Viewing: Poetry/Song Lyrics - View All Posts


Today I was able to re-connect with several clients and friends, learn Art Farmer's solo on "The Squirrel," check out Donny McCaslin's set @jazzbaltica, study a new twist on a favorite business practice, admire some beautiful photos, peruse the amazing reading list of @Art_Garfunkel, listen to a cool BBC interview with @Jimmy Cobb, read @JasonDCrane's latest poem, and watch a classic Star Trek episode -- all without leaving my solitary bunker in the lonesome desert. Thanks, Internet!

UNSAID by Dana Gioia 

So much of what we live goes on inside–

The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches

Of unacknowledged love are no less real
For having passed unsaid. What we conceal

Is always more than what we dare confide.

Think of the letters that we write our dead.

From Interrogations at Noon
© 2001 Dana Gioia


I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

WOODSTOCK by Joni Mitchell 

I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, "Where are you going?"
And this he told me...

I'm going on down to Yasgur's Farm,
I'm gonna join in a rock and roll band.
I'm gonna camp out on the land.
I'm gonna get my soul free.

We are stardust.
We are golden.
And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden.

Then can I walk beside you?
I have come here to lose the smog,
And I feel to be a cog in something turning.

Well maybe it is just the time of year,
Or maybe it's the time of man.
I don't know who I am,
But you know life is for learning.

We are stardust.
We are golden.
And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden.

By the time we got to Woodstock,
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration.

And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky,
And they were turning into butterflies
Above our nation.

We are stardust.
Billion year old carbon.
We are golden.
Caught in the devil's bargain
And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden.


"Someone's knocking at the door.
Somebody's ringing the bell.
Do me a favor. Open the door and let 'em in."
—Paul McCartney

"Who can it be knocking at my door?
Go 'way, don't come 'round here no more.
Can't you see that it's late at night?
I'm very tired, and I'm not feeling right."
—Colin Hay

"I should've changed that stupid lock.
I should've made you leave your key,
If I had known for just one second you'd be back to bother me.
Go on now, go! Walk out the door.
Just turn around now, 'cause you're not welcome anymore."
—Gloria Gaynor

LYING IN A HAMMOCK at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota by James Wright 

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,  
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.  
Down the ravine behind the empty house,  
The cowbells follow one another  
Into the distances of the afternoon.  
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,  
The droppings of last year’s horses  
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.  
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.

WELL, I HAVE LOST YOU ~Edna St. Vincent Millay 

Well, I have lost you; and I lost you fairly;
In my own way, and with my full consent.
Say what you will, kings in a tumbrel rarely
Went to their deaths more proud than this one went.
Some nights of apprehension and hot weeping
I will confess; but that's permitted me;
Day dried my eyes; I was not one for keeping
Rubbed in a cage a wing that would be free.
If I had loved you less or played you slyly
I might have held you for a summer more,
But at the cost of words I value highly,
And no such summer as the one before.
Should I outlive this anguish—and men do—
I shall have only good to say of you.


"Man is the only Patriot. He sets himself apart in his own country, under his own flag, and sneers at the other nations, and keeps multitudinous uniformed assassins on hand at heavy expense to grab slices of other people's countries, and keep them from grabbing slices of his. And in the intervals between campaigns he washes the blood of his hands and works for 'the universal brotherhood of man' with his mouth."
—Mark Twain

"Patriotism is the conviction that your country is superior
to all others because you were born in it."
—George Bernard Shaw

“Patriotism doesn’t automatically equal conservatism.”
—Tony Stark