Every Sunday I post an original poem.
This was a man with wooden hands. He danced to heavy beats
but in the silence of his closet Mussorgsky bellowed.
He greeted with an hidalgo turn of wrist, and breathed the country,
inhaling its people and brushing the industries off his upper lip
like the foam from stiff beer. The kind of man
Who searched for the foundation stone of mountains.
Trying to break it up again, with a song instead of a poem.
I've been working on a CD called Longitude off and on for about four years. I get the urge to polish it up every once in a while, but mostly I let it sit. At this point, it's mostly mixing, EQ'ing, and mastering that is left to be done. This is, I think, the first song I have posted off of that CD. It's representative of the sort of instrumentation that is on Longitude, which is written for full band, rather than just as an acoustic album (this song features not one but two electric guitar parts, plus bass,drums, and backing vocals!). Read More “The Sunday Poem/Song: Feel the Slide”
I grew up in one of those New England towns
that called its river a beach.
Read More “The Sunday Poem: Greenfield”
Doing something a little bit different again. I have posted this poem before, but I wanted to talk a little bit about taking things away, since I was so recently on the topic of adding things in. And for those of you who don’t usually read the Sunday Poems, this one actually has game design relevance!
I was in a mythological mood, at the Caledonian Hotel in Edinburgh, Scotland. Hence the title. And yeah, it’s a poem about sex. Sorry. At least it’s sex in the cosmic, way-the-world-turns sense, the ocean-and-earth sense.
