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Take your place along with the weary,
lay your blankets down in the brine.
Every lie for the sake of tomorrow,
every embrace for the sake of the lie.

Fourteen singers and seventeen denials
with their hands found deep in the side
of a man on a dusty old bypass,
petals of sage from his fist they did pry.

It was always borrowed,
every last dime,
but never bought back the answer to where goes the time,
when a hollow existence prays redemption to find,
leaving the answer asleep in the brine.

Like the servants who stare at the dove,
who is free from want but not from the flood.
There is fear in waking the man
who at peace with his dreams is at war with his hands.

The rain found it's way to the basement,
where I planted a flowering rose
under a leather bound book about Jesus,
an old chest of drawers,
and a proud womans clothes.

Half asleep in a train station's shadow,
with a shirt tucked tight in a shoe.
The courtyards they echo with reasons,
some of them old and most of them true.

But the thief doesn't need them,
if the whip only knew
that the back that bleeds blood knows the curse is not true.
Save a lash for the liar who sleeps near to you
if your wounded hand can be lifted.

But none can explain away
the fears of the heart and the love they betray.
First we drink, then we are too late to pray.
So with an uneasy sigh, we drink our troubles away.

I'll find me a quiet place near the sea
and measure the tide by the last living tree.
I'll think about the sorrow and the war that I see,
and pray for the last time that all men be free.

We were young, we are young,
if ever a dying song to be sung.

We were young, we are young...




Kinda new, would love feedback...

I can't write myself but was really impressed by your poem. Thank you.

Intrigued by the charactors, eg. the man on the bypass, the 14 singers and 17 denials - are these real or ficticious? Are those numbers significant?

really great ep,

I enjoyed this melodic quality of your poem... it feels like a river carries you through the lines...

I really prefer your way of making an entrance

cheers arno

Ep, there is more to this than meets the eye. I shall return to this to read again before a more detailed response. You've got my attention.

regards, Witty Owl.

To me, every stanza is a vignette of rhymes and pictures.

This is my favorite stanza:

It was always borrowed,
every last dime,
but never bought back the answer to where goes the time,
when a hollow existence prays redemption to find,
leaving the answer asleep in the brine.

I loved the way it twisted to "borrowing time."

There is fear in waking the man
who at peace with his dreams is at war with his hands.

This is brilliant. Open for personal interpretation, yet pointed in its message. Rises to the "wish i wrote it" status for me.

I think the 7th stanza ("But the thief...") is a bit awkward. The last line doens't seem to flow with the previous lines.

And in the complaint department, I think this lovely poem could do withouth the 8th stanza ("But none can explain...") It doesn't rise to the quality of the rest of the poem.

Fantastic poem. You have an interesting 'voice' and ear for rhyme.

Thanks for sharing!
Laurie

Thank you all for the encouragement. The "Thief" stanza has been a bastard of sorts... don't quite know what to do with it. This actually is a song, so the stanzas are verses and chorus'. Musically it builds from beginning to end with a break at the "none can explain away..." I hope that it stands however, without music. "14 singers... 17 denials..." refers to some folks waiting for a beloved train:>
Thanks again you all for the input.

Dear Epurcelly ~

I've just now gotten the time to read your poem through. I'm astonished by the way you work with your words and imagery. Power-packed and beautiful. Do people cite Leonard when commenting on your lyrics? Save copying the entire song, I must highlight some portions that really burrowed into me:

Every lie for the sake of tomorrow,
every embrace for the sake of the lie.

Fourteen singers and seventeen denials
with their hands found deep in the side
of a man on a dusty old bypass,
petals of sage from his fist they did pry.

but never bought back the answer to where goes the time,

Like the servants who stare at the dove,
who is free from want but not from the flood.
There is fear in waking the man
who at peace with his dreams is at war with his hands.

The rain found it's way to the basement,
where I planted a flowering rose
under a leather bound book about Jesus,
an old chest of drawers,
and a proud womans clothes

Half asleep in a train station's shadow,
with a shirt tucked tight in a shoe.
The courtyards they echo with reasons,
some of them old and most of them true.

But none can explain away
the fears of the heart and the love they betray.
First we drink, then we are too late to pray.
So with an uneasy sigh, we drink our troubles away.

I'll find me a quiet place near the sea
and measure the tide by the last living tree.
I'll think about the sorrow and the war that I see,
and pray for the last time that all men be free.

Yes, I know, it's nearly the entire poem-song, but that's not my fault . Yes, again, it most certainly does stand on its own, absent music. Fresh, aged, highly original, richly-patinae'd, and profound. Stunning.

Please come to New York, please bring your guitar, and please sing this song for me. I have no idea of the melody, but imagine it bardlike and slow, with lush, melodic finger-picking. Thank you so much for sharing it. I see your thank-you above is post #11 for you [the number being the gateway to the other dimensions ~ seems appropriate].

~ Elizabeth

Hi Epurcelly ~

Just so you don't feel pressured, Plan B: Record it and I'll buy the cd.

Choice is good ; though Live is preferable .

~ Lizzy

Hey Liz,
I would love to come to N.Y. I was wondering about that event. I live very close to the city and look forward to any excuse for the trip. Thank you for the kind words regarding the poem, I am glad you enjoyed it

Hi Epurcelly ~

Have you gone to the main page of the Files and read up on it yet? I saw where someone referred you there. It will be sooooo worth your while to go. People will be coming from all over the world to celebrate Leonard's music, songs, poetry, and books. Unbelievable schedule of events. You can find out more by reading about it here, too, on the threads of its own section. Get your very-relatively minimal amount of money sent to Geoff Gompers for housing and the V.I.P. buffet on Friday night at The Knitting Factory. Living only 20 minutes away, you could even stay at home, and avoid the cost of Columbia university housing [dorms].....or spend a little more and be there for the weekend. You're so close....you simply must join in. Well, back to that choice thing. However...... .

~ Lizzy