I'm comin' around

A song about jealousy and other little hidden dips, trips and experiences:

Maybe you should step out with him,
Dance in the spotlight and share his grin,
Bathe in the milk and breathe out again,
Twinkle like starlight and shed your skin.

I'm coming around, I'm coming around,
I'm coming around, I'm coming around,
To your way of thinking.

I'm coming around so I face up to you,
I'm coming around to see your light,
I'm coming around for a biased rendezvous,
I'm coming around to set things right.

Over the hills

Over the hills and farther away than I can go
Locked in shadows I cant quite see through today
Backed into a corner and a dark unlit pool
Some kind of stretched longing
Some kind of well served memory
Puzzles and shapes

I think of Grey Havens or some other film's ending
A curtain pulling closed and my daemon no more
The end of the school play with no encore
I can never go back, no more than you
The spooky places reign.

I was clumsy at times and took things for granted
I made the most, watched, learned or I ignored
But I still believe myself to be a good person
As your fun, and killer instinct pulled me out
As you left your mark all over the place.

Thanks and sleep peacefully.

Nothing

Nothing is all that and more, nor is it remarkable.

Taking credit for a crunch

There were piles and there were heaps, for keeps.

Money, sand and oil, staple foods and furniture,

Jets and company nomenclature

Real estate and squeezed up landfill,

Coke machines and traffic lights,

Now life runs to a standstill.


A junkyard angel to see fair play,

A bully and a bigot to run away,

A secretary to hold the calls,

A statistician to count your balls

A bonus, a gold card, a clever hunch,

A three hour champagne business lunch,

Let's all take some credit for the credit crunch.

Art is wherever

Art is where it is.
In the long run.
In the short stop.
In the place and at a certain pace.
Space.
Effort makes art a special thing that thrives best when unappreciated.
Misunderstood is also some how good.
But be under no illusion, the paint that watches your ideas dry out will take revenge some day, far away and peel.

MMIXa

Newer Year

Fingers stuck in the door of 2009,

The melted chocolate of time

Where war breaks out and the moments melt

As things unknown pivot on the different day

And we seem worlds apart but nestling.

I speak five words or five lines but never enough

Talk is cheap and cheap talk is tough

Here come the signals from above

Driven from heaven and on your head like a dove

This must be love, love, love.

I want to mix things up but my energy’s bankrupt

A power struggle and crisis looms

From mist to morning, from frost to loss

Here in the warm alternatives we can belong.

Here in the New Year we can be strong.