Tag Archives: lyrics

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Blues Boating Home

Human history is difficult;
hard pressed,
discovering
and rediscovering,
connecting
and reconnecting feelings
about therapeutic needs
and sacred wants
for peace
trust
joy

Through co-empathic singing passions
which may,
too often,
feel stressful

Irritating
depressing
stormy
before unconditional win/win regard
for Self AND Other
reconnect,

Like EgoTheistic re-ligion
and EcoMatriarchal
indigenously multicultural
wisdom

Of Ego/EarthTribe mutual becoming
more green therapeutic together
than win/lose competitive
dissociating
controlling and too egocentric
and too anthro-dominant
held too LeftBrain supremacist
apart.

On my drive back
to my blue turbulent home,
I struggle with postpartum depression,

Common when I separate
from spiritual sojourner musicians,
fellow wandering sacred wonderers
would-be soul-full,
not hopelessly ego-engorged, harmonizers
and intuitive dancers,
expressively embodied movers
and economic-political shakers,
mindful ecological leaders
and GoodNews infused chorus girls
and everyday win/win polyphonic boys,
maturely compassionate men and women
and exotic in-between
bodhisattva polytheists.

Why am I feeling irritated
against you?

What could I have said
and gestured,
and shared,
and done,
and not done
to let you know,
to let you in
on how unheard
unseen
and unappreciated I am feeling
as this evening,
this mortal life,
this sacred opportunity
slides
and swims
and sails by.

In more recent weeks
our original intent
to listen deeply
with informed compassion
for wounds
becoming unweaponed,
for win/win communion therapies
that join
conjoin
rejoin past win/lose traumas
feels unraveled,
sidetracked,
drydocked
in issues about pain,
suffering,
loss of control,
severances overwhelming renewals,
universal climatic turbulence
flooding remaining hopes
for unitarian green/blue EarthTribe
boating peaceful home.

Why do you seem so triggered
by alpha stressed competitions
with our sometimes surprisingly controlling
too egocentric
capitalistic spiritual director,
sacred leader,
ecopolitical peace activist,
theological love teacher,
ecological panentheistic mentor,
health-is-wealth core care facilitator,
multicultural mediator,
operations conductor
of musicians, at our musing
and amusing best,
and not cacophonously win/lose strategists
at our distrusting
and mistrusting worst.

I become curious
about why you want to control
our musical mountainous expression
of plain and solid standing
to sing together
by remaining distant
from my inside rolling oceans
of peak sensory
musical movement experiences.

Why do you seem less curious
about how I struggle to joyfully continue sailing
never, ever having known safe harbor
or healthy home portal,
on this straight white privileged place?

Sailing on this epic journey
for positive regard
that I know,
without shadows of depressing doubt,
will stand
and sit
and lie,
listen and speak and sing with me
as I am embraced
with all my woundedness
and all our co-empathic sacred brilliance
to joyfully celebrate,
quietly appreciate,
gratefully acknowledge
everyday sacraments
of kindred sailing souls

Making our blue ways home
under stars of full moon heavens
embracing revolutions
of therapeutic light
and traumatic night,
wondering

How frightening it feels
to age away from peak mental
spiritual
physical
natural control

Facing inevitable mortal degeneration
threatening to steal back
my sureness
that below Me
and within
We feel no motion,
no terrifying emotion
while standing firmly in control
of this plain
everyday
yet mountainous
musical event

Of rolling co-operations
and conflicts,
voiced and hidden,
in overwhelm surviving mode
so not able to access confident
curious co-thrival
co-passionate means
to deeply listen
and appreciate
being born to sail this Earth
together in this time
of climatic changing
blue boat swamping terror

Within the fathoms
of our turbulent oceanic universe,
traveling salt-teared Earth
driving home
wondering why you are now less curious
about why my fluidly
legato love story
requires a cappella blues,
reflective repetitions,
emotive nuances
as slow
and widely engaged,
deeply felt
as floating thoughts
diving into EarthTribe’s most sacred
peak systemic experiences

Blue blues
rolling through oceans
of warm
salty wet Earth tears
of universal compassion

ReMembering
human history is difficult,
hard pressed,
discovering
and rediscovering,
connecting
and reconnecting feelings
about therapeutic needs
with sacred wants
for peace
trust
joy
sacred mused harmonics.

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Reds Against Queens

Although I am a queer white Queen
let me reassure you
I can be just as mean
or as green,
Mr. Clean,
as any fascist
conjured in your wildest
wettest dream.

I can kick my ruby RightWing heels
and hold my green skanky breath
as long as it takes, tis true,
until you eventually agree
to turn less boring white
and unenlightened blue

It’s true,
I can spread my fascist net
get in line with Straight White Men
with penile envy
of dark-skinned vets
you never could acknowledge seeing
in the singing shower
much less slurping
in your homophobic panic
nastiest place to hide
just yet.

Although a queer male Queen
married to the blackest man
you’ve ever seen,

You may rest re-assured
I’ve clearly found it true
as blue:
Once a person
and a nation
has tried black,
There’s a whole lotta happy folk
don’t care to go back
to refight a civil war
against a white flight bully bore

Supremely self-chosen evangelists,
y’all just help me
deeply snore.

You think
and feel,
know
and spiel,
I’m rotten to my core
because, like your sissy sister
it’s men this male adores

But, if men were good enough
for your sainted mother,
and hers too,
and my two,
let me introduce this thought
to you

It wouldn’t really make you
all that blue
to admit just maybe
all that pleasure
could suit a special man just fine
too,

But, don’t worry,
be happy,
I’m not the least bit hot
for white bread
RightWing you.

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Dancing Across Together

We came across this Earth together
and you’re still here.

We sail through all these sunlight days
and moonless nights
togathered in,
and we hear still.

We swim through all our fears to drown
what fills my rage.

We march through angry Earth apart
and disappear.

Or dance across this Earth together
so we’re still here.

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Uncategorized

Scriptures of Communion

In prose,
Writers hope to accurately capture
both felt and thought experiences,
realistic and unrealistic,
in a way that suggests
our writer knows and can deeply feel
the differences and similarities
between realistic and not so much.

Poets hope to not only capture
accurately felt and thought experiences,
realistic and unrealistic,
natural and spiritual,
but share this internal experience
embedding and thereby challenging
writers’ readers in shared language of communion.

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Last Climate of Night

Lyrics to Auld Lang Syne
Jim Scott, inspired
Gerald Dillenbeck, deranged

May all who venture forth today
be welcome ‘ere we go,
And those who risk a gesture kind
reap all that we would sow.

For love will reach across this time
disarming anger here.
Let all misunderstanding rest
these last hours of our fear.

May all find shelter in our warmth
of new friends as with old,
Where errors past may be forgiv’n,
bright futures swell foretold.

Beyond these embers dying here
to raise a flame anew
Unbound by clock and climate fear,
our song rings clear and true.

Let tales of loss and victory
inspire us all again
And may bold resolve find support
of healthy climate friends.

Surrender final judgments here
so small in vast pretext.
Thus might these last nights of our fear
be first lights of what’s next.

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Lost Lake Odessa

My world spins round
too fast most times
from Greek deep roots
on Black Sea ports
to cross Jordan’s River
on Catherine’s Great
trains meet sailboats
greeting sea planes
flying off to ports unknown
throughout my Lake Odessa Highways.

Where Ottomans
blend Spanish matadors,
heroes for my day
and night bleeds forth
a calvary of force
to please titillating whims
of Lake Odessa’s middle class czarinas.

I can’t go home again
to places never born.
My mind can roam
and try to swim
and fly to where and what
and whom and why
we might have been
if we had built
a fine fair fortress
for peace that loves to rock
and sing sad songs
of what sights have been
in Lake Odessa.

Instead of gangs
and clicky clacks
we learn polycultured quacks
to flap and honk like Canadian geese,
to transubstand she ate
where America
begins to end
through Lake Odessa’s streets.

I’m much too busy
and self-important
sleep deprived
and programmed lose to lose
to win our way
back home again
where Lake Odessa meets.

The role of God
as played by me
writing comic operas
only kids can see
was what I loved
most secretly
in long lost Lake Odessa.

We need a better god for now
bringing peach tree jams
immortality
of love as wise
reframes lost loves
to live in jesting jars
of honeyed sweet
corns and thorns
for testing streets
tasting ancient Greeks
on shores of Lake Odessa.

We’re coming back
to save each other
from what might have been
without sly rudders,
tipping posts from wu wei mothers
to rebuild our crystal castle love
of forms that buzz with life
and tours that sag with history
spinning sprays of licks and waves
lapping soft and sandy
on long gone skies
of sanguine Lake Odessa.

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Sensory Overload

What’s left of my mind
when I open my mouth
is the part I could never say.

What’s left of my mind
when you open yours
is a place I hope we can stand.

What’s left of my soul
when you open my eyes
is time soaring through blue brown skies.

What’s left of my soul
when you show me your eyes
is a smile for your own,
send me light.

What s left of my heart
when I open my ears
screams revolting hot climate fear.

What’s left of my heart
if you’ll open yours
is the part I most need to hear.

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