My lyrics have been published in Volume. 3 of the beautiful book ‘Lyrics As Poetry’. I am very proud to be a part of this LA based journal, where lyrics can be appreciated on their own aesthetic merit. Catch them at The London Art Book fair from 5-8th September where they will be at The Whitechapel Gallery with copies. Also you can purchase the book on their website here
A window I passed fleetingly. But to have a coffee beneath these wooden shutters, to study the weeds that climb the stone wall with their delicate violet petals. How many eyes have searched a nights sky for the moon from behind these wooden slats. How many lives have prayed to receive their unrequited love. How many have reconnected the stars with heavy fingertips after nights intertwined. This window, the opening and closing of generations of love.
From the dream, I stood from the height of a balcony, watching the celebration wreathed in warmth; a procession that traced the river like a native rose harbouring all its resources. My position aloft the soft turning of the oak boughs and shimmering reflections of the sinking light flooded me with perspective.
A lost domain to my body that then awoke to the heavy rainfall that answered the valley
like hymns of low sunlight
sinking through the closing
of a forest.
Behind the inscriptions,
The vines cling to the country air,
Beyond the horizon,
Without witness, a birds song.
Behind every interpretation to feather the darkness
Remains always, a portrait, longing
Traveling the roads of spain over the past week On Tour has been a beautiful exchange of energy. the folding remainS of spring have awoken the Country roads with migrating cotton seeds, Pigmants of Ochre and crimson POPPY-HEADS, DAZZLING the dry heaT. Spain you have Installed us with a breath of life. We cant wait to share our music with you again in the Near future!
An abandoned bird lays upon his chest - a painting of oiled shadows and burnished solidarity. The portrait of strength surrenders to a private pain. I pay head to the quiet transformation as it is folded away into the diminishing light.
A field of flowers
Disappearing into darkness
The scent of uprooted earth and pine
Becoming the horizon
THE SWEET DEW OF HONEYSUCKLE
ESCAPES THROUGH THE PASSAGES OF COURTYARDS
SCALES WITH IVY AND TEMPERED WITH ICE.
BEYOND THE YIELDING DANCES OF BLACKBIRDS
THAT PARADE THE ROUNDED WALLS, WE CAN SEE
THE CHURCH BELLS SWING THROUGH THE OPAQUE STAR
OF PALESTINE-ROSE GLASS.
IRON NOTES LIFT LIKE SCENTS DRAWN OUT FROM THE RAIN ABOVE
THE QUIET TOWN AND TRAVELLING CLOUDS.
All is one, one breath. With the magnitude of what defies time and place. A relationship unscripted, that moves without separation, just as the dark pine leans into the wind, into the voice of centuries. To hand yourself over to the promise of exchange; the act of giving and receiving; a dialogue that became an equilibrium in a time before beginning and end.