Is Love like Gold Left Behind

They say, do not compare this to spiritual love. But love is a palette of colours; love is a compass of points; love is the circle from night to day; love is the lifetime and more.

Can they say: you are not allowed all the colours?
Can they say: you cannot travel to the four corners?
Can they say: you must be awake in the day and be asleep at night?
Can they say: you should only live half of your life?

Is love a picture half finished?
Is love a journey never started?
Is love like gold left behind?

Love is good news and bad news
Love is the whole twelve notes
Love is the whole chart of the elements
Love is the leader and you are the follower

What’s left of love is still light
What’s left os love is still food
What’s left of love is still love
Love times love times love

 

 

 

 

 

 

All the Time that I’ve Known You

This is a piece of light music I wrote on a music programme. Please click on the item to listen.

The Frog and the Sensitive Boy.

He was disconnected from life but did not understand the disconnection. He was cruel to life not having any empathy. He was at one within himself but he was not at one with life. Oneness with life is about respect for life, the pool of life, the family of life. Life is bigger than us all, it moves through the days and nights like a turtle climbing a beach to lay her eggs, one step at a time.

Life, we are reminded, is sighing and groanng all together, man kills man, animal kills animal, the earth pushes and shoves against itself. Within life, there is the cruelty of the single minded psychopath, the sociopath, the hunter, the manipulator, the spoiler. Life doesn’t need an organiser or a manipulator, it needs a referee, an umpire, someone to stop the arguments, the disputes from turning into conflict.

Sensitivity to life is not oversensitivity, it just is. It has accepted that life is far from perfect and that things can go wrong in a big way, which means the extinction of life, the driving away and the hunting down of life. Sensitivity to life is normal, it’s the hunters and the slayers and the ones who like to annihilate and who defend their status by saying or accusing the sensitive one of being too sensitive and confusing them as to who is in control of life and what is allowable in life.

You’re being too sensitive says the little boy who stabes a frog or picks the legs from an insect but he doesn’t like sensitivity. Sensitivity in another is a threat to his higher than thou status; his belief in his right to be in control over life and death and if there is no God, who is there to reprimand him. He feels supreme, he feels like god and that is what he lives for. But life isn’t living to be supreme, to be seperated from God, life has to deal with death everyday and knows from experience that life needs to be protected from those who are insensitive and who permit themselves to be like gods.

We were children outside school in the dinner break. We went into the gorse by the canal and there was a frog minding its own business. One boy in the group stabbed it with a stick and staked it into the ground and then exalted over his action. The group as a group said nothing because children aren’t taught about Life, about how life is vulnerable and needs to be protected. It was left to die there. But after school I went back alone, I pulled out the stake and put it back into the canal. I partly realised it would probably drown there, I wasn’t saving it from its slow death but I felt I was putting it back with its family, back into the enviroment that loved it.

You’re being oversensitive said the self appointed leader. But I was not being oversensitive, I was being as one in life, I was arguing for sensiivity as the norm’. Without sensitivity to life – life would be torn apart by the hunter, the psycopath, the one who likes to be in control over life and death.

 

I Live on the Streets of Windsor

Please click on the link to see a PDF of the music.

i live on the streets of Windsor

Lyrics to I live on the streets of Windsor

I live on the streets of Windsor
But they want to take me away
And leave me in the graveyard
Where life is not so gray

I saw a band of soldiers
With a marching band
Ev’ry man there he was ready
To die fighting for his land

I’m sleeping under cardboard
I cannot get to sleep
The rollers drive right past me
They make me quietly weep

I live on the streets of Winsor
I sleep on paper and card
They’ll move me to the graveyard
Where life is not so hard

 

 

 

Lesley’s Song

Please click on link to see PDF of the song.

Lesley’s Song

Lyrics to Lesley’s Song

Verses

Lesley’s always sitting down Trying to work out why
She don’t come to terms with people No matter how she tries shes always
She’s watching for the signs that hang On the city walls
Outside railway stations and on Foreign city halls

Lesley gets the blues you know she Gets them just like mine she
Tries to find the truth but The truth she’ll never find
The Passers by in Goodall Sstreet Don’t pay her any mind
And the church bells they go spining In the playground of humankind

She’ll sit there very nobly And then begin to quote
How it is that solid living seems to escape her the most
Just so we would see by the Distressed look in her eyes
She won’t give up trying It will be hers in time

She’s looking for the truth (you know) Without wearing her disguise
Not looking for an entrance That she follows in your eyes
For when the crisis came along She had nowhere to run
And her dreams are free floating And her heart seems over run

She’s sitting by the window cill Looking at the rain
And the window pulls a face And whispers someones name
She’s dressed in Victoriana Sometimes maybe sighing
She sits there maybe praying Then she says maybe she’s dieing

Chorus

And why oh why don’t we all break down in tears
After all the trouble Of the past ten thousand years
Tell her why, tell her why She wants to know this time
Now while it seems important And she’s in this frame of mind

 

Big Al and the mystery dock.

 

Big Al
Big Al (Alan Menzies, docker)

I met Big Al at the Kingdom Hall. He asked me to do a painting of himself and his dog. Wow I thought, this is fantastic. Al was aa awesme retired docker and I felt privelledged. This was a study in oil pastel and in some ways was better than the 5 foot panting  I did for him. He kept pressing me to finish his painting and so I couldn’t put much into it.         Hused to drive an old yellow Ford Cortina I think it was. It was not a family car, it was a workers car, one that took him to work every day, a tin can on wheels. Yet it had grown around him like asecond skin and he drove it like he was born in it. Then one day he turned up at my door and said he wanred to take me out somewhere. I had undignosed pernicious aneamia and felt terrible, but there was no refusing Big Al. And where did he take me, the Imperial War Museum! The thing that stood out most among the war machines was an evil bust of Adolph Hitler. Well it was awesome. And now let me get back to bed Al. He was a married man and he was protective of his wife about whom I knew nothing. He liked his painting and put it up on his wall.

study for big al
Study for Big Al

He died a few years ago. And the docks where he worked? They were gone, or they were in transition, they were halfway between one world and the next. God bless you, Big Al.