life: acoustic & amplified

weeds and wheat

       Let the weeds and wheat grow together
until the harvest.
—Matthew 13.30

Your difficulties belong.
What angers and seduces you,
what pains you or confounds you,
are pages of the book.
They are your teachers.
They are the rough desert
where your savior abides.

The story of grace
has many chapters,
and much suspense.
Read the whole book,
every page,
and keep in your heart
the gift of hope:
knowing there is wheat
among the weeds
the Faithful One
knows how to harvest,
knowing the story
isn’t over yet.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net

I have taken back my own listening

The weeping cherries have cried their last for me this spring and are spent and ragged from their bouts with this wracking grief

We have eaten cake and shared a toast or two, full of promises and new love

The dogwoods and lilacs having  waited, now bloom just for me perfumed air follows me for all these miles

My heart is still full and empty at the same time, life is always bitter and always sweet.  always both at once.

Flaming bushes hatch their eggs and throw holy joy into the blue sky

My tears find their way to the ocean, to mingle with their brothers and sisters

Freedom is never free, the cost is always found on the edge of a cruel mans sword

I lay on feathers of lost innocence those birds plucked for my dinner I will eat with relish

My body, still adjusting to this new age, burns away the old days, realizing this present moment is all I have

What does it mean that I spoke, for a minute, about you, about good hair, you in a suit and tie, aesthetically pleasing to the eye and ear?

I wonder what will become of me in these nexts, in these upcomings, in these wild, deep blue yonders

My new friend, Khalid Bin Al Kamaal reminds me:

‘Don’t wander off alone in thought lest you dear feel lost’ – I have not listened to his well-intended advice

I am forever lost to my own thinking, forever making towards the light of my own future, forever stepping into the now of my own footsteps,

forever inhabiting my own self, forever revealing my own hearted purpose for be-ing here, forever knowing myself as I am known

Over and over I find new truth, for better or worse, I am that I am

❤

Amy Lloyd

pinterest

The road in the end taking the path the sun had taken,

into the western sea, and the moon rising behind you

as you stood where ground turned to ocean: 

no way to your future now but the way your shadow 

could take, walking before you across water, 

going where shadows go, no way 

to make sense of a world that wouldn’t 

let you pass, except to call an end 

to the way you had come,

to take out each frayed letter you had brought

and light their illumined corners; and to read

them as they drifted on the late western light;

to empty your bags; to sort this and to leave that;

to promise what you needed to promise all along,

and to abandon the shoes that brought you here

right at the water’s edge, not because you had given up

but because now, you would find a different way to tread,

and because, through it all, part of you would still walk on,

no matter how, over the waves.

…

Finisterre.

From PILGRIM : Poems by David Whyte

Once in a while

I just let time wear on;

Leaning against a solitary pine

Standing speechless,

As does the whole universe.

Ah, who can share

This solitude with me?

🌲

~ Ryokan

regeneration

Make a delicious mistake.

Fuck up once in awhile.

After all, I invented peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

by throwing and shattering bright jars when I was six.

Yes I did.

I invented the Frisbee when I flung a plateful of broccoli

my mom was forcing me to eat out the window.

Yes I did.

I invented S’mores

when an intolerably fascist camp counselor

told me I could only have a single dessert:

so I smushed three into one.

What did You invent by stumbling and dropping things,

by your glorious lack of impulse control?

Go ahead, tell me everything.

Or tell an exquisite lie, so outrageous it might be true.

“I invented the way light shatters in the prism of a raindrop

twenty billion times to create the first rainbow.”

I believe you, Friend.

Now listen to me: Whoever God is,

She embraces the whole hot mess.

She lavishes extraneous Life on us,

and a host of Second Chances,

by permitting impeccable blunders like

the uncertain location of an electron,

the mutation in a molecule of cytosine

that created your original ancestor,

the chain of non-causation that lead

to this look on your face,

the way blackness engenders stars

in the chaos of a hole at the center of the galaxy,

the all-pervading fragrance of your first love.

So if you were never sentenced

to the time-out chair in kindergarten

or sent to the principle’s office in grade school,

if you never cut class to explore

the wilderness in your soul

or skipped church to attend the carnival

in your body,

if you never got tear-gassed in the street

when you were in college,

never got fired from a job,

never spent a single night in jail,

or drank the sky like whiskey

from a morning glory’s cup,

dear one, you might not actually

be alive.

 ❤

Fuck Up by Fred LaMotte

I’ve been in the same place 

as you when everyone 

and everything 

I loved and 

ever wanted 

came crashing down.

it makes a kind 

of roaring sound 

in your head

and it won’t stop,

it won’t stop 

until you cry it out

and get to the anger 

and the pain 

and the loss 

that feels so deep 

that you will never 

find the bottom of it. 

but you do 

find the bottom of it 

if you will just 

keep diving down 

and holding every 

ounce of courage 

you possess 

until you land 

on sacred ground, 

and that place 

that ground 

feels like your heart, 

and maybe 

for the very first time 

it feels like you 

are in love 

with someone 

you left behind 

a very long time ago 

and that someone 

is yourself 

and you’re home. 

you’re finally home 

and you can breathe, 

and you can 

sleep again,

and you can love again, 

and you feel 

a kind of peace 

and it is over 

and you are found, 

you are found. 

❤

found by Scott Lockhart / austin 2017

Scott Lockhart on facebook

Website http://www.scottlockhartartist.com/

I asked the clouds for answers but they did not listen

 

or maybe they were just pretending not to pay attention.

 

Then I turned to the sun in its burning glory but there was nothing

 

it was too busy shining on lovers in their secret loving places.

 

I begged the seagulls for absolution but they just laughed

 

as they floated free above me shrieking the news I was already forgiven.

 

I shouted to the circle of the earth to give me peace but it just continued it’s carefree circling

 

acting like everything was perfectly in order already.

 

I pleaded with the moon to set me free but it just continued to smile at me lovingly

 

not worried about my lack of sleep in the least.

 

I screamed to the four winds to come and deliver me from all this madness but, for the first time in history, they refused to blow

 

leaving me right where I was standing with nowhere else to go.

 

At long last, I said to myself, I will stop talking and just listen and as I fell silent, the questions did as well

 

and in that listening came all I had ever needed to know as I quietly walked home.

❤

Amy Lloyd

 

bewitching hours

“It is the hour of the pearl, the interval between day and night, when time stops and examines itself.”

~John Steinbeck, Cannery Row

The sun processes up the aisle

carrying the Gospel.

Birds speak of the other world

in their own Latin.

A child looks up at me

with those two big brown universes.

A voice stands up in me

that knows how to do this.

What is this, even in my sleep,

but you, touching your lips to mine?

 _________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

There is a country to cross you will

find in the corner of your eye, in

the quick slip of your foot—air far

down, a snap that might have caught.

And maybe for you, for me, a high, passing

voice that finds its way by being

afraid. That country is there, for us,

carried as it is crossed. What you fear

will not go away: it will take you into

yourself and bless you and keep you.

That’s the world, and we all live there.

 ❤

For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid by William Stafford

Real presence comes through the open heart. You cannot heal and resolve your emotional material with your mind. Your emotional material does not evaporate because you watch it. You can only heal your heart with your heart.

~ Jeff Brown

 

I close my eyes as dream-scape falls gently down around me

Dream chaser, tenderly take my hand 

carry me away in your passionate embrace

as I let go, diving deeply into your liquid rainbows 

Dream catcher, pull me into your web of light 

spilling me softly out into this sparkling milky way

oh, sweet dreamer, dream sweetly

keep daring to dream the impossible dreams

do not be afraid of your broken heart

it’s golden light will light the way to new dimensions

there are no limits in this dreamers world 

the same moon shines brightly, dream lover to us all

the sands of time run ever dreaming into the winds of change

oh, dearest Beppe, you are loved

there is no lock on the door – everyone is welcome here

so fly free in the star-filled sky

live like there’s no tomorrow 

dance while the stars turn blue

love whether smiles or sorrow

dream like they’ll all come true
❤

Amy Lloyd

finding treasure

inspire me with true beauty

inspire me with beautiful truth

the deep satisfaction of the earth beneath me

the stars above me, keeping no score.

replace the illusion of neon lights,

all my cheap plastic glamour,

with full-hearted, rock-solid, kindness

with the glory of what will stand the test

allow me to see the value of my truest self

the weighty value of LOVE to the world…

THIS is only water to quench the thirsty soul

the only inspiration which keeps us seeking more

while being fully satisfied at the same time

❤

Amy Lloyd

One day it’s the clouds,
one day the mountains.
One day the latest bloom
of roses—the pure monochromes,
the dazzling hybrids—inspiration
for the cathedral’s round windows.
Every now and then
there’s the splendor
of thought: the singular
idea and its brilliant retinue—
words, cadence, point of view,
little gold arrows flitting
between the lines.
And too the splendor
of no thought at all:
hands lying calmly
in the lap, or swinging
a six iron with effortless
tempo. More often than not
splendor is the star we orbit
without a second thought,
especially as it arrives
and departs. One day
it’s the blue glassy bay,
one day the night
and its array of jewels,
visible and invisible.
Sometimes it’s the warm clarity
of a face that finds your face
and doesn’t turn away.
Sometimes a kindness, unexpected,
that will radiate farther
than you might imagine.
One day it’s the entire day
itself, each hour foregoing
its number and name,
its cumbersome clothes, a day
that says come as you are,
large enough for fear and doubt,
with room to spare: the most secret
wish, the deepest, the darkest,
turned inside out.

❤

Splendor by Thomas Centolella

Painted Heart found its way from Wayne County PA to me 🙂

there’s this thing called The Kindness Rocks Project!

Photos from Cape Cod by Sarah Shapiro

there are messages for us everywhere….

if we keep our eyes open!

the HeartMath keeps adding up!

 

it’s all about you

Tonight the wind is in your voice.

And the gods are nervous

about the drinking water.

Someone hijacks the background

with three simple dance moves.

Or maybe the clouds

paused on the television

set during a ball game.

The silence inside

the photograph

of you eating alone

in an old yearbook.

This is going to be over

before you know it.

But not before your hands

become small birds

in celebration

of the present snow.

An expressed panic

attack of harmonics.

It’s like listening to your heartbeat

in a club, all the lights off,

all by yourself.

💞

Fatigue Performance by Noah Falck

this is not your momma’s beatnik

this is not your dad’s beret

this is not your sisters pothead

not your brothers crazy wife
♦️

this is not the inquisition 

this is not the third degree

this is not just sit and listen

this is not another way
♦️

this is not your bad boy rocker

this is not green eggs and ham

this is not your high school locker

not a cry to ‘give a damn’

♦️

this is life in all its glory

this is life to have to hold

this is life step up and claim it

this is life speak up be bold

♦️

this is time to tell your story

this is how it’s said and done

this is time to stand and tell it

this is ‘c’mon have some fun’

♦️

Amy Lloyd

At some point in life you will look 

back on your journey 

and may ask yourself the question, 

which part mattered to me the most? 

Yes, life gave way to some unexpected pain 

at times when there was just no stomach for it. 

The heartache of grief felt like a concrete cross 

you had to carry over mountains. 

Then there were days you learned about things 

the hard way, feeling the sting of regret

a time or two, although you may not 

care to admit it. Even so, you’re likely 

to treasure each triumphant victory 

and playfully recall the twinkling markers of time. 

Because you were blessed to be uplifted 

and became familiar with being let down. 

You walked through fire 

and danced with elation. 

And though you may have stumbled 

more times than you can count, 

you held the space and kept the faith. 

All the while, with a fearless and 

tenacious heart, you forged ahead, 

holding everything and everyone you ever loved 

inside a precious world where gratitude spread 

like blooming wildflowers alongside 

gushing streams of joy. 

Even when it hurt you persevered, 

as your light burned fiercely and bright. 

It wasn’t all for naught, and in the end, 

you’ll embrace the entire panorama 

and kiss the ineffable bliss 

as you declare the final answer: 
I lived. And it ALL mattered. 

Every. 

Single. 

Moment.

💃

Susan Frybort

humus

And on those hot afternoons in July,

when my father was out on the tractor

cultivating rows of corn, my mother

would send us out with a Mason jar

filled with ice and water, a dish towel

wrapped around it for insulation.

Like a rocket launched to an orbiting

planet, we would cut across the fields

in a trajectory calculated to intercept—
or, perhaps, even—surprise him

in his absorption with the row and the

turning always over earth beneath the blade.

He would look up and see us, throttle

down, stop, and step from the tractor

with the grace of a cowboy dismounting

his horse, and receive gratefully the jar

of water, ice cubes now melted into tiny

shards, drinking it down in a single gulp,

while we watched, mission accomplished.

👨🏻‍🌾

Carrying Water to the Field by Joyce Sutphen

You are really very brave

to live fearlessly…

to hold the heavens in your heart

and to give it all away…

to pray and to listen to the God in your mouth

to the people who are thirsty

to the shouting of pain,

You are really very brave

to have died and come from the womb

as tender and kind, as Christ holding the bread between thin bones of resurrection, 

as empty and waiting

for moonlight to breathe open a new door,

You are really very brave

to cherish the loss,

to celebrate the union

to break free…

to live for eternity

while pouring from the water jugs,

while living for only the Beloved…

Beauty,

Rev. Donna Knutson

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,

vacation with pay. Want more

of everything ready-made. Be afraid

to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.

Not even your future will be a mystery

any more. Your mind will be punched in a card

and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something

they will call you. When they want you

to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something

that won’t compute. Love the Lord.

Love the world. Work for nothing.

Take all that you have and be poor.

Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace

the flag. Hope to live in that free

republic for which it stands.

Give your approval to all you cannot

understand. Praise ignorance, for what man

has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.

Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.

Say that your main crop is the forest

that you did not plant,

that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested

when they have rotted into the mold.

Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus

that will build under the trees

every thousand years.

Listen to carrion — put your ear

close, and hear the faint chattering

of the songs that are to come.

Expect the end of the world. Laugh.

Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful

though you have considered all the facts.

So long as women do not go cheap

for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy

a woman satisfied to bear a child?

Will this disturb the sleep

of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.

Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head

in her lap. Swear allegiance

to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos

can predict the motions of your mind,

lose it. Leave it as a sign

to mark the false trail, the way

you didn’t go. Be like the fox

who makes more tracks than necessary,

some in the wrong direction.

Practice resurrection.

 

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front by Wendell Berry

Meanwhile, back at the resurrection 

night has turned to day 

here I stand amazed

at my own rebirth

dazed and a bit confused

eyes blinking in the morning sun

attempting to adjust 

I am completely changed 

from my life to death 

back to life experience 

more than a bit claustrophobic

due to the burial, no doubt

I am no longer sure 

if my bank account is active

or my passport still relevant 

how will I go on here in the world now?

what will my friends and family do with this who-is-now me? 

they who have done with grief 

and moved along with life in-between 

I am, for sure, no longer the way I used to be

I have, for sure, experienced things they will never understand

I have flown with angels

and seen what lies beyond the Milky Way 

I have, for sure, left my fear behind me in that fresh, unmarked grave

I know, for sure, there will be no turning back,

no compromise of this wild and exquisite thing beating within me

this life of mine is mine

this heartbeats miracle will be never forgotten gift

I can only take this first step

away from this boneyard

named and dated final markers  

a place I no longer belong

I can only start close in 

in silent revelry walking

along this uncharted path

which will only be revealed by my footsteps 

I discard my grave clothes 

and turn to see the colors of my new self shining 

I take a small shaky step

and find the ground holds my weight 

I breathe deep 

inhale – exhale

soon I will attempt to speak

with my new voice

there is a song being written 

which must be sung

a beauty seeking to burst 

which will no longer be denied

a love now known 

which will never be unknown

I raise my hands and kiss the sky

I bow my knees and kiss the ground

I rise and begin the journey 

through the narrow gate

that leads home to LIFE

💞

Amy Lloyd 

go lightly

Babe, if you want to be free
I can’t keep you here with me
If you have to go away

But I think you should know
When you’re out on your own
That you’ will find that you’ll make a mistake

Fear that you feel is not real
It’s an illusion that will soon disappear
In my arms
Shadows and light, day and night
In the darkness I’ll be there, by your side
Come back home

I used to think, if I found
Something different, something new
That I wouldn’t be afraid

So I moved, changed my hair
Got some brand new clothes to wear
But deep down, I still felt the same

Fear that you feel is not real
It’s an illusion that will soon disappear
In my arms
Shadows and light, day and night
In the darkness I’ll be there by your side
Come back home
Come back

Baby you could come back home
You don’t have to be alone
Come back home
Doesn’t matter where you go
I know you’re out there on your own
Come back home

Shadow and Light by Kate Earl (video below)

St A / m.e.

read all about it

Headache Headlines

by Dd. Spungin

 
Thermometer takes its temperature

Calls the emergency room doc
Iceberg breaks up with his family

Scientists search for Crazy Sno-Glue
World considers ending

Too many have not finished their lines
Write letters to invisible powers

Pray to invisible deities
Or just pour yourself a very large glass

And wait…

And still now every morning,

each momentary wish for healing

is a risk, a wakening call

to change, to choose,

to leave so much behind,

and be again made new.

– Steve Garnaas Holmes

💌

Hey, Babe, can you write me a letter?

Every holy diadem of a single

solitary breathing

moment in this shelf of living

a single

solitary life

subsumed into

the pain of others

the holy grail of connection

filling this cup within my heart

this role play with each character

each story a classic

an epic tale of woe…

there is always room for more

than tables and candlesticks

turning a carpetbag into a steamer trunk

poppins would be proud to carry

under a particular umbrella

why do we so easily forget ourselves?

abundance is our birthright

gluttony a human pursuit

shared by many of our contemporaries

marking time by comparisons

making life a heaviness to be borne

where music falls as dirges

and the cracks we free-fall into

drop 45 minutes straight to the center of the circle

the letters we learn to write

always seem to start the same way

what would happen if I was not fine?

Cuz Im not so sure

I am…

feeling suspended

If you didn’t tell me how you are in such a smug word

but drizzle it sweetly, slowly, a bit at a time

throughout the scribed penmanship

a new thought might be magical

a new life might be born into being

Tito might get a new nickname, as a matter of fact

💌

Amy Lloyd (AL)

This is the beginning. 

Almost anything can happen.

This is where you find

the creation of light, a fish wriggling onto land,

the first word of Paradise Lost on an empty page.

Think of an egg, the letter A,

a woman ironing on a bare stage

as the heavy curtain rises.

This is the very beginning.

The first-person narrator introduces himself,

tells us about his lineage.

The mezzo-soprano stands in the wings.

Here the climbers are studying a map

or pulling on their long woolen socks.

This is early on, years before the Ark, dawn.

The profile of an animal is being smeared

on the wall of a cave,

and you have not yet learned to crawl.

This is the opening, the gambit,

a pawn moving forward an inch.

This is your first night with her,

your first night without her.

This is the first part

where the wheels begin to turn,

where the elevator begins its ascent,

before the doors lurch apart.

 

This is the middle. 

Things have had time to get complicated,

messy, really. Nothing is simple anymore.

Cities have sprouted up along the rivers

teeming with people at cross-purposes—

a million schemes, a million wild looks.

Disappointment unshoulders his knapsack

here and pitches his ragged tent.

This is the sticky part where the plot congeals,

where the action suddenly reverses

or swerves off in an outrageous direction.

Here the narrator devotes a long paragraph

to why Miriam does not want Edward’s child.

Someone hides a letter under a pillow.

Here the aria rises to a pitch,

a song of betrayal, salted with revenge.

And the climbing party is stuck on a ledge

halfway up the mountain.

This is the bridge, the painful modulation.

This is the thick of things.

So much is crowded into the middle—

the guitars of Spain, piles of ripe avocados,

Russian uniforms, noisy parties,

lakeside kisses, arguments heard through a wall—

too much to name, too much to think about.

 
And this is the end, 

the car running out of road,

the river losing its name in an ocean,

the long nose of the photographed horse

touching the white electronic line.

This is the colophon, the last elephant in the parade,

the empty wheelchair,

and pigeons floating down in the evening.

Here the stage is littered with bodies,

the narrator leads the characters to their cells,

and the climbers are in their graves.

It is me hitting the period

and you closing the book.

It is Sylvia Plath in the kitchen

and St. Clement with an anchor around his neck.

This is the final bit

thinning away to nothing.

This is the end, according to Aristotle,

what we have all been waiting for,

what everything comes down to,

the destination we cannot help imagining,

a streak of light in the sky,

a hat on a peg, and outside the cabin, falling leaves.

🏜

Aristotle BY BILLY COLLINS

life in the numbers

Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head. 

Arithmetic tells you how many you lose or win if you know how 

    many you had before you lost or won. 

Arithmetic is seven eleven all good children go to heaven – or five 

    six bundle of sticks. 

Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand 

    to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer. 

Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice and 

    you can look out of the window and see the blue sky – or the 

    answer is wrong and you have to start all over and try again 

    and see how it comes out this time. 

If you take a number and double it and double it again and then 

    double it a few more times, the number gets bigger and bigger 

    and goes higher and higher and only arithmetic can tell you 

    what the number is when you decide to quit doubling. 

Arithmetic is where you have to multiply – and you carry the 

    multiplication table in your head and hope you won’t lose it. 

If you have two animal crackers, one good and one bad, and you 

    eat one and a striped zebra with streaks all over him eats the 

    other, how many animal crackers will you have if somebody 

    offers you five six seven and you say No no no and you say 

    Nay nay nay and you say Nix nix nix? 

If you ask your mother for one fried egg for breakfast and she 

    gives you two fried eggs and you eat both of them, who is 

    better in arithmetic, you or your mother?

+

Arithmetic by Carl Sandburg

There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man. 

You can make him carry a plank of wood 

to the top of a hill and nail him to it. To do this 

properly you require a crowd of people 

wearing sandals, a cock that crows, a cloak 

to dissect, a sponge, some vinegar and one 

man to hammer the nails home. 

 

Or you can take a length of steel, 

shaped and chased in a traditional way, 

and attempt to pierce the metal cage he wears. 

But for this you need white horses, 

English trees, men with bows and arrows, 

at least two flags, a prince, and a 

castle to hold your banquet in. 

 

Dispensing with nobility, you may, if the wind 

allows, blow gas at him. But then you need 

a mile of mud sliced through with ditches, 

not to mention black boots, bomb craters, 

more mud, a plague of rats, a dozen songs 

and some round hats made of steel. 

 

In an age of aeroplanes, you may fly 

miles above your victim and dispose of him by 

pressing one small switch. All you then 

require is an ocean to separate you, two 

systems of government, a nation’s scientists, 

several factories, a psychopath and 

land that no-one needs for several years. 

 

These are, as I began, cumbersome ways 

to kill a man. Simpler, direct, and much more neat 

is to see that he is living somewhere in the middle 

of the twentieth century, and leave him there.

❤

Five Ways to Kill a Man by Edwin Brock

Prolonged, they slacken into pain
or sadness in accordance with the law
of apples.
One apple satisfies.
Two apples cloy.
Three apples glut.
Call it a tug-of-war between enough and more
than enough, between sufficiency
and greed, between the stay-at-homers
and globe-trotting see-the-worlders.
Like lovers seeking heaven in excess,
the hopelessly insatiable forget
how passion sharpens appetites
that gross indulgence numbs.
Result?
The haves have not
what all the have-nots have
since much of having is the need
to have.
Even my dog
knows that—and more than that.
He slumbers in a moon of sunlight,
scratches his twitches and itches
in measure, savors every bite
of grub with equal gratitude
and stays determinedly in place
unless what’s suddenly exciting
happens.
Viewing mere change
as threatening, he relishes a few
undoubtable and proven pleasures
to enjoy each day in sequence
and with canine moderation.
They’re there for him in waiting,
and he never wears them out.
=
The Necessary Brevity of Pleasures by Samuel Hazo

Song 02 B
.. Sterling News
~
m.e. 4/3/17
1
— Em Bm
she looked over,
said to me
let’s start a new phase
this was after the crazies —
the Polonaise
if that was the sound of history,
I’d thought — then
It’s not too bad of a theme
— G Bm Em
and a little whisper, well,
this really can’t go wrong —
this picture of all these
reams and reams of songs
2
— Em Bm
you see,
the content is voluminous
this is like
the books high up
on a very high shelf
this is like
climbing a rolling ladder,
and seeing there’s eons
more than myself
— G Bm Em
in this world
of our own new making
imagine just two
— the index of two
imagine the worlds
of our language and
voices make incredible views —
sterling News
3
— Em Bm
she looked over,
said to me
let’s start a new phase
in time —
but I was already lost
in where to move,
doing math
of extending —
each and every day
— G Bm Em
and a little whisper, well,
this really can’t go wrong —
this picture of all these
reams and reams of songs
in this world
of our own new making
imagine just two
— the index of two
imagine the worlds
of our language and
voices make incredible views —
sterling News
~

Leading Blog: Building a community of Leaders

tell me truly 

When you said bread did you mean blood?

When you said desire did you mean desert?

When you said people did you mean punish?

When you said thought did you mean terror?

When you said read did you mean riot?

When you said friend did you mean fraud?

When you said connection did you mean kin?

When you said love did you mean leave?

When you said law did you mean lie?

When you said army did you mean Armageddon?

When you said health did you mean hell?

When you said together did you mean token?

When you said we did you mean war?

When you said fat did you mean fate?

When said soil did you mean oil?

When you said earth did you mean own?

When you said destiny did you mean decimate?

When you said honor did you mean hunger?

When you said mother did you mean murder?

When you said father did you mean fatal?

When you said couple did you mean capital?

When you said poetry did you mean passive?

When you said hope did you mean hype?

When you said freedom did you mean forget?

When you said last did you mean lost?

When you said fame did you mean game?

When you said name did you mean nobody?

When you said tomorrow did you mean never?

When you said meekness did you mean mockery?

When you said faith did you mean fanatic?

When you said politics did you mean power?

When you said wealth did you mean wall?

When you said poor did you mean prison?

When you said foist did you mean fast?

When you said fellow did you mean follow?

When you said feeling did you mean fallow?

When you said brother did you mean brutal?

When you said sister did you mean suffer?

When you said man did you mean master?

When you said woman did you mean wither?

When you said white did you mean welcome?

When you said black did you mean back?

When you said yellow did you mean yield?

When you said brown did you mean ground?

When you said I did you mean island?

When you said ideal did you mean idol?

When you said God did you mean greed?

When you said they did you mean threat?

When you said us did you mean use?

When you said succeed did you mean sucker?

When you said joy did you mean joke?

When you said end did you mean endure?

When you say art do you mean act?

❓

Power by John Keene

I am the wind which breathes upon the sea,

I am the wave of the ocean,

I am the murmur of the billows,

I am the ox of the seven combats,

I am the vulture upon the rocks,

I am a beam of the sun,

I am the fairest of plants,

I am the wild boar in valour,

I am the salmon in the water,

I am a lake in the plain,

I am a world of knowledge,

I am the point of the lance of battle,

I am the God who created the fire in the head. 

💚
   – Amairgen, ed P. Murray

     traditionally believed to be the first poem ever composed in Ireland 

i am the fire on the mountain

i am the fire by the sea

i am the fire in the forest

burning down trees

i am the fire in the desert 

i am the fire in the snow

i am the fire that will warm you

when your bones have grown cold

i am the fire for your shelter

i am the fire for your bread

i am the fire for your hunger

whenever you go to bed

i am the fire on the water

i am the fire that is near

i am the fire burning your words

consuming your doubt and your fear

i am the fire of your longing

i am the fire of your soul

i am the fire of your loving

i will never grow cold

i am the fire for your winter

i am the fire for your spring

i am the fire of your living

passion i bring

i am the fire of destruction

i am the fire where you die

i am the fire of your Phoenix 

as you rise, as you soar, to the sky

Amy Lloyd (AL)

Let’s be nothing 

You and I

let’s stand together 

Souls naked

skin removed

take me into you

I will do the same 

We will be fog

Rising as Mist

absorbing each other’s colors

You will become me

I am already you

our hearts are one

and always the same

as we fade into this ethereal moment 

nothing for eternity 

everything this is

for all the existence thereafter 

☁️

Amy Lloyd (al)

Breathe, breathe in the air

Don’t be afraid to care

Leave but don’t leave me

Look around and choose your own ground
For long you live and high you fly

And smiles you’ll give and tears you’ll cry

And all you touch and all you see

Is all your life will ever be…

~Pink Floyd