Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Scorpio Moon

This is a song I wrote while living in Belize for Ph.D. fieldwork. The sights and scents of roadside and forest refuse fires found their way in. I have the arrangement worked out in my head, but it will require a full band. Yet another one of those plans that will have to come to fruition "after the dissertation"!

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Verse 1:

You rose to meet me

at four shadowed walls,

misty curtain calls that stay

supple with pain.

The glow that burns away

smokey defenses

I’ll come to my senses one day,

you say,

You’ll come to my senses one day…


Verse 2:

I look for your scattered

reflections on the track.

Never too lost as to

lose my way back.

There’s a fire that is raging

on hills, cast aside

by the doubts infiltrating your mind

by the doubts infiltrating your mind.


Chorus:

(But) the lessons we learn

can divide us when pride is the

recourse demanding its say.

And the moments of sorrow

form a shroud for tomorrow,

so I search for your light until

night becomes day.

so I search for your light until

night becomes day.


Instrumental Break over Chorus chords


Verse 3:

Down to the wire,

by the skin of its teeth.

Not quite the person you

had hoped you would meet.

The sweetness of surrender grows

tart with the sublime.

I hope that you’ll give it some time.

I only hope that you’ll give it some time.


Chorus (2x)

2nd time: “So I search for…” (3x)


Verse 1 (reprise):

You rose to meet me

at four shadowed walls,

misty curtain calls that stay

supple with pain.

The glow that burns away

smokey defenses

You’ll come to my senses one day,

you say,

We’ll come to our senses someday.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Diplomacies of Black and White (poem)

When every touch mesmerizes,
(surfaces forever gleaming
in the rays of one's projections)
do not take the dark samsara
emanating from life's tragedies
for the alluring cloak of night's mystery.
For, although one is given
and the other chosen,
(which is which being your jurisdiction)
that would build pleasure
upon another's pain.
Refrain from judging rage
against the dying of the light
too harshly,
with its gauche angling
like awkward adolescent limbs.
Rejoicing in one's moments
(those homespun webs of significance)
delights all
if you can cease to
insinuate
victory.

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