Archive for October 2, 2018


the swaying of the grass

art from google




the swaying of the grass …

 


1.



a path leads,

to where wild grasses grow,


sashaying in the summer breeze.




2.




along the path,

solace settles within,


feeling the grass swooning,


tickling ankles,


swaying to lilting bird-song,


in a dance of intimate abandon,


brushing remnants of pain away.




3.




melodies float across fields of green,


delicately caressing my heart,


teasing emptiness to flee,


and comforting the mind,


to silently be.


 


4.


 


walking on,

savouring the peace,


a momentary respite,


casting off burdens of the now,


for all is quiet,


in a stillness cradling fractured emotions,


as the grass in the fields sway,


and dusk descends,


while shadows lengthen,


nudging the dimming light to take leave of the day …





Picasso’s “Dove of Peace”

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Bruce and Clarence

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my Springsteen tribute through his songs

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In memory of “The Big Man” Clarence Anicholas Clemons Jr. (1942 – 2011)

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Growin’ Up in Delhi town, far away from being Born in the USA,

your words rang true to me,

nothing more so than when you sang Cover Me,

as i ached for release from my urban Jungleland,

to the rock ‘n’ roll tunes of The E-Street Band.

You made me weep with your melancholic My Hometown, as i related so deeply to I’m goin’ Down,

cos’ when you sang, you sang from the depths of your Hungry Heart, all the way across the seas from Asbury Park.

Your lyrics sliced deep, scraping away the veneer of cellophane,

stuck inside the prison of my Downbound Train.

I remember the first girl i met, with Bobby Jean stuck in my lovestruck head,

and as we walked hand in hand through the city park, all i wanted was to be, with her, Dancing in the Dark.

I believed that we were Born to Run, far away from that Brilliant Disguise,

far beyond the Darkness on the edge of Town, escaping our fragile spaces, on our Rocky Ground.

When Little Steven sang Sun City, it gave me more of a Reason to Believe,

singing truth to power, raging against Apartheid’s vile hell, for all who from racial discrimination had no reprieve.

When you sang with Tracy Chapman, Peter Gabriel, and Sting, all of you on stage for the Amnesty international concert, you carefully picked your principled fights, as we all sang Bob Marley’s Get up, Stand up, Stand for your Rights.

As i grew up, on that forked Thunder Road, you reminded me of The Ballad of Tom Joad,

your lyrics cut straight to the bone, when you belted out your sarcastic classic We take care of our Own.

You made me cry some more on the Streets of Philadelphia, while so many sweated it out in many a Darlington County, while the wealthy smiled and grabbed at this earth’s common bounty.

Oh how we joined you in the chorus, when you sang Woody’s angry This Land is your Land, while you paid homage to the countless immigrants in your powerful and visceral American Land.

I imbibed your words, feeling them course through my veins when i was bruised and tender, because you spoke to me of holding on tight to hope, to the words of No Surrender.

We are Alive spoke of the many who died trying to reach The Promised Land, to give it a shot, of Working on a Dream, while crossing The River would impossible seem.

Today, as so many are still sweating it out Working on the Highway,

you never fail to infuse hope,

the eternal hope,

of Waitin’ on a Sunny Day ….

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Clarence and Bruce

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