live compositions

cleansing my palette right now with Warren Zevon's "Mohammed's Radio"...then I will move into something yet to be determined to filter the light through, and I will write...straight to this input window...

let's see what sort of golem rises from these ashes...I have been needing a release...the work on THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES has stirred up old chaos, then a myriad barrage of random images and icons has summoned my grave disappointment over the conduct of some whom I have dared to love over the past few years...

so the genie must be released, unleashed, if just for a moment...leeched by the catharsis to take the toxins from my blood.

I have chosen my music for this run: "One of a Kind Love Affair" by the Spinners, to make the incision, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" by Ladysmith Black Mambazo, to peel back the wound, and ending with "Crash Into Me" by the Dave Matthews Band, to force every drop from the arteries tapped.

1)
crisp whispers on the shell of dreams, borne of the night, born in the light.
wings that catch thought and naught shall fold their membranes, stains and pains
remain to blacken further the brackish waters that fall in reigndrops,
annointing the joints of a failed and jailed colossus, moistening tear-sealed lids.

amidst the rabble, hardscrabble lessons learned and burned and turned into victories
in the face of defeat made sweet by the next scent of a jasmine scented dawn,
the frankincense overturned as freedom earned is cashed to cached emotions, potions
to be decanted for recanted oaths and vows that plow the sky for evocation.

2)
finding the bindings loosed,
we step from our captive state to wait
for the blood to flow and to dissipate
the doubts poured out on barren soil.
toil in vain, swain and paramour,
toil in vain and still you know love
for it is your heart that parts the seas,
no disease regent in this apothecary.
carry your burden with a risen chin,
a smile coming with the brisant dawn,
on beyond the suffering of sorrows
of a heaven denied only to those
who chose to let the prophet pass,
as an unnoticed breeze in the grass.

3)
The citrus sun calls me again.
A friend I traded for a jade.
I will go and apologize
for the foolishness of a man
who bought what was told
not what was sold
and gave over his gold
for something of silvered glass.

Pass the wine of a dream divine
and I will nod and fold my arms
to take your blessings in earnest.
For I only know that I am hungry.
What will fill me? What will kill me?
learning, slowly, as a distracted child
in a field of roses and orchids
and elegant flutterbyes in the sun.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Thanks to the musicians and writers who made the works that helped me cleanse my palate, I am grateful.

Total time from impulse to posting: 16 minutes.