
Where do his intentions lay?
Or does he even have any?
She says, 'He never really looks at me
'I give him every opportunity
'In the room downstairs
'He sat and stared
'I'll never make that mistake again'
Boy afraid
Prudence never pays
And everything she wants costs money
'But she doesn't even like me
'And I know because she said so
'In the room downstairs
'She sat and stared
'I'll never make that mistake again, no'
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: disharmony, melancholia, unrequited
Sunday, April 24, 2011
The Strife Is O'er, the Battle Done
Latin hymn
Trans. by Francis Pott
The strife is o'er, the battle done;
The victory of life is won;
The song of triumph has begun.
Alleluia!
The pow'rs of death have done their worst,
But Christ their legions hath dispersed:
Let shouts of holy joy outburst.
Alleluia!
The three sad days have quickly sped;
He rises glorious from the dead:
All glory to our risen Head!
Alleluia!
He closed the yawning gates of hell;
The bars from heav'n's high portals fell:
Let hymns of praise his triumphs tell.
Alleluia!
Lord, by the stripes which wounded thee,
From death's dread sting thy servants free,
That we may live and sing to thee.
Alleluia!
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Sorrows
by Melanie Penn
It's a quiet night in Sorrow
On every street the lights are out
I am heading east along the far road
Starts a quarter mile from town
I've been there for a long while
I loved the people well
They listened when I sang for them
Of Jerusalem
Though I sing only for myself
So long, sad town
So long, Sorrow
I'll be long gone
Before dawn tomorrow
So long, Sorrow
I know the governor of Sorrow
A ruler with a heavy hand
Crouching at the doors of all the townfolk
Driven there by circumstance
He's been there for a long while
But his days are running out
Since he came it's never rained a day
People thirst and pray
Wait around to see, will water come down
Rumors of a man of sorrows
Circulating far and wide
That He'll come back again
I'll wait until then
I just passed by the town limit line
I walk east
Leaving Sorrow behind me
Maybe that Man of Sorrows
Will find me
Won't you find me?
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: God, melancholia, salvation
Friday, April 22, 2011
Beneath the Cross of Jesus
by Elizabeth C. Clephane
Beneath the cross of Jesus
I fain would take my stand
The shadow of a mighty Rock
Within a weary land;
A home within the wilderness,
A rest upon the way,
From the burning of the noontide heat
And the burden of the day.
Upon the cross of Jesus
Mine eye at times can see
The very dying form of One
Who suffered there for me:
And from my stricken heart with tears
Two wonders I confess,
The wonders of redeeming love
And my unworthiness.
I take, O cross, thy shadow
For my abiding place:
I ask no other sunshine
Than the sunshine of his face;
Content to let the world go by,
To know no gain nor loss;
My sinful self my only shame,
My glory all the cross.
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: death, disharmony, God, Good Friday, hymn, salvation, sin
Thursday, April 21, 2011
God's Good Will
by Dr. James Montgomery Boice
[Editor's Note: This is an excerpt from the final address which Dr. James Montgomery Boice gave to his congregation, as he informed them he had inoperable liver cancer. He would die a month later.]
A relevant question, I guess, when you pray is, pray for what? Should you pray for a miracle? Well, you're free to do that, of course. My general impression is that the God who is able to do miracles—and he certainly can—is also able to keep you from getting the problem in the first place. So although miracles do happen, they're rare by definition. A miracle has to be an unusual thing.
Above all, I would say pray for the glory of God. If you think of God glorifying himself in history and you say, 'Where in all of history has God most glorified himself?' He did it at the cross of Jesus Christ, and it wasn't by delivering Jesus from the cross, though he could have. Jesus said, 'Don't you think I could call down from my Father ten legions of angels for my defense?' But he didn't do that. And yet that's where God is most glorified.
If I were to reflect on what goes on theologically here, there are two things I would stress. One is the sovereignty of God. That's not novel. We have talked about the sovereignty of God here forever. God is in charge. When things like this come into our lives, they are not accidental. It's not as if God somehow forgot what was going on, and something bad slipped by. God does everything according to his will. We've always said that.
But what I've been impressed with mostly is something in addition to that. It's possible, isn't it, to conceive of God as sovereign and yet indifferent? God's in charge, but he doesn't care. But it's not that. God is not only the one who is in charge; God is also good. Everything he does is good. And what Romans 12:1-2 says is that we have the opportunity by the renewal of our minds—that is, how we think about these things—actually to prove what God's will is. And then it says, 'His good, pleasing, and perfect will.' Is that good, pleasing, and perfect to God? Yes, of course, but the point of it is that it's good, pleasing, and perfect to us. If God does something in your life, would you change it? If you'd change it, you'd make it worse. It wouldn't be as good. So that's the way we want to accept it and move forward. And who knows what God will do?
'Sing to the Lord, all the earth; proclaim his salvation day after day. Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous deeds among the peoples. For great is the Lord and most worthy of praise; he is to be feared above all gods. For all the gods of the nations are idols, but the Lord made the heavens. Splendor and majesty are before him; strength and joy is his dwelling place. Ascribe to the Lord, O family of nations, ascribe to the Lord glory and strength, ascribe to the Lord the glory due his name. Bring an offering and come before him and worship the Lord in the splendor of his holiness. Tremble before him, all the earth!'
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: God
Sunday, April 17, 2011
All Glory, Laud, and Honor
by Theodulph of Orléans
Trans. by John M. Neale
All glory, laud, and honor,
To Thee, Redeemer, King,
To Whom the lips of children
Made sweet hosannas ring.
Thou art the King of Israel,
Thou David's royal Son,
Who in the Lord's Name comest,
The King and Blessèd One.
The company of angels
Are praising Thee on High,
And mortal men and all things
Created make reply.
The people of the Hebrews
With palms before Thee went;
Our prayer and praise and anthems
Before Thee we present.
To Thee, before Thy passion,
They sang their hymns of praise;
To Thee, now high exalted,
Our melody we raise.
Thou didst accept their praises;
Accept the prayers we bring,
Who in all good delightest,
Thou good and gracious King.
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Waiting for My Real Life to Begin
by Colin Hay
Any minute now
My ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
I'll stand on the bow
Feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down on me
And you say, 'Be still, my love
'Open up your heart
'Let the light shine in'
Don't you understand?
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin
When I awoke today
Suddenly nothing happened
But in my dreams I slew the dragon
Down this beaten path
Up this cobbled lane
I'm walking in my old footsteps once again
And you say, 'Just be here now
'Forget about the past
'Your mask is wearing thin'
Let me throw one more dice
I know that I can win
I'm waiting for my real life to begin
Any minute now
My ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
And I'll check my machine
There's sure to be that call
It's going to happen soon
It's just that times are lean
And you say, 'Be still, my love
'Open up your heart
'Let the light shine in'
Don't you understand?
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Backwards Down the Number Line
by Tom Marshall
Happy happy, oh my friend
Blow out candles once again
Leave the presents all inside
Take my hand and let's take a ride
Backwards down the number line
You were eight and I was nine
Do you know what happened then?
Do you know why we're still friends?
Laughing all these many years
We've pushed through hardships, tasted tears
We made a promise, one to keep
I can still recite it in my sleep
Every time a birthday comes
Call your friend and sing a song
Or whisper it into his ears
Or write it down; just don't miss a year
You decide what it contains
How long it goes, but this remains
The only rule is it begins
Happy happy, oh my friend
And all my friends come
Backwards down the number line
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Monday, April 4, 2011
Box of Rain
by Robert Hunter
Look out of any window
any morning, any evening, any day
Maybe the sun is shining
birds are winging or
rain is falling from a heavy sky—
What do you want me to do,
to do for you to see you through?
this is all a dream we dreamed
one afternoon long ago
Walk out of any doorway
feel your way, feel your way
like the day before
Maybe you'll find direction
around some corner
where it's been waiting to meet you—
What do you want me to do,
to watch for you while you're sleeping?
Well please don't be surprised
when you find me dreaming too
Look into any eyes
you find by you, you can see
clear through to another day
I know it's been seen before
through other eyes on other days
while going home —
What do you want me to do,
to do for you to see you through?
It's all a dream we dreamed
one afternoon long ago
Walk into splintered sunlight
Inch your way through dead dreams
to another land
Maybe you're tired and broken
Your tongue is twisted
with words half spoken
and thoughts unclear
What do you want me to do
to do for you to see you through?
A box of rain will ease the pain
and love will see you through
Just a box of rain
wind and water
believe it if you need it
if you don't just pass it on
Sun and shower, wind and rain
in and out the window
like a moth before a flame
It's just a box of rain
I don't know who put it there
Believe it if you need it
or leave it if you dare
But it's just a box of rain
or a ribbon for your hair
Such a long long time to be gone
and a short time to be there
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: Grateful Dead, idyllic, life, spring
Friday, April 1, 2011
Whistling in the Dark
by John Linnell
A woman came up to me and said
'I'd like to poison your mind
'With wrong ideas that appeal to you
'Though I am not unkind'
She looked at me
I looked at something written across her scalp
And these are the words that it faintly said
As I tried to call for help
There's only one thing that I know how to do well
And I've often been told
That you only can do what you know how to do well
And that's be you
Be what you're like
Be like yourself
And so I'm having a wonderful time
But I'd rather be whistling in the dark
A man came up to me and said
'I'd like to change your mind
'By hitting it with a rock,' he said
'Though I am not unkind'
We laughed at his little joke
And then I happily walked away
And hit my head on the wall of the jail
Where the two of us live today
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: anxiety, contentment, nonsense, surrealism, TMBG
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Space City
by Mike Cooley
If I could have one wish right now
I'd be about as half as tough as I pretend I am
Then I wouldn't care how empty this old house feels
I could take her things and take them far away from here
I could make sure no dirt ever got on her name
'Cause looking at that stone wouldn't bring me so much pain
I could go into town wearing my finest clothes
I could turn these tears into blood and make it run ice cold
My hands are as good to me as they've ever been
And I ain't ashamed of anything my hands ever did
But sometimes the words I used were as hard as my fist
She had the strength of a man and the heart of a child, I guess
Space City's one hour up the road from me
One hour away from as close to the moon
As anybody down here is ever gonna be
And somewhere beyond that big white light
Is where my heart is gone
And somewhere she's wondering
What's taking me so long
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: death, Drive-By Truckers, loss, melancholia, romance
Friday, March 25, 2011
Ágætis byrjun
by Jón Þór Birgisson
Bjartar vonir rætast
Er við göngum bæinn
Brosum og hlæjum glaðir
Vinátta og þreyta mætast
Höldum upp á daginn
Og fögnum tveggja ára bið
Fjarlægur draumur fæðist
Borðum og drekkum saddir
Og borgum fyrir okkur
Með því sem við eigum í dag
Setjumst niður spenntir
Hlustum á sjálfa okkur slá
Í takt við tónlistina
Það virðist engin hlusta
Þetta er allt öðruvísi
Við lifðum í öðrum heimi
Þar sem við vorum aldrei ósýnileg
Nokkrum dögum síðar
Við tölum saman á ný
En hljóðið var ekki gott
Við vorum sammála um það
Sammála um flesta hluti
Við munum gera betur næst
Þetta er ágætis byrjun
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: contentment, foreign, idyllic, romance
Monday, March 21, 2011
Whate'er My God Ordains Is Right
by Samuel Rodigast
Trans. by Catherine Winkworth
Whate'er my God ordains is right:
His holy will abideth;
I will be still whate'er He doth;
And follow where He guideth;
He is my God; though dark my road,
He holds me that I shall not fall:
Wherefore to Him I leave it all.
Whate'er my God ordains is right:
He never will deceive me;
He leads me by the proper path:
I know He will not leave me.
I take, content, what He hath sent;
His hand can turn my griefs away,
And patiently I wait His day.
Whate'er my God ordains is right:
His loving thought attends me;
No poison can be in the cup
That my Physician sends me.
My God is true; each morn anew
I'll trust His grace unending,
My life to Him commending.
Whate'er my God ordains is right:
He is my Friend and Father;
He suffers naught to do me harm,
Though many storms may gather,
Now I may know both joy and woe,
Some day I shall see clearly
That He hath loved me dearly.
Whate'er my God ordains is right:
Though now this cup, in drinking,
May bitter seem to my faint heart,
I take it, all unshrinking.
My God is true; each morn anew
Sweet comfort yet shall fill my heart,
And pain and sorrow shall depart.
Whate'er my God ordains is right:
Here shall my stand be taken;
Though sorrow, need, or death be mine,
Yet I am not forsaken.
My Father's care is round me there;
He holds me that I shall not fall:
And so to Him I leave it all.
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: anxiety, contentment, God, hymn
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Revolution
by John Lennon
You say you want a revolution
Well, you know, we all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well, you know, we all want to change the world
But when you talk about destruction
Don't you know that you can count me out
Don't you know it's gonna be alright
You say you got a real solution
Well, you know, we'd all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well, you know, we're all doing what we can
But when you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell is, brother, you have to wait
Don't you know it's gonna be alright
You say you'll change the constitution
Well, you know, we all want to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well, you know, you better free you mind instead
But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao
You ain't gonna make it with anyone anyhow
Don't you know it's gonna be alright
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: change, disharmony, rebellion
Saturday, March 12, 2011
I Want to Tell You
by George Harrison
I want to tell you
My head is filled with things to say
When you're here
All those words, they seem to slip away
When I get near you
The games begin to drag me down
It's all right
I'll make you maybe next time around
But if I seem to act unkind
It's only me, it's not my mind
That is confusing things
I want to tell you
I feel hung up, and I don't know why
I don't mind
I could wait forever, I've got time
Sometimes I wish I knew you well
Then I could speak my mind and tell you
Maybe you'd understand
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: anxiety, frustration, Harrison, longing
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Ash Wednesday (Pt. III)
[Part II here]
by T.S. Eliot
At the first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of despair.
At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.
At the first turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.
Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only.
[Pt. IV here]
Friday, March 4, 2011
The Waste Land (Pt. III)
[Pt. II Here]
by T.S. Eliot
III. The Fire Sermon
The river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother's wreck
And on the king my father's death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et, O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc'd.
Tereu
Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
'This music crept by me upon the waters'
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
'Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.'
'My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised 'a new start'.
I made no comment. What should I resent?'
'On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.'
la la
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest
burning
[Pt. IV Here]
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: anxiety, change, death, disharmony, Eliot, loss, poetry, Waste Land
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
I Think I Love You
by Tony Romeo
I'm sleeping
And right in the middle of a good dream
When all at once I wake up
From something that keeps knocking at my brain
Before I go insane
I hold my pillow to my head
And spring up in my bed
Screaming out the words I dread
'I think I love you!'
This morning
I woke up with this feeling
I didn't know how to deal with
And so I just decided to myself
I'd hide it to myself
And never talk about it
And did not go and shout it
When you walked into the room
'I think I love you!'
I think I love you
So what am I so afraid of?
I'm afraid that I'm not sure of
A love there is no cure for
I think I love you
Isn't that what life is made of?
Though it worries me to say
That I've never felt this way
I don't know what I'm up against
I don't know what it's all about
I got so much to think about
Believe me
You really don't have to worry
I only want to make you happy
And if you say, 'Hey, go away,' I will
But I think better still
I'd better stay around and love you
Do you think I have a case?
Let me ask you to your face
Do you think you love me?
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Rock and Roll
by Lou Reed
Jenny said when she was just 5 years old
There was nothing happening at all
Every time she puts on the radio
There was nothing going down at all
Then one fine morning, she puts on a New York station
You know, she don't believe what she heard at all
She started shaking to that fine, fine music
You know, her life was saved by rock and roll
Despite all the amputations
You know, you could just go out
And dance to the rock and roll station
It was all right
Jenny said when she was just about 5 years old
'You know, my parents are gonna be the death of us all
'Two TV sets and two Cadillac cars
'Well, you know, ain't gonna help me at all'
Then one fine morning, she turns on a New York station
She doesn't believe what she hears at all
She started dancing to that fine, fine music
You know, her life was saved by rock and roll
Despite all the computations
You could just change it
To that rock and roll station
And baby, it was all right
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Saturday, February 19, 2011
The Sands of Iwo Jima
by Patterson Hood
George A. was at the movies in December '41
They announced it in the lobby what had just gone on
He drove up from Birmingham back to the family's farm
Thought he'd get him a deferment, there was much work to be done
He was a family man, even in those days
But Uncle Sam decided he was needed anyway
In the South Pacific over half a world away
He believed in God and Country, things was just that way
When I was just a kid, I spent every weekend
On the farm that he grew up on, so I guess so did I
And we'd stay up watching movies on the black-and-white TV
We watched The Sands of Iwo Jima starring John Wayne
Every year in June, George A. goes to a reunion
Of the men that he served with, and their wives and kids and grandkids
My great-uncle used to take me, and I'd watch them recollect
About some things I could not comprehend
And I thought about that movie, asked if it was that way
He just shook his head and smiled at me in such a loving way
As he thought about some friends he will never see again
He said, 'I never saw John Wayne on the sands of Iwo Jima'
Most of those men are gone now, but he goes still every year
And George A.'s still doing fine, especially for his years
He's still living on that homestead in the house that he was born in
And I sure wish I could go see him today
He never drove a new car, though he could easily afford it
He'd just buy one for the family, take whatever no one wanted
He said a shiny car didn't mean much after all the things he'd seen
George A. never saw John Wayne on the sands of Iwo Jima
Posted by Steven A Mitchell 0 comments
Labels: Americana, change, contentment, death, Drive-By Truckers, history, life, loss, narrative, war