Saturday, February 25, 2017
As The Music Drowns
Baby, I hear the tears in your voice
Even though you’re trying to be brave
There on the other end of the phone.
I know you’re sitting there
In the dark as usual
Wearing pajama bottoms and those old socks.
I listen to what you say
And to what you’re not saying
And I keep my silence until you’re through.
You have no idea how much I love you
How I’d like to put my arms around you
And hold you till the pain stops.
I’m just the girl next door,
Your best buddy,
Your sounding board and listening post.
I know you better
Than you know yourself
And I still love you enough to die for you.
I hear you get up and put on a record
Not an impersonal CD
But a scratched up old album from The Goodwill.
Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, you say
And still hold onto the phone
Like it’s a lifeline in the sea of loneliness.
You can call me anytime, I whisper softly
As I lie there looking out my window
And down at your shadow in a dim hall light.
Damn those girls that break your heart!
They have no idea how good and fine and sweet you are!
They have no idea.
But I do. I do.
And I wipe the tears from my face
As Solomon Burke starts to sing the song of my heart.
I’m a man! you say angrily into the phone
(Like you’re trying to convince somebody, maybe yourself)
I’ve been hurt before, I’m not going to cry over it.
It’s okay, I answer softly
Knowing you’re not really even listening
It’s alright to cry sometimes.
Then you hang up the phone
And turn the stereo up real high
And I lie there in the dark alone as the music drowns out our tears.
Dec 08, 08
Cry To Me by Solomon Burke,
the song playing on the record player
Friday, February 24, 2017
Someday We'll All Be Free
by Donnie Hathaway
Marching For You
We marched because we had to, son
We were tired of dying slow
Burned and beaten with whips of hate
For reasons we didn't know.
Tired of standing in the back of life
Awaiting the freedom of death
Tired of bowing with downcast eyes
And holding our angry breath.
We were tired of living like cattle
Sold in the markets of men
Cursed with a curse, (not mankind) something worse
When existing was our only sin.
We were tired of working for nothing
Owning no thing but our souls
Watching our labor make other men rich
As they reached, (on our backs) for their goals.
Son, we only wanted what was rightfully ours
A family, a home and some land
To be treated fairly and given respect
Like any other color of man.
We marched because we had to
Through this country we call home
(A million miles from the place we were born)
But to which we will never belong.
In Selma and in Memphis
In Atlanta, Little Rock
Downtown D.C. and Kentucky
And they could not make us stop.
Many died and many cried
As we marched our way through hell
And what our pain has helped us gain
Only God can tell.
Injustice hides it's face from those
Who dare to shine the light
We marched to show our dignity
And to change our wrongs to rights.
We marched because we had to, son
We were tired of hearing "no"
We fought for the freedom that you're taking for granted
In ways that you never will know.
So, don't scorn these tired and graying heads
We're feeble and old, that's true
But as you dance down the street to this new century beat
Know this, son, we were marching for you.
Jan 19, 08
As Sad As Mine
I guess there comes a time in life
When you turn that corner
And come face to face with yourself
And you think: How did I get here?
Where am I going? And who am I going there with?
You stop and catch your breath
And realize that no one’s watching
No one notices if you’re late or lonely
And that there are no love letters in the mailbox
Or unwritten on the keyboard.
Life has just slipped away
Hurried by like a night train
To a distant city, full of passengers
That are all asleep and do not see you
Standing in your doorway.
Today I saw a couple holding hands
And I burst into tears
I thought: I used to do that
And I looked down at my hands
And they were empty.
Today I heard a song
And I thought: I used to sing that
There was always applause and always an ovation
But now there’s no song
And no one to sing to.
Where did my life go?
What happened to the love I planned for
But never found the time for it
Or the right person or the right heart?
But there was always room for the wrong.
Tonight I sit in moonlight on the porch
Lonesome as a train whistle in the dark
I hear an owl call out: Whoo. Whoo.
And I whisper back
Who indeed? Who indeed?
Lonely lasts forever, poets tell me
There is no cure but love
And no cure for love but death
I never knew how much I needed both
Until this moment dawned.
There was a face this morning
There in the market, that caught my eye
We exchanged glances that lingered
And looked away and wandered back
And a tiny ray of something blazed up.
Could it be? I wonder now
Is there someone out there in this night
Wondering about the spark that ignited
Wondering if the face of love was mine?
I’ve turned that corner now
To the place where you come face to face
With yourself and your need and your loneliness
When all your busy life has come to a standstill
And you see hidden things that you never saw before.
Listen to that train whistle, will you?
I feel the porch tremble as the engine roars towards me
The light cuts through the darkness
And I stand up to see the lonely face of a passenger
Oct 25, 08
11: 43 p.m.
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
The Song In My Eyes
The violin cries
And I catch each tearful note
In my outstretched listening hands
There they lay, sparkling like diamonds
Dazzling like dewdrops, sharp as swords
And healing like the potion of a medicine man.
I drink in the music
And let it fill me, overfill me, drown me
In it's beauty and heartbreak
A tidal wave of motion and emotion
That sweeps me clean of pain and sand
And deposits joy there on my empty shore.
The musician pauses, bow in midair
And I voicelessly scream "No!"
And will him to continue playing until I am spent
Dissolved in tears and filled once more with hope.
Hope that only beauty discovers
And beauty fills
The violin cries and the song in my eyes
Is composed, is played, is shared, is done.