Old Sol burns through morning lace and mist
Somehow placed to coax a blue-pearl world,
And we live.
Our star, our firmament
were birthed in a collosal throe
Far from any memory
From an unimaginable,
Sol, its worlds, our eyes
watch red shifts as sun, earth
Careen from other celestial bodies.
Ages later, a future generation,
Perhaps, may see a turn to blue,
As sun, maybe, and globe, maybe
And, maybe, we
Face the possiblity
of starting again.
Sun’s end, creation’s pause,
Return to smash,
Fill imagination, trouble dreams
And, we live.
[Thoughts on a morning walk after reading cosmology.]
Listen up. There are some important names called out in Angie Stone’s tune.
People, my people, keep striving.
There’s a greater master plan.
We need to know our history.
We were kings and queens of the greatest dynasty.
Willie Jones released this anthem in January of 2021. He’s country but his own kind of country.
Proud to be a Black man,
Livin’ in the land of the brave and the free.
Yeah I’m all-American,
And that American dream ain’t cheap.
We’ve come a long way,
Still got a long way to go,
When you’re livin’ as a Black man,
It’s a different kinda ‘merican dream
I love the imagery in these impertinent observations by The War Against Drugs, getting at things a little sideways.
Let me tell you, your arms are like boulders,
And your shoulders are cliffs.
But your head keeps rolling off,
And your spine, it is weak
From the weight on your shoulders
And from difference of opinion.
A forbidding video presentation by Grace Jones amplifies the musical treatment of corporate greed.
i deal in the market, every man, woman and child is a target
a closet full of faceless nameless pay more for less empitness
My neighbor shines like a light.
Gardening is a delight, and a landscape invites.
Snow flies white when flashing shovel bites
into drifts from a snowfall overnight.
My walk appears and my neighbor grins with delight
beaming as other tasks invite…
My neighbor tells me that all can be quite
that sight. The coal inside
yearns to be consumed brightly
without wasting heft, its might.
We can be knights, my neighbor tells me,
but might, fright and spite can
and plunge into night
despite the call of that carbon mite
to set it alight.
Some, says my neighbor,
fear the soul’s hope in flame,
and toil to control, to dole out
here a bowl, there a poll
fearing the whole when we lose control
Of the soul, that yearns to burn,
learn and turn to
Recently on late-night TV a dynamite ensemble put together a bravura performance of this piece by Peter ConttonTale.
Put your hand in my hand and let’s walk
We could go a million miles together, yeah
‘Cus no one is an island but
Open up your shores like your heart, heart
A friend suggested this Police oldie as the Trump farewell song. Nailed it!… especially given the Capitol debacle. Apologies for yanking the tune out of its context. It’s based on British politics, but it’s apropos, regardless.
I’m a walking nightmare, an arsenal of doom.
I kill conversation as I walk into a room.
I’m a three-line whip.
I’m the sort of thing they ban.
I’m a walking disaster.
I’m a demolition man.
Here’s a cross between folk and punk, thanks to Laura Jane Grace. It’s rough but appropriate.
Christ liked the American way
A burning crucifix and a hanging tree!
Automatic weapons and white supremacy!
Protected privilege without apology!
A nazi fucking president from reality TV.
Thank you National Public Radio for a collection of fine music that combines unrest with a view toward the better. The collection is titled Music That Moves Fro Despair to Hope. Here, David Bowie lends a melancholy that is entirely appropriate.
There was a time…
A wind that blew so young…
For this could be the biggest sky…
And I could have the faintest idea…