Author: Summer

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer’s day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they’ll listen now.

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they’ll listen now.

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can’t forget.
Like the strangers that you’ve met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they’re not listening still.
Perhaps they never will…

Hello mother hello father
this is Johnny in Iraq
don’t you know the ears are growing
phone calls to and from ‘other countries’
include Iraq
and mother’s sons and daughters
we can tell you we are lonely
but not, we want, to come home
you can tell us that you miss us
but if you tell us come home, they will brig us
demote us degrade us but never let us
consciously object to following orders
Iraq quagmire is our quagmire
we can’t tell you, of the thousands
of us
MASHed out of duty from disease
you can’t tell us of the 18 new bodies found in New Orleans
yesterday and more days after Katrina
the body count, mysteriously stays, at 1,422
oh poor Uncle Sam
how did we let them make you, the eyes and ears of the world
and our bedrooms
how did right get it so wrong
mother father when you find me
standing trial at Nuremberg will it still be
“Following orders is not an excuse.”

Shazoom it worked!
Fear returns to so many
the mind controllers set off pipe bombs in tiny communities
protesters numbers shrink exponentially
but the candle’s wick is longer
brighter insistent warmer
shades of Edward R. Murrow
who will fill his shoes?

i stand knee deep in burning coals
waist high in bombs bursting light
eyes filled with poisonous gas
ears to the crackling wind

i kneel deep in daisy filled garden
soft breeze caressing my face
tear drops coursing the river
bird song in my ear

i lie on the ground hugging
holding least i fall further
than i can remember being
down in the deep deep well

i turn to face my Maker
i cry, “o Maker face me!”
give me just one reason,
or take this cup.”

the crackling wind is silent
the air is sweet & pure
i see a tree in the garden
it burns but does not die

“My child, & you are my child
My love, and you are my love
You are the seed of the burning
Tree, and you and I are one.”