by Julee Cruise
collab
Tuesday, August 9, 2022
Falling Through the Fire
by Julee Cruise
Monday, August 8, 2022
Habbibi (My Love)
Tuesday, January 22, 2019
my love
War Of Dreams
War of Dreams
On this battlefield is fought a war
Not unlike the war that men
Fight to the death with dying breath
Till freedom reigns again.
This war is to the death, likewise
Though living may go on
When hope has faded from desperate eyes
And home is no longer home.
This war, unlike the killing fields
Kills only in the heart
Tears up the mind with dangerous thought
And shreds the soul apart.
This war is fought with anguished hands
That do not dare let go
Of dreams born in the days of youth
Surviving friend and foe.
This war of dreams continues on
Till the fight is done and through
'Oft leaving our dreams undone but written
For others to read and do.
©by Voo
Feb 5, 2005
6:32 p.m.
Van Gogh And I (An oldie From Voo's Vault)
Van Gogh and I
Van Gogh was a poet
Who painted picture words
A tortured soul with shattered heart
At least that's what I've heard.
I sit for hours and contemplate
The purpose of his plight
Then throw up my hands and lose myself
In his starry "Starry Night."
He had a knack for choosing
Pale ordinary scenes
And touching them with magic
And changing what they mean.
He turned ugliness into beauty
And beauty into scorn
He threw away the scented rose
And gave pity to the thorn.
He never knew the taste of love
And yet it brought him low
Love played the game of hide and seek
But it's face it would not show.
Love made him paint the portraits
Love made him wield the brush
He gave his life and soul for love
And love left his heart crushed.
His tired old men look sadly out
Of their prisons (picture frames)
They cry out for their privacy
For their hundred years of shame.
In every field and peasant
I see Van Gogh's expression
His hope and hopelessness comes through
For he never learned his lesson.
Through Van Gogh's eyes I see the world
(Or the world as it should be)
Van Gogh and I are quite alike:
We can't face reality.
Sometimes I almost fancy
When before his work I stand
That he is in there looking out
Reaching forth his hand.
Drawing me into his world
Far from this earth of blight
To sit with him and gaze into
That eternal starry night.
And if I could, I'd take his hand
And make him want to live
The world has taken all from him
Now it's our turn to give.
Vin-cent, if you can hear me
I hope my words ring true
I long to brush away your pain
And paint a smile on you.
FIVE O'CLOCK QUEEN
Every day at five on the dot, she comes
All the heads raise, swivel around, and then look away
(I don't know why she comes here anymore.)
They tell me she was beautiful in her time
Nice long legs and red-gold hair and eyes to catch your breath
But time's become her enemy, if it ever was her friend.
I don't think there's anything sadder
Than the face she smiles at me
As I pour her beer and take her coins and watch her look around.
She stumbles to the booth that knows her contours well
Fluffs back her hair and licks her lips
And pretends she's unaware.
Maybe there's a new guy in that doesn't know the score
And I see him raise her hopes up
And then dash them to the ground.
The regulars jab him in the ribs and laugh behind their hands
"No, son," they say, "You want none of that!"
And she pretends she doesn't hear.
When the beer is warm and the night is cold
I watch her reflection in the window pane
On the odd night, in that light, I can see her as she was.
Sometimes, I ignore her and sometimes I just can't
I wipe the bar and wipe my hands
And put quarters in the jukebox.
"This one's for you." I'll say
And she'll light up like a child on Christmas morning
And nod her graying head like a reigning queen.
But when she's gone, I'll play a Dave Loggins song
And a hush falls as the room is filled with shame
And pain and longing for the days that are no more.
Days when youth was beautiful even on an ugly face
And those eyes could make you stumble after
And promise her tomorrow when you knew it wouldn't come.
©by Voo Shining Stone
May 12, 09
1:18 a.m
This is the heartbreaking song that inspired this poem.
I felt that this woman had another
part of her story that needed to be told...................