‘Baby’s so high that she’s skying,
Yes she’s flying, afraid to fall.
I’ll tell you why baby’s crying,
Cause she’s dying, aren’t we all’…from Taxi…by Harry Chapin
Loss world—another time or place—race—case—drive body or eternal spirit…And! ‘Everything is gonna be OK’—alright—maybe never now—or just a little later than right now—maybe Ok—or not and—that is even alright—right now—donchaknow…Listen and hear—the many-edged sounds—of laughter—and the—salted taste of tears. And! Once books printed—did exist and often read—about the firelight of thousand Candles Street and in scattered places beneath orange colored—sky towers—dirt streets along—Bridge Ridge and Liberty Park…The Martian outreach—was hard travel—for Noah and his family…They reached him—the Builders of Star Ships—the ready ships—of Earth Spins and moonlighted paths—along waterways—of places to begin—other fleshy forms—a place without—the red—word-of-worlds. Making Forms—the place of rocks’ motions and creature speak—and songs—of Glass-Beaker Folk…
Thought be and different—differences—happen as wall forms—protect—to forget—to remember—to be again lost—where ships sail toward ships—and seas-once-clean—are dirty seas—of dirty ships—lost lines—shadows’ creep-keep—sleep—underneath—a bruised sky—swollen colors—dawns’ gray and fright—light—weep. No wind stirs—these masts—without sails. No fuel—cold furnaces—boilers—empty drums bare—no air. Eyes adjust—and follow silent ships—as each—slip-past—one another. Horns moan—breathe—sea—odors of—tears—wheeze—coughs and oil spit—mixes puddles of—water—separated—oil and swears—that the Line has moved—closer—too close—to shore…Ghost ships must not—disturb—an oiled sea—or move silt—onto dead shoals—along invisible channels—of sightless-sounds or soundless-sights.
Now—watch for next fire—to begin and end—as another begins and ends—until tower eyes see not—the next and the next—and—the eternity of signals—meaning—absolutely nothing—to valley people—and those framed—against a November sky. Those notes right—are—played thru circle flutes—held ‘gainst—heart-of-beeps—keeps—of roaring seas—pass others into light—and—set others—‘cross star streams of suns—beyond sea—beyond sky—and—into love.
Taste now—liquids—of life and of death—while running from—bolts of steel poison—as darts—dart—or fly from bows—crossed or long… Pack—life and live—on nights—wolves’ runs—start-stops. Pack—hunters’ life—of streaking—runs-runes—‘cross full moon’s light-right—toward—kill-still—and sated—salty-taste-of-plenty-blood—spread—beyond the quick—and the dead… ‘Tis a good moment to live and to die in three quarter time’—and—it is hard to be an— upright walker—and hard to be—an angel…at the same time? Would rather pack-run—and—drink—honest blood—at an honest pace. Rather to—forever moon-howl—than hide—inside truth—less self—of both questions and fears. So follow now—the wisps of vapor—the melody—of sing-song choir—below line where—sea meets sea—and—sky rises above—a long forgotten shimmer—of water—stretching—beyond eye sight—and runners’ slight. Walk upon —salty waves—a dead sea—between melody’s notes—and—the mists—of another dawn.
Remember? We wish-list-aspire—to permanence—and—to that permanent wish—of whispers. Spells cast—against unholy Gods and priests’—scream away—the terror of life—the strength of truth—unknown-the-knowing—and—the eternal hunger of—sleep. Maybe—damned and maybe—never to walk—stooped shuffled with age—doubled with blood hunger—and the vampires’ wish—for—complete death. Legends never die—alive with moon howling—and— running with—wolves of night. Pine rooms—flower boxes—and—within sanctuary—the blood hungry—fear the light. So! Listen to the Wolves—of night. Free? Why—Yes…
And! Beautiful you are…
‘Taxi’…by Harry Chapin
Outstanding! I read your words over and over again, Phillip. Love this style and have tried it slightly myself although never to this amazing extent. Bravo! BTW: ‘Taxi’ was a perfect choice of music-Still ‘flying high!’ Thank you so very much. A gift to me this morning.
Hi Kim…Thanks for your kind words…Harry Chapin was Creative Spirit. Enjoying your posts! Wishing you days of Gentle winds—Soft curves and Wonder…Phil
Thanks, Phillip. So enjoyed your latest post. Shared it with many. :)
Love how your intersperse such beautiful images against demonic ones. Takes me on a journey.
Hi Marissa…Thanks! Journey—Sometimes ‘the getting there’ is as good as the ‘arrival’…Hope you are having a wonder—full week…Phil
Yes, I quite agree.
Wondrous words — especially at this time of year.
Hi Georgia…Thanks! Wishing you—all ‘green lights’ in this ‘red light’ kinda world—today and everyday…Phil
Reflection is valuable, in my opinion.
Hi Gail…Reflection-Yes! Memory thought—past-present-future—warm mix—donchaknow? Thanks…Phil
……and comfort. Blessings! 🍓
How beautiful was that!!
Hi Sobiya…Thanks for reading! Enjoying your posts and thanks for sharing them with us…Wishing you days of Soft winds—Gentle curves and Wonder…Phil
I’m highly humbled dear Philip, I’m so happy that you took time out of your busy schedule to read my posts..
The contrasts and twists in the tail are quite breathtaking.
Hi Osyth…Thanks! Harry Chapin was Creative Spirit—donchaknow…Hoping you are enjoying a wonder—full week…Phil
I nominated you for this Awesome Award!
Hi Carolina…You are so kind! And—thanks for the nomination…Hope you are having a great week…Phil
Thank you Philips :-)
Hi…Thanks! Wishing you days of Gentle winds—Soft curves and Wonder…Phil
Phil, you chose a great song stereotypes musician who enchanted me in person on the small stage I saw him sing, piano and guitar with only his voice. No back up band. . . His Taxi song is incredible while your thoughts about freedom, wolves and legends never do die. . . Take care, my friend. Smiles, Robin
Hi Robin…Thanks…He was an Original…What a Creative Spirit! Phil
Oops. Stereotypes is not what I meant. He is such an original and meant to say, “super special” musician. Silly cell phone! :)
Hi Robin…’No worries’—I know what you meant anyway! Finger tips and tiny keyboards–eh…Harry Chapin—Teller of stories—Singer of rhymes….Phil
You grasped his essence, Harry was one of a kind. Gone too soon. . . Peace be with you this day and pleasant days ahead, Phil. ♡