Blue To You:

Blue to you may be a room with a view.
To me its the sea turned sideways.
It’s the colour of air gone thick with the sea,
it’s the largest and highest of high-ways.

Blue to you may be one without two,
to me it’s the times I’ve landed
feet thick with dew - stuck to each hue
and thought for a time I was stranded.

Blue to you may be a day that is new, to
me it’s the place where I’m standing.
It’s the home of the eye and the reach of the tree.
It’s the wave of the wind and the wave that is we.

Blue is the deep and the shallow the same,
it’s just where I’ll be when I’m calling your name.
Calling and spreading. Dividing our wings.
Soaring the gentle, the sharing of things.

Come endless, come empty, full with your sound
call the vast harmony and arms that surround.
Come to the blue that touches all things
come with me gentle come let us sing

sing the high rising sing the low mark
sing the blue heaven that covers the dark,
sing the chorus the chorus the carol of being,
and the blue that is given to those that are seeing.

 

Hallelujah Sister:

looking out this window,
try for an open breeze,
that's blowing through:
like a holiday;
like a remedy,
not a new idea, it's true,

hallelujah sister, I am missing you,
missing you. I am missing you,.

street corners were the faces;
the places that you hit, for a steady job,
to fill in time,
to wait in line,
for a heart to rob,

hallelujah sister, I am missing you,
missing you. I am missing you,.

creeping through your garden,
petals come in three; red white and blue,
flowers to send you home,
your pretty skin all sown,
where a blade ran through,

hallelujah sister, I am missing you,
missing you. I am missing you,.

looking out your window,
cry for an open sea; or another view,
to say goodbye
and remember time,
that I spent with you,

hallelujah sister, I am missing you,
missing you. I am missing you.

 

Harvest of Rain:

she gave me the moon in a crescent
carved from the thumb of her hand
it curved like a smile once remembered
or a fingernail drawn in the sand
she drew me toward all of heaven
wrapping her arms all around
I was torn from all of my sadness
and thrown on the softest of ground
she painted my lips with a strawberry
she drew on my face with a flower
her hair smelled sweet in the moonlight
and her touch grew soft with each hour
we harvested rain in the garden
we danced with our hearts in the field
but she cried for the day when it emptied

and the night that our parting concealed
I remember her now without sorrow
I remember the time that was shared
I recall the way that she held me
the girl that told me she cared
I dance with her soft rain of kisses
I sing like a lark newly born
I sing like a bird just awakening
of the girl as bright as the morn
for we harvested rain in the garden.
we harvested rain by the light
now I dance with a crescent of memory
now I sing when I dance in the night
for we harvested rain in the garden.
we harvested light by the moon
now I dance with a crescent of memory
now I sing when I smile with the moon

 

Music in the Magic:

music in the magic in the mystery
of softness in the footsteps
that your voice takes
to the place within my heart
brings a secret fascination
for intrigues imagination
where enchantment chords a yearning
willing obstacles to part
yet when music is discordant
and when arrows flood like tides
the fear is overpowering
for the little boy who hides
but with childish laughter promising
the joy of trusting smiles
I wonder for the soft heart
set free from all denials
I wonder for all joy of things
as they bubble as they soar
and I wonder for the song of love
on the path of evermore
music in the magic in the mystery
of softness in the footsteps
that your voice takes
to the place within my heart

 

One More Time:

I have often listened to the crumbling of the sand.
The steady roar of waves at sea all rushing to the land.
Now I am familiar with a wave that says goodbye.
So I am reminded in the ocean of your sigh.
You call to me of leaving. The bird who leaves the shore.

And so another journey. You follow further-more.
No conclusion needed, I’ll not deter you flight.
Just sing this one last wish of mine, I wonder if you might.
One more time.
Smile in me. Abundant be.
One more time.
Wings can fly. We know this thing.
I want to see you soar.
I want to hear you sing.
One more time.

You know you lift the corners on an ordinary life.
Of course one time is just enough, but I need to hear it twice.
My question and your answer. There is no hidden clue.
For one plus one to have a chance of ever making two.
One more time.

Smile in me. Abundant be.
Wings can fly. We know this thing.
One more time.
I wanna see you soar. I wanna hear you sing.
One more time.

 

Raspberry Tea:

In the heat of the night
When everything is cool. Is when
I miss her
The most.
It was raspberry tea
No
Peppermint - I don't know.
Lips wet longer when an afternoon
Came after
Noon
And went like clouds before clouds before…
You know
It is interesting to meet some…
Someone you can
You can
You know
I don't know
We touched, like others
Like all others
Nothing new
Nothing is new anymore
You want it so much
To be new
New for old is what they say.
What do these old hands hold?
Old rope
You want it so much
To hold
It slips
You never did hold on very well
Its like its like
I don't know, you want it so much
I miss her.

 

Saigon Battle Children 1972:

While I was learning to savour the new tastes of
cashew and walnut in the autumn of that year,
you were learning to eat the bones of your neighbour’s dogs
as you fled from an earth gone moist.

Leaves of war were torn from the jungle as
a cavalry of shrapnel burned the air,
you were learning to hold your breath, while I
was doing the same in a suburban swimming pool.

When the dust of your family filled the lids of your eyes...
being left to ‘see for yourself’, held quite a different meaning.
And while your skin seared from the heat of war-fire
I was feeling the warmth of a shopping centre in winter, and

when you went without feet, (a landmine
exploding your underneath world, underneath)
I sprained an ankle at basketball.

The words of an american god spat from an automatic weapon,
the tongues of the lamb inviting you to feast in a foreign language,
(yours a different kind of barbecue).
And while I drew in crayon on the kindergarten walls
you were draw in the cross-hairs, just
before the smell of cordite.

 

Summer Days:

as you walk the path of plenty
as you sit beneath it’s tree
as you dine on green grasshoppers
that are good enough to eat
you chew the food of fancy
as you eat the fatted calf
and those hands reach out to please you
from your memory of the past
these are the feelings that you’re feeling
these are the feelings of today
these are the feelings that we cling to
on high hat windy summer days
these are the feelings that we hold to
as we struggle as we play

your pockets jingle full of coin
your wallet presses tight
will you spend your daily ration will you sleep alone tonight
you are happy wearing chambre you are happy when you’re paid
so you have a cappucino and then work on getting laid
these are the feelings that you’re feeling
these are the feelings of today
these are the feelings that we cling to
on high hat windy summer days
these are the feelings that we hold to as we struggle as we play

you take what comes just as it comes and cling to nothing new
you might get sticky fingers and they may be tacky to
you can feel a faint reminder whacking backwards in your brain
as you’re living on a chessboard
you know warfare’s just a game,
you are living in city full of people you don’t know yet you recognise their faces just enough to say hello
these are the feelings that you’re feeling
these are the feelings of today
these are the feelings that we cling to
on high hat windy summer days
these are the feelings that we hold to as we struggle as we play

 

The Field:

last train
last station
last hour of light
the gift of reason
reason for flight
spoken promise of a broken dream
in a field of angels I have seen
the wings my guardian
are a wish fulfilled
to depart the earth as life distils
I wish to answer for a neighbour’s crime
speak forgiveness to a friend of mine
I do not answer
I do not yield
brother sister
on the killing field
your bodies tremble
you seek a name
discover elsewhere a peace un-named
last train
last station
last hour of light
the gift of reason
reason for flight
spoken promise of a broken dream
in a field of angels I have seen
the wings my guardian
are a wish fulfilled
to depart the earth as life distils
last train
last station
last hour of light
I’m looking for a reason
reason for flight

 

The Love I Find:

Its not something I can promise
with a light step or a freeze
on liberty,
we are seeing all that’s possible
and speaking with invisible
sensibility.

There may be time
but that's a question
you might care to answer in your sleep,
when the pillow is a fortress.
and the waking hour a torrent that you leap

I’m thinking that the tower’s
far too steep.

There may be time
to learn to fly
and time to learn to occupy
the meaning of the words we wish to speak.

I have no explanation
to define
except to say
you are the love I find.

There may be time to fall like snow,
fold sunshine in your name,
dance flamingo grace in every song,
salt the tear of every sad goodbye.

I have no explanation
to define
except to say
you are the love I find.

 

To Look at You:

In my arms
you ask,
do I like your face
I begin to tell you that I do,
of course I do
and then I want to say;
sometimes when I look at you,
you take my breath away

but there is more
so much more that I can say
like precious river,
like sadness in the stars,
like precious river,
like sadness in the stars,
like precious river,

and when I look at you,
most of all I see...

I see the best of everything,
I see the best of me.
precious river,
sadness in the stars,
precious river,
sadness in the stars,
precious river.