Hymns III
on this 17th rotation
of august in this year of SELF2003
It’s with great love and respect that I
send you warm greetings with all my heart.
And that
Peace,
Isa
New York City! The night was hot and in that
August weather, it was our quest to be
those not alone. Alone. Or if alone, then
only so together. Together drink! with
carefree graces. To chic lo-cals; to trendy
places, where people swayed in seas of black.
It's so New York; there was no lack. We were,
we knew, we were on track. This was the life
with all to gain. But just below designer
shirts, there simmered fear; there simmered
pain of past rejections and deep hurts. Our
ego self, our social mask, was always just
too scared to ask those questions that
address the soul, beyond acceptance or
control of others who were blind as we. Who,
like us, missed life's simple key. Our joy,
our peace, our hope had lied. From age to age
it's been the same: the social mask, the
social game. Angels have seen and they have
cried for those who never lived. Then died.
[See also, ~~Serpents~CoinPlot~~]
STOLEN CHILD
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats
There we’ve hid our faery vats
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world’s more full of weeping
Than you can understand.
The dim grey sands with light
By far of furthest Roses
We foot it all the night
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles
Whilst the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
From the hills above Glen-Car
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams
Away with us he’s going
The solemn-eyed
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world’s more full of weeping
Than you can understand.
Music:
Loreena McKennittt
Lyric:
W. B. Yeats
ELEMENTAL
(2004)
ROSES BLUE
I think of tears I think of rain on shingles
I think of rain I think of roses blue
I think of rose my heart begins to tremble
to see the place she’s lately gotten to
She’s gotten into mysterious
devotions
She’s gotten to the zodiac
& zen
She’s gotten into tarot
cards & potions
She’s laying her religion on
her friends
Friends who come to ask her
for their future
Friends who come to find
they can’t be friends
Because of signs &
seasons that don’t suit her
She’ll prophecy your death
but she won’t say when
When all the black cards
come you cannot barter
When all your cards are
stacked you cannot win
She’ll shake her head &
treat you like a martyr
It is her darkest spell she
puts you in
In sorrow she can lure you
where she wants to
Inside your own self-pity
there you swim
In sinking down to drown her
voice still haunts you
And only with your laughter
can you win
You win the lasting laurels
with your laughter
It reaches like an arm
before you sink
To win the solitary truth
you’re after
You dare not ask the
priestess how to think
I think of tears I think of
rain on shingles
I think of rain I think of
roses blue
I think of rose my heart
begins to tremble
to see the place she’s
lately gotten to...
Joni Mitchell
Clouds
From the sacred
scriptures
to the tabloids
All the fuss and fight none
above a whisper
The soul of gold the
belly of a boy
Well they drew him from
the forest
Tied him to a tree like
St. Sebastian
And he turned his head
and let the arrows fly
Through the trees, the
trees
The ornamental leaves
Boy cried wolf
Wolf don’t come
Wolf within
Boy cried wolf
Calling to the moon but
it don’t answer
And they fell on their
knees
and passed the bowl around
And the blood the blood
the sacramental blood
Boy cried wolf
Wolf don’t come
Wolf within
Boy cried wolf
I am the wake of
everything
They bring me flowers
that are myself
Garlands of blood that
are myself
Slain the lamb that is
himself
Torn reborn the cries
of our destiny
Are nothing to the wind
but whose to mind
Kings are lifted up and
kings are thrown
Lost retrieved
retrieved
The human tide
Innocence had its day
Innocence innocence
From GUNG HO
PATTI SMITH
[See also, REVIEW: LAND]
TEARS
So
senseless
these tears fall
soulful indiscretion
deprived of salt
such a silly salutation
that’s all…
17th
rotation of July Year of OurSELF 2004
JEFarrow
Ukiah,
California
LOVERS SPEAK
When they’re running in the rain
When they’re holding hands and laughing
Tell me what they’re really saying
Lovers speak is so much different
Only they can understand
Let’s all share this coded secret
Let us in let’s all join hands
Lovers walk a different tight rope
Lovers always speak in tongues
I wanna learn the language of love
I wanna learn how to flirt
I wanna hear someone call out my name
And wipe away all the hurt…
From LOVERS SPEAK
Joan Armatrading
JOAN OF ARC
The
flames they followed Joan of Arc
as she came riding thru the
dark
no moon to keep her armour
bright
no man to see her thru a dark
and smoky night.
She said, “I’m tired of this
war,
I want the work I had before—
a wedding dress or something
white
to wear upon my swollen
appetite.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you
talk this way
I’ve watched you ride out
every day,
and something in me yearned
to win
such a cold and lonesome
heroine.”
“And who are you?” she
sternly spoke
to the voice beneath the
smoke
“I am fire,” he replied, “ I
love your solitude
and I love your pride.”
So deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of
Arc
and high above all the
wedding quests
he hung the ashes of her
lovely wedding dress.
It was deep into his fiery
heart
he took the dust of Joan of
Arc
and then she clearly
understood,
if he was fire, well then,
she must be wood.
I saw her wince, I saw her cry
I saw the glory in her eyes
myself, I long for love and
light,
but must it come so cruel, must it shine so bright?
■ Leonard Cohen
GUNG HO
On a field of red one gold star
Raised above his head
Raised above his head
He was not like any other
He was just like any other
And the song they bled
Was a song to him
Awake my little one
The seed of revolution
Sewn in the sleeve
Of cloth humbly worn
Where others are adorned.
Above the northern plain
The great birds fly
With great wings
Over the paddy fields
And the people kneel
And the men they toil
Yet not for their own
And the children are hungry
And the wheel groans
There before a grass hut
A young boy stood
His mother lay dead
His sisters cried for bread
And within his young heart
The seed of revolution sewn
In cloth humbly worn
While others are adorned
And he grew into a man
Not like any other
Just like any other
One small man
A beard the color of rice
A face the color of tea
Who shared the misery
Of other men in chains
With shackles on his feet
Escaped the guillotine
Who fought against
Colonialism imperialism
Who remained awake
While others slept
Who penned like Jefferson
Let independence ring
And the cart of justice turns
Slow and bitterly
And the people were crying
Plant that seed that seed
And they crawled on their bellies
Beneath the giant beast
And filled the carts with bodies
Where once had been their crops
And the great birds swarm
Spread their wings overhead
And his mother died
And the typhoons and the rain
The jungles in flames
And the orange sun
None could be more beautiful
Than Vietnam
Nothing was more beautiful
Than Vietnam
And his heart stopped beating
And the wheel kept turning
And the words he bled
Were a hymn to them
I have served the whole people
I have served the whole country
And as I leave this world
May you suffer union
And my great affection
Limitless as the sky
Filled with golden stars
The question is raised
Raised above his head
Was he of his word
Was he a good man
For his image fills the southern heart
With none but bitterness
And the people keep crying
And the men keep dying
And it’s so beautiful
So beautiful
Give me one more turn
Give me one more turn
One more turn of the wheel
One more revolution
One more turn of the wheel
From GUNG HO
PATTI SMITH
[See also, REVIEW: LAND]
THE GOLDEN BOWL
I take with me to where I go
A pen and a golden bowl
Poet and beggar step in my shoes
Or a prince in a purple shawl
I bring with me when I return
To the house that my father’s hands made
A crooning bird on a crystal bough
And oh, a sad, sad world
W.B. YEATS
SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN
School
bell go ding-dong-ding
The
children all line up
They
do what they are told
Take
a little drink from the liar’s cup
Mama
don’t really care
If
what they learn is true
Or
if it’s only lies
Just
get them thru the factories
Into
production
Memorize
their little lines
Late
in the afternoon
The
children all come home
They
mind their manners well
Their
little lies are all laid out
Mama
don’t seem to care
If
she may break their hearts
She
clips their wings off
They
never learn to fly
Poor
Mama needs a source of pride
A
doctor’s son she’ll have
No
matter what the cost
To
manhood or to soul
Sunshine
down brightly shine
Shine
down on all the land
Shine
down on the newborn lamb
The
butcher’s knife is in his hand
Mama
she keeps them unprepared
To meet
the enemy
Common
unto all
Just
teach them that evil dwells
Across
the sea
Lives
in a mountain
Like
they see on TV
But
beyond the heart of town
The
devil dresses up
He
keeps his nails clean—
Did
you think he’d be a boogeyman?
Poor
Mama’s stuck with sagging dreams
She’ll
sell a son or two
Into
some slavery
That’s
lucrative and fine
Just
teach them not to criticize
To
yes the bosses
Impress
the client’s
Ah,
Teachers of the World,
Teach
them to fake it well
School
bell go ding-dong-ding
The
children all line up
They
do what they are told
Take
a little drink from the liar’s cup
From ILLUMINATIONS
Buffy Sainte-Marie
if
god had a name
what would it be and
would you call it to his
face
if you were faced with him
in all his glory
what would you ask him
if you had just one
question
yeah, yeah god is great
yeah, yeah god is good
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah
what if god was one of us
just a slob like one of us
just a stranger on the bus
tryin’ to make his way home
if god had a face
what would it look like and
would you want to see
if seeing meant that you
would have to believe
in things like heaven &
in jesus & the saints & all the prophets
yeah, yeah god is great
yeah, yeah god is good
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah
what if god was one of us
just a slob like one of us
just a stranger on the bus
tryin’ to make his way home
nobody callin’ on the phone
like up to heaven all alone
yeah, yeah god is great
yeah, yeah god is good
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah
what if god was one of us
just a slob like one of us
just a stranger on the bus
tryin’ to make his way home
back up to heaven all alone
like a holy rolling stone
just trying to make his way
home
back to heaven all alone
nobody callin’ on the phone
except the pope maybe in
rome…
From RELISH
Joan Osborne
OCEAN OF MADNESS
take me down to the ocean of gladness
hoist anchor ships slip away
far into the ocean of madness
an idiot’s dream
a spiritual play
mortal minds must strive for reasons
loggerheads
knock knock knocking on wood
the problem’s only in human thinking
where the purest evil can
appear as the greatest good
let mermaids soothe the anger stirring
water pools
cool the brain
i’ll stand erect like a stallion’s fury
defy the gods
and fuck the pain
our minds always strive for reason
loggerheads
knock on wood
the problem’s only in conflicted thinking
lost in bed
when the lovin’s good
lost in bed
when the lovin’s good
take me down to the ocean of madness
hoist anchor ships let them sail away
far into the ocean of gladness
an idiot’s dream
a spiritual play
an idiot’s dream
a spiritual play
San Francisco, 1984
JEFarrow
Updated 12/06
www.gnostics.com