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Monday, May 29, 2017

MESSAGES OF MIND




A radiant day on the granite, yes
The sky displayed the white light of Eden
No one planted a seed, no one mended
We were sailing into the sea of dawn

The ruby fingers of the dawn lit up
Crimson colours on the great ship's side,
The Cosmic vessel's ties to Earth are cut
Sailing beyond the seven seas and tides.

We drift now into high weightless realms
Where messages of Mind travel right fast;
Words become unnecessary on this helm
Released the bonds of gravity at last

And now we speak in silence, each to each
Thoughts already heard before a voice can                  speak.







(C)2017 by W.G. Milne

Sunday, May 28, 2017

SIX FOOT BLUE - lyrics

I usually sing the song in the key of C.
I use 9th chords.

lyrics



Went down to the delta
Try to find me a job
Spent so much time at the smelta
Got to be feeling odd
Someone said, 
"Fella, you know you got no God."

HOOK
I say, Billy, what you gonna do?
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa whoa John
What you gonna  do? (this line in falsetto)
You got rings around your eyes,
And you're looking six foot blue!

Went down to delta
Try to shovel me some coal
Went down to the smelta
Got to be feeling old
Someone said: "Fella,
You know you got no soul"

HOOK

Threw down my shovel
Threw down my pick
Picked up my guitar
Learned to lay down some licks
Well, maybe I'm in trouble
But least I'm not feeling sick

HOOK





(C)2000-2017 by W.G. Milne,
     John Rock Corporation


With any luck I'll find an acceptable recording of this
song... and eventually I'll post it here.

Thursday, May 25, 2017

MOONSHINE SKETCHES OF A PICKLED TOWN

There are a bunch of stories called, 'LIGHTHEARTED TALES OF ISOLATION AND PANIC.' Some pretty wild stuff about a town (which I made up) on the East side of The Mackenzie River, a couple of hundred miles south of Inuvik....just west of Great Bear Lake.... It's a village of foxholes because a fly-boy bombed the place out of jealousy...
The town is like Orillia in Steven Leacock's day, but it is far, far, far more savage

Have you ever been left abandoned in a strange remote place... and the plane that comes 4 times a year has left without you... and you're from New York City, and after 4 hours of utter silence you start teetering on the edge of totally unrefined madness... and you start crawling and weeping in a most undignified way... And you realize you are the only entertainment the village of weirdos living in foxholes have....
And they try not to laugh in your face, but it's difficult for them. You're the first tourist they've seen in 3 years...
and pretty soon they're on their knees laughing. Especially when you panic and run down towards the river, but you run smack into a tree instead.
See it from their point of view. There's no T.V. up there. The postman's been shot. Once every couple of weeks they might get a hint of radio.
link at: www.wait-a-bit.blogspot.com.
You'll find the whole story there.
(C) 2013-2017 by W.G. Milne . Hope you enjoy. Some of these stories are over 18 only.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

THEY SAY WE'RE NOT THE GOOD GUYS

          I ALWAYS thought we were.

        But if you look at the history of the North American peoples in the last 30 years, it hasn't been great.
        And we followed the lead of the leaders
of our county.

        We were either complicit, or we were
stupid.


        And that's all I have to say about that. I supported Trump during the last election
because of his sane policy of having some kind of detente with Russia.
          Hilary scared the hell out of me regarding
her bellicose attitude towards Russia.

          I don't know anything about the specific workings of the Intelligence  community. I am totally ignorant about the fine tuning that goes on there.
          But I have studied the situation in the middle east for thirty years. Syria has been Russia's client state for longer than that.
          We have a client state in the region, also.

         It's time for sanity, not idiocy. Look at the facts, that' all I ask.
         I am a Canadian patriot. No one can question that fact. I am not happy at Russia drilling for oil in Canadian waters. However, all this can be negotiated.

        But the press have a duty to report the facts. That's why the press have freedoms
granted by our founding documents.

        Both the United States and Russia have the ability to destroy the human world many times over.

       Get the facts people. Observe what has been happening through many sources. Read
history and don't trust all you read.
       We know the press slants things. But this shit is important. Derive a fair-minded position through you own studies,
don't trust me, either.

                                                     
       I'm  hung-over. 

       Nevertheless, how about we tell the truth for a change.

      

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

A SENSE OF POSSIBILITIES




"That'd be wild!"
I heard a girl
call out across
the street
and I remembered
amid the chime
of downtown bells
what it is like
to feel
a sense of
possibilities

how could I forget?
I wondered
how good I used to
feel, when I was
younger

and each day
offered some
new
alternative

or at least
the possibility
of something new
and exciting
a hope, an idea
an escapade
to build a dream om

"That'd be wild!"
she said, agreeing
to some night's
assignation...

and when you
have lost it
that sense that
anything
can happen
that something
new and entirely
different
will walk in
through the door
of your streetside
cafe...

some glimpse of
skirt
or scheme
to smash
the tedium
of the day
like yesterday's 
glass
we toasted
our hopes
in
and then threw
against the wall

still I dream of
my motorcycle
moving through
that forest path
the trees arching over
high, like cathedrals

the spears
of sunlight
through the
leaves

and you beside me
to raise that dream
again

of adventure
on the high seas...





(C) 1990 by W.G. Milne

HARD OLD ROAD (CRASHING THE BLUES)



                This song is about growing up in Jamaica.
My parents were throwing rather luxurious parties, and they were gone a lot.
        So I was under the care of Miss Gwendolyn Dickens of St. Ann's Bay. She took care of me and told me stories of how the police disciplined people and other tales of Jamaican lore.
        Most of all, Miss Gwen could laugh. And she knew when I was lying, which I did quite a bit in those days. Even then I was telling stories... Ha! Ha!
       About shooting snakes in California... I was six at the time.
       "When was this?" the portrait painter asked me.
        "Oh, a year or two back," I said confidently.
        The guy must have been a pretty good artist. When my mother saw the painting
and saw the expression on my face Antoine Verpilleux  had captured. She said:

       "You were lying to the man, weren't you!"

        There was no way out of that one. I was caught.
        Miss Gwen was the person who told me every week, "A man's strength is in his hair, Bill."
       Logical or not, I now believe it. I've had long hair ever since. And I do feel stronger with it.



(C)2017  by W.G. Milne

Sunday, May 14, 2017

AS THE DAWN COMES AND MAITREYA COMES, TOO



May, it just drifted away on the wind;
April disappears like a poet's dream.
Philosophers think of what is and what's                        becoming,
Mystics hear the blood in stone five miles
           deep.

Shakespeare both thought and dreamed and                  knew what is;
Ministers need lessons from the artist's eye,
The seasons roll by inexorably -
Not one day can be slowed or hurried by.

The same is true of youth and age and sight;
Rational understandings disappear;
Visions of dawn are best learned in endless                     night,
And what you know, it's best to keep it near:

As the dawn comes and Maitreya comes too,
My deepest heart-mind turns to 
          dreams of you.





(C)2017 by W.G. Milne

Friday, May 5, 2017

COUNTRY VIDEOS ...





I love this tune! Wrote in on returning from Toronto, having played the clubs there for five (six? seven?) years, needing to relax in the Bay. Spitting up things in pails and needing a few good friends and a hideout. Well, I found both, and it was a magnificent, purifying period of time. Was I ever lucky!






Took a while for me to find this out out of my notebooks & music files, not so well organized, after all. There's something magical about this song. Maybe the magic comes from the friends who saved my ass & soul, way back when..


I remember sitting by a river with her, relaxing on the flat smooth granite rocks.
With the sound of the waterflow in our ears,we smoked a joint, breathed the free air, kissed a bit and drank rye whisky.
Free from the dirt and the power lines and the smog - free from the stage for a while and the pressure to perform.
Free to laugh and watch the firelight,
see the sparks disappearing up into the night.








((C) 2016 by W.G. Milne and John Rock Corporation.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

SONGS FROM THE MORNING.... MAN'S QUEST FOR HOME...... with an ADDED EDIT

      The town raises its spires to the
heavens in the evening light;
he enters the harbour at last,
released from the sea
       to find a sailor's home,
sheltered on the beach
       a voyager resting, he speaks:

       "O wind, soothed, soft-spoken
silent wind, won't you blow my love
to me
        O night, dark-forgotten lonely
night, give your breath to be
         through the trees and ships' lights,
harbour, speaking wave-crests on the sea
         through the streets, lost-lighted
orchard keeping her leaves"

          speak, speak the circle opening
of grief and joy to be
          hold, hold within the water's bowl
a trace the wind will leave
          when the houses are gone here
and speak her love to me...

          for the moment we did not seize
and let breathe
          has passed and is gone


          so speak O you silent one,
soothed forgotten quiet one
           and give your breath of peace
to me this short while

         For home is the sea, bell-ringing,
sounding sea, curling waved
          low rising the tossing surf falls
the day
          O sea, soft watered shining sea,
be to me as a wife is, warm
to her lover
           and lull me, pull to me, cleanse
me with soft words
          
          I have seen your long-haired
women of the rocks, call, watery bowers
          and I have known your peoples,
never still, been with me
          O sea singing shining sea be
with me still in the evening.


********************************
       





(C)2017 by W.G. Milne

taken from a much longer poem
of several books,  this writing uses
a long line, more internal rhythms
and rhyme - and really, I think
should be read aloud. So I'll be
looking for a microphone to do this.


I did an edit at 4:00 A.M. this
morning. I took out a few wasted
words... and phrases that messed up
the rhythm of the lines...

Check out the following - after a week
of two we'll see if the edit is an improvement.




 "O wind, soothed, soft-spoken
silent wind, won't you blow my love
to me
        O night, dark-forgotten lonely
night, give your breath to be
         through the trees and ships' lights,
 the harbor,

         breathing wave-crests on the sea
 through these streets,

the lost-lighted orchard keeping her leaves"
speaks  the circle's opening



       speak O you silent one,
soothed forgotten quiet one,
            give your breath of peace
to me this short while

         For home is the sea, bell-ringing,
sounding sea, curling waved
          low rising, the tossing surf falls
on the day
          O sea, soft watered shining sea,
be to me as a wife is, warm
to her lover
           and lull me, pull to me, cleanse
me with soft words
          
          I have seen your long-haired
women of the rocks call, bowers watery,
          and I have known your peoples,
restless still, they have been with me
          O sea singing shining sea dance
with me still in the evening.

                                 *******








THE RAVENS NEAR ME





the ravens near me
feed their babe,
then it grows and
does not stay

where has my youth
      gone?
flown away
50 years pass
like the month of May

the wild geese fly...
Where do they go
      so far away?

the ice is closing
and winter comes
      upon its way...
where did summer go?

trees are bare and
gone to grey.






(C)2017 by W.G. Milne