Beginnings

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Art or Commerce?

i am caught in a quandry: i write nicely constructed songs that have nice melodies, nice chords and nice harmonies but virtually no innovation. i have managed to prevent anything from being written about other than love and relationships. what i perhaps used to think of as being a free space to play has become so limited, so boxed in by my lack of adventure, and I wonder how I can break out

From the Suburbs to the City

As shadows of the skyline stretched across this street

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There goes another Saturday night

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You charmed me and I let go

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Out in the night, flying high overhead

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Ghost

When the waters

of deep, blue night

begin to flood this earth

I rise to kiss the fingers

of strangers,

touch the foreheads

of strangers,

run my fingers over

weary eyes to release

hidden dimensions inside.

My breath curls like smoke

around lips and nostrils,

it is sucked into lungs

and swims the lava

of bloodstreams

fuelling the fire.

I arrive in twilight

weaving my way

through streets and alleys,

curling through doors,

pouring through porches,

settling in still churches;

 

I have been your confidant

for many years – myself

and the bald headed moon

have been watching your movements.

 

We do not know which way you will turn,

but we know you well enough

to guess.