The White Goddess

Beneath the Moon I slept as it rose full.
It was Midsummer’s Eve, and I was young;
Unformed, untutored, but I felt its pull.
In a dream, that night, an ancient tale was sung:
A Goddess who upon occasion sought
Her long-dead lover; her unfettered might
Disguised in mortal form, her spell so wrought
That men must long for her to spend the night.
Each time she came among men, only one
Could she select, one man to try and test.
If he should prove unworthy ere the sun,
His lot was death, his heart cold in his chest.
The story told, I saw her, tall and fair
Beneath the full moon on a nearby hill.
Her robes were white, her gaze was hard to bear.
Upon her hand a white bird sat, so still.
She sent it flying out on thunder wings,
Its eyes dark pools of bottomless desire.
I woke, and saw the moon, a shining spring
Of icy light to set my heart afire.

[This is a true account of a dream I had, sleeping outside on a Midsummer Night many years ago. At the time, I was not aware of this potent Archetype.]

April Girl

This is a song that I wrote during my early-90s burst of warped creativity. Some people have read things into it that annoyed me (one stupid bitch in particular whose name I have forgotten, whose soul is torn by the avenging spirits….). Needless to say, whatever you read into it has more to do with your perceptions than my state of mind, because this is a conscious work of esthetic engineering.

It all started with a dream that I had long before I even learned to play a guitar. The song in my dream was so powerful that I could never forget one line: Have you seen the April girl walking in the rain?. One night I set to work constructing this from that one line.

April Girl

When all the smoke has cleared, you’re there;
living with yourself, trying not to care.
Every heart of gold has pain enough to share.

Have you seen the April girl walking in the rain?
So many things are on her mind that she can not explain.
She can’t help crying sometimes when she feels so very much.
There’s nothing to hang onto and there’s no one there to touch.

Who are you, to think you know the way?
When all the colors fade, you’re there;
living with yourself, trying not to care.
Every heart of gold has pain enough to share.

Happiness is just a toy you play with when you’re stoned.
There’s nothing left inside you when you’re sober and alone.
Is there anything to live for when you face another day?
Can you save some for tomorrow? Should you throw it all away?

Who am I, to think I know the way?
When all the music ends, you’re there;
living with yourself, trying not to care.
Every heart of gold has pain enough to share.

The April girl is trying hard to walk away from pain.
Her tears are running down her cheeks and mixing with the rain.
No one sees her, no one gives a damn for what she feels.
The planet goes on spinning like a cast-off useless wheel.

Who are we, to think we know the way?
When all the smoke has cleared, you’re there;
living with yourself, trying not to care.
Every heart of gold has pain enough to share.

Star Dreamer

A song that I passed some time with ca. 1991

Star dancer, far dreamer, my ship on the sea
Nightmist and starwind bring visions to me
Flowers are opening under the sky
Come with me, dream with me, just you and I
Breathe deeply the sweet air of earlier times
Rest in the soft darkness as the moon climbs
Soon we’ll be traveling far out in space
Safe in the shelter of our secret place

The other person in this scenario was a cat. Horbie Adorable was an angel who put up with me for many years. She still guards my heart.

Dance of Life (poem)

apophysis-101117-13n-c

 

 

 

 

 

Winging down
in around
the zoosphere
we find
a single
being,
intertwined
invisibly
in fleeting forms
shadow-dancing
with itself
in separate mind
seeking
sometimes
fearfully
to know
what lies behind
its seeing.


This is probably around 30 years old. I ran accross it for the umpteenth time while looking for some particular song lyrics that I needed to digitize. It’s in weak pencil on poor quality colored paper, and wouldn’t be a good bet for long survival. But I can still remember the pleasure of writing it, and therefore thought that it deserved something better than a recycling bin.

I also found the sought-after lyrics, and got them on my hard drive with somewhat improved punctuation.

 

The image accompanying this piece is a product of Apophysys and The GIMP.