The stream (all workshops)
When we run out of gold
We will use silver,
When we run out of knowledge
We will use reason,
When we run out of guns
We will use our aggression,
When we run out of diamonds
We will use each other,
When we run out of politics
We will use instinct,
When we run out of actions
We will use words,
When we run out of reasons
We will use lies,
When we run out of ideas,
Then that’s too bad.
Like the deepest darkest chamber
Way below the castle wall
There’s no one to see the teardrops
There’s no one to hear you call
High above a light is shining
Is that laughter you can hear
People talking, people playing
While you’re petrified with fear
Though the cell is non existent
You have only you to blame
There’s no lock there are no bars
But, it holds you just the same
I awoke
as the full moon tapped on my window,
only a crack of the curtains was open
a thin streak of light lay
bright
on my partners bedspread
burning a stripe of whiteness.
The churning black and grey clouds
below the planet
the silhouette of the dark trees
a huge very murky shoulder
ominously rose from the west
and obliterated the glow
pitch returned
the silence swelled with presence into night.
were we ever found
the distraught moments
our voices climbed
like boxing kangeroos
this walk about I wander
away from your oasis
quiet now out here on
the red oxide dreamtime
beneath the sombre gum
tree shadow
the gaze of the shy dingo
the thought of you tugs
my heart for a second
and then you are gone
lost like the ghosts we are
Wrong
You think you are always fair
you think that you always care,
how could you be wrong ?
You're convinced, that you'r not the violent type
Always passive
don't believe the hype, you are wrong
Upstanding ,all the live long day,
the humanist one,
welcoming
You're sometimes aggressive, selfish,
Even moody.
You could even say stubborn.
face it you are human
Won’t someone flip
The light switch
In this dark room
Time to leave my manners
In the same closet
That a politician hides truths
My smile was the cripple
That threw his crutches
And fell on the concrete
'Till he could walk again
Pity was a prostitute
That left before
Daybreak
I'm swinging fists at misery
'Till she loses consciousness
I grew sick to my stomach
Of that bitch’s nagging
At Christmas time,
The windows close
And fog out
The chilly clime.
The stars in the sky,
Are burning and bright.
The children are warm
And cozy inside,
And the little match girl
Is left out to die.
Far too many are the ones
with whom I'll walk no more
will they again see setting suns
having reached that other shore?
I wonder if they e're look back
to this side of the sea
or if they even have the knack
of giving thought to you or me
It's getting pretty crowded there
as I advance slowly with age
and loved ones here become more rare
on this side of the page
Sitting on a flowerpot.
Playing his guitar.
Saluda River Blues on the breeze.
Feeling like a garden gnome.
He keeps losing that E
Buggar!
Harmonics ring out.
Micro-elephant sings - albeit a little off key.
But what is pitch, anyway?
Just an aesthetical interpretation of the fallible.
Just one parting thought - lest I
sound too philosophical: Alpaca!
(see below for motivation and focus)
So you rode the magic carpet
And you sailed above the skies
You were taken by the beauty
You were blinded by the lies
As you soared up through the heavens
You could sense the angel’s sighs
They had seen into your future
And they witnessed loves demise
Now you head towards disaster
With no one to hear your cries
As you cling on to your memories
And the cold wind burns your eyes
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