Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Before I knew you

i heard your voice

and it sent me 
into that silent blur of being still
while on a fast moving train.
everything else silent,
noises so loud
that they no longer matter.

i was served turkish coffee from your voice,
dark and rich and filled with spices.
served from a place of secrets, 
silk and tapestries.

and i don't hear the sounds of drums and wails of war.

your voice smells of ink and old paper,
stacked in the library of an english home.
proper and yet wicked,
knowing wisdom of the ages,
but set into dusty shelves only to be found
by the most curious or intrepid.
the one that finds the room untouched,
and goes there in the afternoon,
where time means nothing.

your voice could make all places soft 
upon a woman's body,
shiver with the reverberations, 
if pressed upon them...

and i would lie beneath you on the rocks.
you above and i below,
and let your words drip slow and sweet, 
honey and thick,
from where your tongue begins, 
into my throat.
and feel no pain.

i heard your voice.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Johnny Cash Live at Folsom Prison

Johnny Cash: Where I found the starts of my religion.
Folsom Prison Blues is the first thing 
I remember hearing of Cash, and my love of listening to him, 
blossomed from there.

Johnny Cash wrote a movie. 
The Gospel Road.
He wrote and performed all the music. 
He narrated it.
It tells the story of Jesus.
From manhood to death. 
And resurrection.
It's cheesy as Hell.
In the movie, told by the man in black, 
who was no saint, himself,
there is the Biblical story of the day 
that the scribes and pharisees, 
the religious leaders of the day, 
wanted to disprove Jesus, 
as he claimed that he was the son of God.
So they brought him a test. 
A woman that had been caught in the act of adultery. 
According to the laws of the land, she should be stoned. 
She was flung at the feet of Jesus, 
and he was asked what he thought should be done. 

They had known just where to find her, 
meaning probably that they knew her. 
And that they were willing to sacrifice her life 
to prove their point.
The man involved was not brought, 
meaning that he might have been one of the pharisees, himself.

Jesus hesitated a moment, and said,
"He that is without sin, cast the first stone."
Then he stooped, and began to write in the sand. 
It is still not known what he wrote. 
But as he did, the scribes began to leave, 
one by one, from the oldest, 
down to the youngest... 
until it was only he and the woman.
When this was done, he asked her, 
"Who here is your accuser?"
And she replied, 
"None here, my lord."
Jesus said to her, 
"Neither do I accuse you." 
"Go, and sin no more."
Being that she was probably a prostitute, 
he knew that she would more than likely return 
to the life she knew.

She had been justified, as a human, and as a woman.
She had been shown mercy
and set above her hypocritical judges.

It is my favorite story in the Bible. 
It is my favorite story about God.
I don't know if there is a God, 
or if we call him by the right name.
But if there is, he is the God of second chances.
And from this, was birthed the roots 
of what I would say is my soul.

1. Don't judge until you know the whole story.

2. You'll never know the whole story.
3. I am weary of chickens.
4. In everything, use Dignity, and practice Balance.
5. Get up.

Merle Kilgore recently died. 
I think he just may be up in heaven,
with Johnny, sittin' down.  

Wednesday, July 6, 2005

"Funny, just when you think you've got it all figured, 
in a heartbeat, it changes again."
I had met my forever still soulmate.
He taught me to speak from action rather than reaction.
He was the only person that I had ever met
who has been attacked by a monkey. 
His religion was fire.
He taught me that when you find your love,
they are with you always, even when they are gone.

When he left, he was going to Crestone, Colorado.

He never got there. But I wrote a letter every day.
For almost a year. I sent them to the post office there.
Care of General Delivery. No one has ever picked them up.
That was eight years ago.

What makes the kettle whistle? 

What makes gold precious?
What makes a baby cry? 
What makes the poor baby older than the rich one?

Why do we have to belong to someone else?

~perry ferrell~

It would be unfair to say that this was alone the music
that accompanied my life swing, and pivot.

The other is just a bit obscure...
I also watched the movie, "The End of Violence" by Wim Wenders.
It has remained my favorite movie, and the inspiration
for much of my life. I still listen to the soundtrack, often.

It includes: Ry cooder, Spain, DJ Shadow, U2, Sinaid O'Connor, Tom Waits, Medeski Martin and Wood, Michael Stipe, Raul Malo, Los Lobos, Latin Playboys, Whiskytown, Roy Orbison, Eels, and Howie B...

I smoke my friends down to the filter...

~Tom Waits~

When you make love, 

you know you're making love 
to everyone
you've ever made love to...
There are stronger men than me
and they will take you on a mountain
and give you all you seek, 
and you will do what they desire.
You were born to see 
how long your hand can stand the fire...

~roy orbison~

Guess I'm doin' somethin' wrong. 

Never feel right in these shoes.
Pocket full of matches, and a head full of flame.
I got to warn you that I'm bad news.


My now is not my always...


Monday, January 31, 2005

And When She Left She Bit Me

A young grackle fell into a pool of water.

A grackle,
her name not graceful 
as a raven 
or even as a crow.
Her slender legs were not long enough
to keep her head above the water.
And her wings did not help her swim.

Who knows how long
she struggled there.
The air around her
thick to breathe.

It was the gardener 
who lifted her out.
Poor as dirt.
Rich as soil.

And set her resting 
on the hibiscus plant.
Her claws were clinched into little fists
that hurt to even look at them.

She shuddered and shivered 
in the mug and heat 
of all of now what should save her.

It was the gardener's wife 
who tucked her into her shirt.
Against her breast.
Against her heart.Poor as dirt.
Rich as a gardener.
Plain as a wife.
As beautiful as a wife.

The slender legged grackle lay there.
As ugly as a drowned thing.
As beautiful as something saved.
Wild as a city bird.
Tame as the injured's hopeless.

And when she left.
She bit me.