Blessed Be

Don’t overlook me

   or underestimate my power –

I rock in the darkness of night

   on a misty bower.

Moon

The clouds troll my words

   and carry my message on air –

slashing the canvas of space with

   a shadowy tear.

There’s fascination

   veiled in many disguises –

but some seek only the darkling

   feral surprises.

I glow beyond time

   like an ancient wayward daughter

birthed of the moon  – You can simply

call me an author.

Chris de Burgh’s A Spaceman Came Traveling

A Spaceman Came Traveling

(Chris de Burgh)

Earth

A spaceman came traveling on his ship from afar,
‘Twas light years of time since his mission did start,
And over a village he halted his craft,
And it hung in the sky like a star, just like a star.

He followed a light and came down to a shed
Where a mother and child were lying there on a bed.
A bright light of silver shone round his head,
And he had the face of an angel, and they were afraid.

Then the stranger spoke. He said, “Do not fear,
I come from a planet a long way from here,
And I bring a message for mankind to hear.”
And suddenly the sweetest music filled the air.

And it went “La la la la la la la la la,
La la la la la la la, la la la la la la la la la.
Peace and goodwill to all men and love for the child.
La la la la la la la la la, la la la la la la la, la la la la la la la la la, oh!”

This lovely music went trembling through the ground
And many were awakened on hearing that sound,
And travelers on the road
The village they found,by the light of that ship in the sky
Which shone all around.

And just before dawn at the paling of the sky,
The stranger returned and said, “Now I must fly!
When two thousand years of your time has gone by
This song will begin once again to a baby’s cry.”

And it goes “La la la la la la la la.
La la la la la la la, la la la la la la la la la.
Peace and goodwill to all men,and love for the child.”
And I hear “La la la la la la la la la la la,
La la la la la la, la la la la la la la la la la la la,
This song will begin once again to a baby’s cry.”

Oh the whole world is waiting – waiting to hear that song again
Standing on the edge of the world.
And the time is nearly here . . .

That song will begin once again, to a baby’s cry.

 

 

Check out this imaginative video version by Artwayfarer:

 

Fear

 

I slid through the gap and into a spiraling whirlpool,

landed inside the gray with a nauseous splash.

Trees stood stripped of dignity, shuddering in the twilight

of winter, naked but broiling with torturous stakes.

Eerie

As branches drowned in the wake of death their fingers pointed

through ripples pungent with sulfur and blue, bruised blood.

Shock took captive my slipping heart, which spluttered against the

ominous fog creeping in to steal my good eye.

 

Bruce Springsteen’s Magic

MAGIC

(Bruce Springsteen)

I got a coin in your palm,
I can make it disappear.
I got a card up my sleeve,
Name it, and I’ll pull it out your ear.
I got a rabbit in the hat,
If you wanna come and see.
This is what will be.
This is what will be.

I got shackles on my wrists,
Soon I’ll slip and I’ll be gone.
Chain me in a box in the river,
And I rise up in the sun.
Trust none of what you hear,
And less of what you see.
This is what will be.
This is what will be.

 

magic

I’ll cut you in half,                                                                                                                                                                I got a shiny saw blade.                                                                                                                                                   All I need’s a volunteer,
I’ll cut you in half,
While you’re smiling ear to ear.
And the freedom that you sought,
Drifting like a ghost amongst the trees.
This is what will be.
This is what will be.

Now there’s a fire down below,
But it’s coming up here.
So leave everything you know,
Carry only what you fear.
On the road the sun is sinking low,
Bodies hanging in the trees.
This is what will be.
This is what will be.

And here’s The Boss himself:

The Mystica

untitled

The Mystica

In solitary non-compliant places

the Mystica rise

against the gravitational tug of nature

thwarting mortal will.

Gnarly limbs that grasp into consciousness

press the rub of time.

Their fingers grapple the swollen currents –

blasted and empty –

swimming away from treacherous  sandbanks,

unchecked by any tide.

A mysterious spell-binding graciousness

captivates the eye

and highlights the worn skeletal echoing

of constant pressure.

Their branches lie bare of verdant feathering

yet will bloom again

as they wrestle the constant drownings that

sap land-locked spirits.

Look! Out of even dead apparitions spring

promises of fresh life.