Tuesday, February 19, 2008

just words


Words by Robert Hunter; music by Jerry Garcia.
("Ripple" composed and written by Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter. Reproduced by arrangement with Ice Nine Publishing Co., Inc. (ASCAP))

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Would you hear my voice come through the music
Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air


Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty
If your cup is full may it be again
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of men

There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone


You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall you fall alone
If you should stand then who's to guide you?
If I knew the way I would take you home

I really do not know why that is so very central. I hear those words often in my head. I go to write and those are the words that spill forth.
I think at times I was touched by an unseen force and altered in a way that can not be explained. The universe and my perceptions of it forever bent. And then with the past and growing up and the cultivation of the self. How different would those words be on a tabla rosa. If the slate were blank when they were written on the soul. Instead imposed and altered by the self.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

"That was not made by hands of men"

then who....ah, the gods of religion....take a gander....
this I wrote in ponder of such
things as "...not made by hands of men"....for there are many who lay claim to such as natures creativity...for some reason, man could not understand and was mystified that it had to made by someone else....
so you asked of my writing...there are many....and here is the one in answer to the who made .....


Lives twist tangent, pleural possessed,
Intrigued with passions foul professed.
Allegiance contrite, conscious flaw,
Incessant romance, nuisance raw.

Contrived of myth, an honor given,
Alluring promise, holy heaven.
Of life, in polar, conflict drawn,
Existence, promise, error to spawn.

Intrigue in mystic power of sin,
The tranquil conflict, deep within.
Endure the grief, the life forlorn,
And draw the trumpets, heavens’ horn.

The simple life, it’s meant to be,
Reverse the sin, forgiveness’ glee.
Then laughter falls, when reapers close,
Profess again, of heavens’ rose.

Ask simple then, and simple now,
What mythic profane gives this vow?
Equate religious myths in waste,
The sayers’ rouse allows no chaste.

Ten thousand gods profess create,
Throngs sliver forth, engulf the bait.
Forth wanton souls whored flagrant plight,
To heaven’s gate will never sight.

Then grizzle tops and die they must,
The grift proceeds on past the dust.
Forlorn in purgatories’ ash,
The sinners tithe, priests pass the cash.

Damned simple life without lies boast,
Of promises, of gods of ghost.
What hell’s proclaim beyond life’s end,
Of life beyond, to this one send?

Exist in truth, of that the known,
No lie of heavns’ fluorescing throne.
Live deep and broad, a life throughout,
And fade to past, and leave, no sought.

j jorgensen 2000