Sirens
Do you hear the sirens,
Do you hear the silence,
Si-rens, flashing red with a full moon overhead,
The howls and cries of the sufferin,
Wheels turnin’, Rubber burnin’, soles worn in,
head be spinnin’ from da’ sick-ness
Da’ quietness... is
A song of vio-lence.
Soiled streets, filled with emp-ty smiles,
Damp alleys littered with pipes n’ vials
Always breathing in the smell of burning plastic,
Halting traffic, and gazing outward with a blank stare,
Tirelessly bearing the cold night air,
Swore to your mother, this would be your last hit
Don’ ask because they know you don’ care.
One cold wet night on a Saturday,
The sun was setting on Mainstreet,
Many hungry spirits were out and walkin’
Your legs bleed, but there is no stoppin’,
You cannot catch your breath... for fear of death,
The heart’s a lab-yr-inth, of pain and confusion,
Searching desperately for one more hit of meth,
Your mind, a symphony of vio-lent music
Contusions, stop you dead in your tracks
Just another reason for you to stop usin’,
But like clockwork, another withdrawal attacks,
Your tears blur your eyes and form an illusion,
You see a childhood friend with his arms outstretched,
You go to hug them, but it’s a needle instead,
The blaring of the ambulance brings you to your senses,
Driven senseless, while seeking solace,
Do you hear the sirens,
Can you hear the silence,
Vio-lence,
Heroes breathin’ life into victims of the poison,
Joy’s end— Da’ quietness... is A song of vio-lence
Do you hear the sirens,
Can you hear the silence, (more quietly)
Can you hear the silence,(more quietly)
A song of viol-lence (whisper)
Do you hear the silence,
Si-rens, flashing red with a full moon overhead,
The howls and cries of the sufferin,
Wheels turnin’, Rubber burnin’, soles worn in,
head be spinnin’ from da’ sick-ness
Da’ quietness... is
A song of vio-lence.
Soiled streets, filled with emp-ty smiles,
Damp alleys littered with pipes n’ vials
Always breathing in the smell of burning plastic,
Halting traffic, and gazing outward with a blank stare,
Tirelessly bearing the cold night air,
Swore to your mother, this would be your last hit
Don’ ask because they know you don’ care.
One cold wet night on a Saturday,
The sun was setting on Mainstreet,
Many hungry spirits were out and walkin’
Your legs bleed, but there is no stoppin’,
You cannot catch your breath... for fear of death,
The heart’s a lab-yr-inth, of pain and confusion,
Searching desperately for one more hit of meth,
Your mind, a symphony of vio-lent music
Contusions, stop you dead in your tracks
Just another reason for you to stop usin’,
But like clockwork, another withdrawal attacks,
Your tears blur your eyes and form an illusion,
You see a childhood friend with his arms outstretched,
You go to hug them, but it’s a needle instead,
The blaring of the ambulance brings you to your senses,
Driven senseless, while seeking solace,
Do you hear the sirens,
Can you hear the silence,
Vio-lence,
Heroes breathin’ life into victims of the poison,
Joy’s end— Da’ quietness... is A song of vio-lence
Do you hear the sirens,
Can you hear the silence, (more quietly)
Can you hear the silence,(more quietly)
A song of viol-lence (whisper)
This song was written in homage to the work of the prolific activist and song writer/poet Linton Kwesi Johnson (above)
The Sandhill's Call
As I walk among the gentle ferns,
I listen care-ful-ly,
With each forest song my spirit learns,
Of mel-an-cho-l-y,
To heed the beckon call of ancestors past,
We all sing loud-ly,
And when every voice is heard,
We may rest sound-ly.
Each leaf, a memoir of a time before,
Which was taken away from those who bore,
A kinship to every critter and tree,
Projecting rainbow light only the spirit sees.
Great spirit, you speak to us through art,
If you listen to the beating of a gentle heart,
Can you hear the Sandhill’s call?
Playing harmonies to lead us all,
Playing harmonies to lead us all,
With each song or verse my spirit learns,
To hear the Sandhill’s call,
As we come together and sing our songs,
Mother earth protects us all,
Mother earth protects us all,
Mother earth protects us all.
Hey-Ah-Hiya Hey Ya Yo-oh
Hey-Ah- Hiya Yo-Hey-Oh
Heya-Way-Ya Yo way yo-oh
Hey- Ah- Hway-Ya Hey- Ah- Hway
Heya-Way-Ya Yo way yo-oh
Hey- Ah- Hway-Ya Hey- Ah- Hway
Yo-hway-yo-oh
Hey-Ah-Way-ah Yo hway-yo-oh Hey-Ah-Way
Great spirit, you speak to us through art,
Can you hear the Sandhill’s ca-ll?
Listen for the beating of a gentle heart,
With each song or verse my spirit learns,
To hear the Sandhill’s call,
As we come together and sing our songs,
Mother earth protects us all,
Mother earth protects us all,
Mother earth protects us all,
With my spirit full, above the highest knoll,
My spirit will never fall,
My spirit will never fall
My spirit will never fall.
I listen care-ful-ly,
With each forest song my spirit learns,
Of mel-an-cho-l-y,
To heed the beckon call of ancestors past,
We all sing loud-ly,
And when every voice is heard,
We may rest sound-ly.
Each leaf, a memoir of a time before,
Which was taken away from those who bore,
A kinship to every critter and tree,
Projecting rainbow light only the spirit sees.
Great spirit, you speak to us through art,
If you listen to the beating of a gentle heart,
Can you hear the Sandhill’s call?
Playing harmonies to lead us all,
Playing harmonies to lead us all,
With each song or verse my spirit learns,
To hear the Sandhill’s call,
As we come together and sing our songs,
Mother earth protects us all,
Mother earth protects us all,
Mother earth protects us all.
Hey-Ah-Hiya Hey Ya Yo-oh
Hey-Ah- Hiya Yo-Hey-Oh
Heya-Way-Ya Yo way yo-oh
Hey- Ah- Hway-Ya Hey- Ah- Hway
Heya-Way-Ya Yo way yo-oh
Hey- Ah- Hway-Ya Hey- Ah- Hway
Yo-hway-yo-oh
Hey-Ah-Way-ah Yo hway-yo-oh Hey-Ah-Way
Great spirit, you speak to us through art,
Can you hear the Sandhill’s ca-ll?
Listen for the beating of a gentle heart,
With each song or verse my spirit learns,
To hear the Sandhill’s call,
As we come together and sing our songs,
Mother earth protects us all,
Mother earth protects us all,
Mother earth protects us all,
With my spirit full, above the highest knoll,
My spirit will never fall,
My spirit will never fall
My spirit will never fall.
Healing from a Fall
As I looked downward, in horror, at my broken husk of a body,
All twisted and mangled, which hung by a single thread,
Unbeknownst to me I had drank one of my last drops of sunshine,
Carelessly flaunting my growth… before tragedy struck.I will never be the same… but do I really need to be?
My pot is almost empty, It might be the perfect time to uproot and begin again,
Oh how I dread that feeling of dangling over nothingness,
I think I would rather remain here a little longer,
Embrace the emptiness for a bit,
Even if I feel like a stub of my former self,
A small bud grows near my gaping wound that was once my stem,
It feels like I can’t escape this feeling of deprivation,
Like I’ve lost so much, Feeling battle-worn.
So I think it’s about time for me to find the right pot,
One that understands and accepts me for me,
A sturdy, reliable container that can hold me in place,
But also expansive enough that I can grow larger and still fit,
Maybe I can find some soil that actually fulfils my needs this time,
No compromises, no half-baked fertilizers,
A word for the wise…If you want to grow, you need to be watered,
You deserve watering when your roots are dry,And if you need to be patient for your roots to grow,
So be it,
Maybe now is a good time to prune a couple leaves,
And find a way to embrace this new form.
Since I’ve been repotted, things don’t feel the same,
I don’t even recognize my own ferns,
It’s terrifying… but also uplifting at the same time,
I feel like sitting in more sunlight today,
Maybe even every day,
I actually like getting more sun,
It helps me feel nourished and encourages me to grow,
A couple of flowers have even began to bud,
In places where I would have never guessed they could bloom,
I’ve began to prefer the company of plants who too enjoy basking in light,
We give each other nutrients and help eachother grow,
My roots grow deeper than they ever had before,
A second lease on life,
I’ve even propagated a seedling or two,
What a wondrous feeling, growing to be the plant I’ve always wanted to be,
With an abundance of leaves and robust, fertile roots,It's time for me to embrace the fruits of life
All twisted and mangled, which hung by a single thread,
Unbeknownst to me I had drank one of my last drops of sunshine,
Carelessly flaunting my growth… before tragedy struck.I will never be the same… but do I really need to be?
My pot is almost empty, It might be the perfect time to uproot and begin again,
Oh how I dread that feeling of dangling over nothingness,
I think I would rather remain here a little longer,
Embrace the emptiness for a bit,
Even if I feel like a stub of my former self,
A small bud grows near my gaping wound that was once my stem,
It feels like I can’t escape this feeling of deprivation,
Like I’ve lost so much, Feeling battle-worn.
So I think it’s about time for me to find the right pot,
One that understands and accepts me for me,
A sturdy, reliable container that can hold me in place,
But also expansive enough that I can grow larger and still fit,
Maybe I can find some soil that actually fulfils my needs this time,
No compromises, no half-baked fertilizers,
A word for the wise…If you want to grow, you need to be watered,
You deserve watering when your roots are dry,And if you need to be patient for your roots to grow,
So be it,
Maybe now is a good time to prune a couple leaves,
And find a way to embrace this new form.
Since I’ve been repotted, things don’t feel the same,
I don’t even recognize my own ferns,
It’s terrifying… but also uplifting at the same time,
I feel like sitting in more sunlight today,
Maybe even every day,
I actually like getting more sun,
It helps me feel nourished and encourages me to grow,
A couple of flowers have even began to bud,
In places where I would have never guessed they could bloom,
I’ve began to prefer the company of plants who too enjoy basking in light,
We give each other nutrients and help eachother grow,
My roots grow deeper than they ever had before,
A second lease on life,
I’ve even propagated a seedling or two,
What a wondrous feeling, growing to be the plant I’ve always wanted to be,
With an abundance of leaves and robust, fertile roots,It's time for me to embrace the fruits of life
Untamed Anger
Fear doesn’t speak to me through words,
It whispers and hides, Until it feels like it’s time to bite,
And when it does… its jaws sink deeply and it rends flesh raw and mangled.
Anger recites it’s chants of fire through the masked demon of fear,
Who caresses your shoulders and coaxes you softly,
Offering to tend to your gaping wounds,
Clinging to your back with both arms wrapped around you tightly,
And as long as you don’t stare directly at it, here it remains.
But if you stare deeply into its trembling, vulnerably wide eyes you glimpse a trephination,
As this spastic shaking continues the binds of the mask weaken,
The knots become spindly and loose,
But this loosening is not enough to remove it entirely,
You won’t let this sense of safety slip away that easily,
To hold the mask in place you begin to grasp it with your own two hands,
A tiresome, relentless exercise where the mask of fear is kept in place by will alone.
How can you make good use of your hands when they are busy holding up a mask?
It’s hard to do pretty much anything without using your hands, Such as cultivating the steady, precious attention you’d need to thread a needle or tie a knot,
Each time you want to use these hands to create art, or caress a loved one… your afraid the mask might just slip off,
You’d so much rather risk being seen as afraid, Cementing fear as a home for your anger.
What might others think of this sharp, prickly demon of anger?
Do you even remember what it looked like before you put on this mask so long ago?
It might have been an angel,
Who… after so long of being disguised in a fearful mask has no memory of its former self,
And it too believes itself to be nothing more than a demon,
A pesky nuisance.
An unwanted child.
A dragon to tame and lock away...I’m tired of fighting the dragon,
I’m tired of scolding the overactive, misbehaving child
I need to remember who anger was before I sent it away,
I want to remember who I am before it’s too late,
And fear rules my life and imprisons me,
I long to revel in my own liberated gaze, Not return to the cold, dead eyes of a mask.
Fear claws away at my insides,
Anger is the bitter tonic that allows me to purge away my sadness,
With each bout of rage, my mind rings in soft, aching bellows that remind me of defeat and death,
Spinning me into a contemplative state infused with seething,
A quiet, stewing, agnostic rage, like a slow drip of poison,
Subtly deteriorating my will and weakening my limbs.
I want to awaken from this comatose of repression,
A nightmare-like state of nausea and tension,
Where the anger seeps into my heart,
Constricting each breath ever so slightly,
Just enough to allow me to forget it’s grip on my soul,
My jaw often hurts, maybe it’s from an invisible muzzle?
Just as the mask of fear blinds my deepest gaze,
The muzzles of guilt silence my voice,
The chains of dread hold my feet down, shackled, like an animal at the zoo,
Watching other wild animals dance and frolic,
Akin to a caged lion watching a video of another animal wild and free.
Afraid to embrace its own freedom, No longer feeling the mask, no longer aware of the muzzle,
Completely numb to the chains,
It’s as if my soul has died,
But this death is no tragedy… For this death… is followed by awakening,
For this death is the first stage of my Samsara.
It whispers and hides, Until it feels like it’s time to bite,
And when it does… its jaws sink deeply and it rends flesh raw and mangled.
Anger recites it’s chants of fire through the masked demon of fear,
Who caresses your shoulders and coaxes you softly,
Offering to tend to your gaping wounds,
Clinging to your back with both arms wrapped around you tightly,
And as long as you don’t stare directly at it, here it remains.
But if you stare deeply into its trembling, vulnerably wide eyes you glimpse a trephination,
As this spastic shaking continues the binds of the mask weaken,
The knots become spindly and loose,
But this loosening is not enough to remove it entirely,
You won’t let this sense of safety slip away that easily,
To hold the mask in place you begin to grasp it with your own two hands,
A tiresome, relentless exercise where the mask of fear is kept in place by will alone.
How can you make good use of your hands when they are busy holding up a mask?
It’s hard to do pretty much anything without using your hands, Such as cultivating the steady, precious attention you’d need to thread a needle or tie a knot,
Each time you want to use these hands to create art, or caress a loved one… your afraid the mask might just slip off,
You’d so much rather risk being seen as afraid, Cementing fear as a home for your anger.
What might others think of this sharp, prickly demon of anger?
Do you even remember what it looked like before you put on this mask so long ago?
It might have been an angel,
Who… after so long of being disguised in a fearful mask has no memory of its former self,
And it too believes itself to be nothing more than a demon,
A pesky nuisance.
An unwanted child.
A dragon to tame and lock away...I’m tired of fighting the dragon,
I’m tired of scolding the overactive, misbehaving child
I need to remember who anger was before I sent it away,
I want to remember who I am before it’s too late,
And fear rules my life and imprisons me,
I long to revel in my own liberated gaze, Not return to the cold, dead eyes of a mask.
Fear claws away at my insides,
Anger is the bitter tonic that allows me to purge away my sadness,
With each bout of rage, my mind rings in soft, aching bellows that remind me of defeat and death,
Spinning me into a contemplative state infused with seething,
A quiet, stewing, agnostic rage, like a slow drip of poison,
Subtly deteriorating my will and weakening my limbs.
I want to awaken from this comatose of repression,
A nightmare-like state of nausea and tension,
Where the anger seeps into my heart,
Constricting each breath ever so slightly,
Just enough to allow me to forget it’s grip on my soul,
My jaw often hurts, maybe it’s from an invisible muzzle?
Just as the mask of fear blinds my deepest gaze,
The muzzles of guilt silence my voice,
The chains of dread hold my feet down, shackled, like an animal at the zoo,
Watching other wild animals dance and frolic,
Akin to a caged lion watching a video of another animal wild and free.
Afraid to embrace its own freedom, No longer feeling the mask, no longer aware of the muzzle,
Completely numb to the chains,
It’s as if my soul has died,
But this death is no tragedy… For this death… is followed by awakening,
For this death is the first stage of my Samsara.
