No one falls asleep as an assistant
We’re all tucked in as poets, playwrights and professionals
We are daring; we are lovers.
And we drink greedily of sleep
Before the sunrise steals our resolve.
Here, we are infinite. Powerful and pure.
Our pretense and posturing lay crumpled like clothes in front of the closet.
We are stripped and Naked and perfect.
And Holy.
Sometimes, there comes a song that moves you. First, you feel it in your flesh, in the soft places. The good ones stay there for awhile and they move on like the girl you want to love, but can’t. Eventually, you make room for others. The great ones come this way as well; there isn’t another way. But, the great ones, they stay. Their words wrap your ribs, they find their way into your bones. They become part of you in a way that they aren’t a part of anyone else.
This song is there for me. It’s a simple song and it isn’t perfect, but it’s there in my bones somewhere. This CD has been out for awhile, but I’ve only recently found it. I hope you love it as much as I do.
The Stable Song – Gregory Alan Isakov
Remember when our songs where just like prayers.
like gospel hymns that you called in the air.
come down come down sweet reverence,
unto my simple house and ring…
and ring.ring like silver, ring like gold
ring out those ghosts on the Ohio
ring like clear day wedding bells
were we the belly of the beast or the sword that fell…we’ll never tell.come to me clear and cold on some sea
watch the world spinning waves..like some machinenow I’ve been crazy couldn’t you tell
i threw stones at the stars, but the whole sky fell
now I’m covered up in straw, belly up on the table
well and sang and drank, and passed in the stable.that tall grass grows high and brown,
well i dragged you straight in the muddy ground
and you sent me back to where i roam
well i cursed and i cried, but now i know…now i knowand i ran back to that hollow again
the moon was just a sliver back then
and i ached for my hear like some tin man
when it came oh it beat and it boiled and it rang..its ringingring like crazy, ring like hell
turn me back into that wild haired gale
ring like silver, ring like gold
turn these diamonds straight back into coal.
Pathetic poems
Tough to do well, works in pinch
Learned in seventh grade
Each of these
Small, sweaty soldiers,
bruised and battle-worn
All anxious and subject to deletion.
At the mercy of their boy-general
Drunk on his own idealism.
He pushes them into battle,
Untrained and unarmed.
But If they could peel themselves from the page
They would
gather their own twelve-point uprising 99 soldiers strong
All these letters, with hyphens drawn
And small period grenades.
Would launch themselves upon me
For my misdirection and brazen indiscretion
A mutiny upon me, their battle cry echoes quiet and clear
“What did you think this would take?
Ambition alone does not a poet make!”
Busy beats the artificial heart
Calculated and perfect
Efficient and profitable
Thank god we’ve replaced
the One he was born with.
What with all of its inconsistencies
Soaring and racing and sinking
Like mad water birds
The kind you watch for hours.
Busy beats the artificial heart
No longer flesh
Now, strong, even and cool.
There is an old man singing
Singing to no one and also everyone.
He’s as blind as lady justice
And probably just as old.
He might have been strong once,
Before the music
And his incessant talking
But now, he sits stooped over bourbon
Singing and singing and singing
To no one and to everyone and to me
He might have been strong once
But probably never this happy.