We fly in on a rising storm
We fly in on a rising storm
Wind whips the rain into squalls
Turbulence in my soul
I consider the days ahead
Newspapers tell of worse to come
Signs in cloud and sky
My heart chilled to weeping
These storms will blow west
Growling stones scoured
On west facing beaches, tides
Rising under glowering skies
This grey reflected in my heart
This growling in my bones
This low insistent scouring
As I am lowered as into a grave
Dead again buried alive. Earth
Rattling on the wood of my coffin
The hard growling of the stones
Pressing the breath out of me
We fly in on a rising storm
Storms blow west scouring
Earth’s weight growling, screaming
Pressing the breath out of me
Zimmerman
This wandering minstrel brings
songs to illuminate the darkness
beyond the camp fire glow
a still figure on a silent stage
growling into black night beyond footlights
an audience gathered by familiar words
inviting them to the dance
From the songbook
of life these pictures become
the soundtrack of our lives
times that were ready
for change needing
only a small jangle from
his tambourine to fall
as scattered pieces of decades jigsaw
re-assembled newly drawn
Standing, not rolling
stoned just outside of stone not memphis
hitching by a roadside cafe
car park juke box playing
those dirty words demanding
how does it feel to be here on the A34
Over those long down
at heel days heading down
dead end streets until
waking again love sick
at the climax of another
dead end day
In pillbox hat and troubadour
sleeves thrilling to the electric
storms passing overhead
moving on never
standing still the never ending tour
Spilling out into the dark night
by the river, slack at high water
reflecting a perfect moon
on the car radio music rolling
like aberdeen waters
Home
Home three days now
It has rained all day every day
On each of these three days
The stream is a raging torrent
Of angry brown water impatient
Charging through the garden
Eroding the banks, Snowdrops
Lose their tentative footing as
Collapsing foundations threaten stability
Nothing seems to enjoy these days
Birds are not singing, the dog lies
Before the fire dreaming of summer
Wishing this interminable winter will end
That the rain will stop, the skies dry their tears
The days grow long and the bees begin their rounds
Awash with water the garden
Is drowning in tears, the wind has blown
The roses to the ground where they rot
What can survive these bleak days
What pain can be assuaged
what other dreams and possibilities
Lie beyond the gloom and darkness
Of the skies, the constant down pouring
Lifting our spirits with spring’s promise
Al Palazzo
Sotto Corvetto, l'ombrello
Venditori vendere i loro prodotti
Sotto Corvetto l'arte
Drips con condensazione
Scintillanti alla luce
Attraverso Assarotti, tenendo
La tua vita nelle tue mani
Attraverso Assarotti si rischia
Assassinio da parte di Berlusconi
Cappe Mafi fingendo follia
Nel calore della notte
Qui Ruby danze, i suoi vestiti
Scartato la sua modestia a brandelli
La sua biancheria intima drappeggiato suggestivamente
Dalle luci della strada, nuda
Forma detenuti come un violoncello in una chiave doppia
La pizza della legna
Forno della trattoria รจ pronto
L'organo della Chiesa
Romba il suo basso profondo note
Come i venditori di gelato di cui
E il vino viene travasato
Corretto il caffe abbattuto
E noi siamo pronti ad affrontare
La musica di un'altra notte
Mentre gli ospiti si riuniscono presso il palazzo
