Sound

Sound
I woke this morning to rain on my window
Two friends talking outside
Car trying to get past the dirt road
Churning up puddles in its wake.

Now the rain is a dull roar
And the friends are gone
And if the car isn't stuck in the mud, it's still going somewhere.

The river rushes by in an angry roar
But if you listen closely,
You may hear the lapping of waves on the shore.
The stream gurgles
Channeled into a ditch,
Into a hole.

Give Thanks

Give Thanks
Thanks for the trees, the hills, the clouds
The grass, the valleys, the sun--
Thanks for the world around me.

Thanks for the light, the interests, the people
The for the dark, the rest, the solitude--
Thanks for the day and night.

Thanks for the songs, the words, the dance
The speech, the silence, the quiet--
Thanks for the hush and the clamor.

Thanks for the sights and the sounds and the smells
The tears and the smiles, the places in my heart
Thanks for two homes, Father, I thank You
For giving me a world.

Memory

Memory
Association and memory go hand and hand
Down the path of life--
The sight of a plant
Is the story of a game;
The smell of rain
Is the time I watered and then it rained;
The touch of velvet or felt
Is riding in the car on Christmas Day;
The sound of a song
Recalls my heart to my dream world.

Walking down the path of life,
Association and Memory turn,
I run towards them--calling, "Wait!"

Out the Window

Out the Window
Mary, Mary, red-haired Mary,
Sitting at the window of your prison,
Embroidering on white linen
The emblem of Stuart;
What are you thinking, Mary?
What troubles your mind?
The misty rain falls over the land
Mary Seton lights a lamp.
Out the window it's free,
Out the window...

Mary, Mary, red-haired Mary,
Brave and strong until the end,
What's on your mind,
Lying on your bed awake?
Is there an unfinished task,
Could you rest?
The misty rain falls over the land
Mist of servant's tears.
Out the window is another place.
Out the window...

Wait for the Morning

Wait for the Morning
The day grows hard and long
Night settles in with opression
Ready to crush your life away
Wait for the monring's dew
It shall not be long in coming.

Wait for the morning
When the sun wakes up,
Fresh, with a scrubbed face
And the day is clean,
New.

Wait for the morning
When the dew falls and washes the world

In the meantime, rest your head
The moon will soothe you to sleep.
Rest your weary head
Let the stars enter your eyes
To shine, even in day.

Goya's Secrets

Goya's Secrets
I never knew you
And I can never understand you.
You told the secrets of your heart
But you kept them veiled.

You must have known that none would understand.
What was the purpose? Tragedy, irony?
Comedy?

But your secrets are haunting me
Tragedy painted on a canvas
Blank as a baby's life
It could hold joy, or sorrow...
...but you took it and painted your secrets.

Nocturne

Nocturne
See the night falling deep
See the stars begin to shine
See the hills enfold you in a warm embrace
And sleep, little one, sleep.

The bus in front of us is full of caterpillars
Thrashing about in the deepest night.
Lie calm and cool, here, and rest your eyes,
And sleep, little one, sleep.

The bus behind us is full of people
Sitting up and trying to sleep at the same time
On no one's parched lips does a lullaby form
But sleep, little one, sleep.

Soon comes the dawning of the day
When the hills in quiet glory shine
Soon comes the dawning of the day--
Now, sleep, little one, sleep.

Solitude

Solitude
Sometime I see solitude
In the middle of a crowded street
When I can speak my thoughts aloud
And none will hear;
When I can hear voices accusing, laughing, joking, scolding--
But not at me.

Sometimes I see solitude
In an empty apartment
When I speak my thoughts aloud
And they echo through the empty room;
When I hear no voices but my own
Or what I choose to hear.

Heard Around the World

Heard Around the World
It's quiet here;
The sound of a voice
Heard around the world
And my fingers roving over computer keys.

Music carries such memories
I hear, I see the sun sink--
But it's the sun over Elliott Bay
Slanting in the windows and painting my bare feet...

...winter comes and rain beats down
Crow feathers on my windowsill
The furnace shudders as it heats
And I paint colors from a song...

...it was a sunny day in another winter
And it was low in the west;
I heard the lullaby--
I'll never forget it.

Memories.
Songs...
...all over. I know.
I've sung the same song all over.
I loved it the best.

One of the many strings
Bound to my heart
Is song.

I'll sing.