The Good and The Old

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@ Crystal Smith

Pigeon Toed – Girl playing the violin to a bunch of doves flittering around.

Good old music came to town Sunday morning when I’m gone
and the children now, could not hear its sound,
Good old music played to last ’till the late beat of my bass
but the children now, could not feel its rhyme…

Sunday evening I recall all the stories of The Old,
paper hearts I used to love, plastic smiles and rubber holes
and it pains me through my bones
that the calling that I hold stood me up when I got bold,
and it pains me thrugh my soul
that the  fever that I hold caught me up when I got cold…
And I’d wish I’ve colored all with a rainbow of a sort,
clouded thoughts and hardy reins to the last one of my days…

Good old music came to town Sunday morning when I’m gone
Good old music for The Old starring words that went untold…

Frumoasa mea

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Frumoasa mea cu pașii sprinteni aruncați spre soare
unde te îndrepți când tu renaști din Mare?

Cu pieptul gol și inima închegată
ai stat cu fața în culori și fruntea descrețită
piatră celor nesupuși și altar de cutezanță,
iar cu sărutări aprinse peste buzele durate-n gheață
și lungi mătănii înecate la ceasuri de tăgadă
ai rămas iubito-n bolta templelor de altă dată.

Flori sădite în taină
cresc acum la capete de zori netulburate
și în adâncuri ce privesc spre o stea de miază-noapte e roua dinspre vară
și inele de speranță în somnul fără vise
și tânăra fecioară cu stâncile deschise…

Dar n-ai să fii nicicând așa frumoasă precum erai în seara de sub ape
ascunsă în gânduri de departe și în umbrele curate,
necunoscută ce ai răsărit pe-a mea cărare în ziua fără întrebare…

Morning sonata

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I’m writing you a letter under the morning star
an expert chaining of words to unfold pages you wouldn’t dare touch otherwise,
signs and points and funny little curved bars
on the last breath of a tall green murdered sequoia tree,
in my own words as you can see,
“Good fuckin’ morning, little plush sweet baby!”

Before sunrise, time is all that still remains for there’s no ending to its fall
dreams are gone, the clay is cold, pick-pockets won’t find things to mold,
and I am gone, far away, overseas, hunting trolls…

Wake up prisoner of sight,
the day was brought to you by a brother of the cheating sun,
load your guns with courage and take a solid stand
for morning always rolls upon both the faithful and the sin
and one shall rise and one shall part
when fire hits the Queen of Hearts..

Paper planes are telling stories in the dawn of March Hare’s spring,
fierce claw paintings drawn by starlight shiver
they’re like whispers of a spark soon a tribute to the dark,
and I’m writing you a letter starting with the eye
words and thoughts and feelings with commas at the end,
a book with glitter starving hands.

Weather changes

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Dying Fairy - Midonala @ DeviantART

Dying Fairy – Midonala @ DeviantART

Music,
if not for the sound that caresses my mind I would be lost for a ghost
and steps I took on the ladder that forms through the roof, would be all wrong,
I open the door to the last lighthouse on the Sailer’s Shore
follow the rope, down the slope, along with Hope and a word she wrote,
eyes shut,
they sing, to the future that I bring,
emotions and stars stuck in a jar, up on a highest shelf, far from all…

She walked no more and the shadows were gone,
standing still I grabbed for the will
and hold on tight to things that she liked, dreams too dear to be shared,
one foot stalking another, her neck is a pillar to weather
and it snows with feathers as the world turns dry,
old books turn to whispers and one spring voices its cry,
music…

Rock-n-roll

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Kites in Cloudy Skies: Painting Clouds in Watercolour @Hannah's Art Club

Kites in Cloudy Skies: Painting Clouds in Watercolour

Do you rock or do you rock-n-roll?
big ball of fire can you rock my world?
playing the guitar on acoustic waves,
long forgotten rhymes start to grow and start to fade,
thoughts from the beginning keep emerging in the sun
smiles and whispers in the shadow come into the light,
memories are failing, history is a sight
tell me dear God, did I make it right?

Brown woolen hoodies in the backstage at the scene
they roam around like foreign medicine,
crawling up your chest when it burns from within
they pour honey at a whim,
dreams are lost to the ghosts in the notes
and I borrowed all my hopes,
kiting papers on a string
do I write, do I rock or do I sing?

So, do you rock or do you rock-n-roll?
will you be a black hole to my world?
guide me to a future and hold on to my song
till I go beyond and my fists are strong,
hearts are drawn to life on a gamer’s card
and the bass is loud and the rhythm is sound,
feelings are on sale, so do hail:
God of rock-n-roll, please don’t take my sail!

——————————

Of light and darkness

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Sail Away by Liz Jardine

Anxiety builds up in my bones like flesh on a limb,
my gut hurts from feelings I’ve held within
and curious enough I’m no longer seventeen, nor eighteen,
I postpone my life,
I live for the time in between
I have a lover, my parents and the world I’m in
and yet to find a switch to seize a time to breathe, to fill up my lungs with lasting seed,
I am lost in my dream, away from the shore, in a swim to escape boredom…
Things have a way to unfold on their own and nobody knows where they go,
I am stranded on an island with a horn to blow to scare off the night and keep away the crows
and sand grows into people that leave trails to the deep,
I play a record on a silent gramophone, the same old song I also can play on my own..
I turn my face away from the door, but my eyes remain in place and I can’t see anymore
whispers I only recall from days gone and days before, have crafted a ship and I’m stuck on the floor
and the wind blows and no one knows if it lasts or it goes,
and I can pray to countless stars above or take out my heart and run,
ropes will be cut if I am to sail, guarded by hope and a guided trust, the story unfolds as carved on stone,
far in the wild I’m preparing to build a home years before it starts to snow…

October ends

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October ends, October ends, there she goes with all my friends
pumpkin pies and woolen gloves, with all my dreams and all my hopes
and chances are we’ll meet again when I am gone or I am ten
simply bumping into someone else….
November brings the frozen ponds, chilling trees and sleepy wards
along with invitations to attend the social dines,
awkward conversations about somethings I despise
with silent disregard to memories and feelings in my heart…
and here they come,
to take my crown, to take my gown, and put me down…

But in late December when it’s dark and time takes hide
I’ll be born and put a wish and seal a deal under a myth…
and it smells of cookies and mulled wine and fairy tales
and the baking of lasagna and a movie on display,
all remorse and all disdain, everything is yesterday…

Autumn winds

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Summer haze I want them back, the autumn leafs upon my feet
rainy mornings take defeat when chilly weather’s what I need
forest green and grizzly bears come around and make me care
I’m more alive in cricket’s night when the stars are burning bright…

I’m alone but lonely days are far gone as summer haze,
woolen sweaters, warmly  caps and the world my arms can grab
I rise my voice and I scream words I for too long held within,
autumn winds stumble in, kiss my eyes and blow my dreams…

Dancing up the cliffs to where the youngsters slip into  the deep
I see it all from rise to dawn, thoughts emerging from the sun,
moonshine bumping into clouds, answers hanging by a string,
though the silence I hear them loud, the chords of paradise…

Two

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Silent drops upon the ocean, oldest leafs are going down
trees are gazing at the skies with their tops gray and brown,
daring wolf is calling deep for his pack to cheer the sheep
owls are howling in the dark, there are crickets in our yard,
better close that window now, throw a log and make it warm
lighten up that candle that’s been slowly catching dust…

Close your eyes and listen up to a ticking that will stop
open up your arms and rest on the mountains in my chest,
while sandman pours the heavy dust: dreams to last…

***

Good morning, wake up on the other side
things are very much the same, you’ve been gone one more day
wanderlust blessed your feet, stay with me till we eat
then we’re out in the wild hunting bears and falling stars,
what if this is who we really are?
what if we had wings and just forgot to fly?

Good night, don’t forget to write,
letter ash will bring your words to me, I’ll see you in a while
cotton dress and crafted hands, never old our story never ends…