How Can I Keep From Singing?
Traditional Shaker Hymn
Written By: Unknown
Copyright Unknown
My life goes on in endless song
Above earth's lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing
It sounds an echo in my soul
How can I keep from singing?
While though the tempest loudly roars
I hear the truth, it liveth
And though the darkness 'round me close
Songs in the night it giveth
No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that rock I'm clinging
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?
When tyrants tremble in their fear
And hear their death knell ringing
When friends rejoice both far and near
How can I keep from singing?
In prison cell and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging
When friends by shame are undefiled
How can I keep from singing?
Endy - I know you're not a particularly religious sort, but I know you like music and I thought you'd appreciate the thought behind this hymn at this particular Christmas time.
My best wishes to you.
Thanks Aidan
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Merry Christmas Day
Merry Christmas Day to anyone reading this
Lets get drunk together, what d'you say?
I just heard that James Brown has passed away
Think I'll dig out any soul albums
Turn the juice up loud enough
To blow the silence away
And raise my glass to the dead
Before all their names full out my head
Cheery cheers
Endymion
Christmas day
YEAH! That's the only thing to do.
I'm listening to The Last Waltz which I haven't heard for fifteen years at least-which is when I got a CD player and let the needle on my turntable wear out so that I can no longer listen to records. But the question I ask myself is why I haven't replaced this particular vinyl with CD before now, but thank god , my son who I was really mad at before today did - and I am having the best time EVER! I remember every word and guitar lick...
Music is the universal healer and language.
Long live music! Merry Christmas!
*clink of the glass* to Endymion, Aidan and all others of this wonderful thread.
Hey,
how come it's always the guy who says "Let's get drunk together" that slides under the table first?
Yesterday has disappeared like a dream.
It's boxing day morning and I don't really know how I got here - but the hang over says it all - sorry not to get back to you sooner!
Aidan - I agree. Music is very powerful. Songs can be very powerful. Lyrics - poetry - I'm starting to understand HOW the pen can be mightier than the sword. (Not my pen - but the pens of many much braver than I).
Tico - cheers friend, have a good one
I picked up my old acoustic guitar at some point yesterday and although I don't completely remember it, I must have played for hours because the pads of my fingers hurt like a bastard today!
If I came up with any worthwhile lyrics - I've completely forgotten them, but there are some chords written down and I've got the vague sense of a song somewhere in my head.
Right now though, everything (poetry wise) i try and write down is excessively maudlin - even to my ears. Pathetic.
I laugh at myself
It is strange though, how an agnostic like me can find Christmas so damn emotive.
I had an offer to go away for Christmas - but to be honest, there's a part of me that wants to be alone.
That doesn't want to be around people.
I did however promise I'd go to some neighbours for a meal today - so I need to get my **** together. I'm going to finish my coffee then go for a long walk up to my favourite hilltop.
When today is over and on my return tonight I intend picking up the bottle where I left off.
Until then
Cheers
Endy
Winter Tale For The Death-Diary
*******************************
This is a massive 3,000 words long. (Probably because I've been writing nothing else for two days straight).
It began as a poem I attempted to write about a profound thing that happened to me on Boxing Day.
Gradually it's grown into something else - Poetry within a Short Story (Fiction, based on personal experience.)
You may not have time to read it now, or even the inclination - but if you do go ahead with it - thanks for taking a look.
I wish you a peaceful New Year
Endy
**************************************************************
This is for you
Resolution
************
I woke up late Boxing Day morning with a mean hangover. All I really wanted to do was drink a couple of glasses of water and take a long soak in a hot bath, before heading right on back to the bedroom.
But I'd made a promise - and I knew people had gone out of their way to include me in their day - so I showered and threw on some clean kit.
All the time, I was telling myself that I could do this
that I was ready
that shutting myself away was getting to be too much a way of life.
Anyway, it was too late to back out now and I'd be a coward to do it.
Yes there was a chance I might not be able to stay the course, but I'd discussed this with my therapist and I had various coping mechanisms tucked up my sleeve if I needed to use them. So I dropped a torch in with the Christmas presents already tucked into my bag, grabbed my coat and set off across the field at the back of my place, heading for my neighbours' house.
I remember exactly how I was feeling - nervous in a way I have become accustomed to. I'd managed to shake off the rough edge of the hangover, but not the uncertainties I always feel when I step outside my home and put myself into the company of other people.
I haven't always been like this. There used to be times when socialising was at least half of my life - a time when the only things that really mattered to me were things that included other people.
My farming neighbours Tom and Jess are the adult half of a hard-working, steadfast family who sell farm produce from their own home. They're the type of people who had the decency not to raise an eye-brow when their nearest neighbour (the shabby recluse) turned up on their doorstep at six o'clock one rainy morning two years ago, drunk and disorderly and bleeding all over their welcome mat.
Instead of slamming the door in the crazy man's face, bolting down the latches and ringing the police, (after gathering their children to them, of course) they had taken the drunk in, cleaned him up and stuck a plaster over his eyebrow, dried him by the fire and fed him breakfast.
True.
Of course, they already knew me. Vaguely. They certainly knew something about me; but their quiet handling of the situation, their unequivocal kindness, wasn't something I took from them easily - and certainly not without acknowledging their generosity.
I went back three days later (sober) with a couple of bottles of wine and apologised. It was awkward at first, but they invited me in and we ended up talking about music, which led to Tom playing me his favourite Deep Purple tracks. Since then, we've made a kind of limited friendship.
At least twice a week I walk up the lane to their place to buy farm produce. I'm into cooking vegetables and Jess has passed on some good recipes to me. She and Tom have had me over to dinner a couple of times and when I've been back in London, (which is hardy at all these days) Tom has kept an eye on the cottage for me.
On occasion, (and certainly with a glass in my hand) I have talked a little bit with them about certain aspects of my life.
But I am a reclusive, very private person, uncomfortable around people; which means I often force distance between myself and anyone who is being friendly towards me.
Even if I like someone
especially if I like someone - I tend to push them away from me.
A month or more ago Tom quizzed me about the Christmas holiday. Was I going up to London? Was I having anyone down?
He seemed only curious, so I was pretty surprised when he and Jess (and both their kids) invited me over for dinner on Boxing Day.
Although they've always been friendly and generous, I've seen to it that I've never encroached on them again as I did on that crazy morning two years ago; so at first I declined, knowing it was going to be a bad time for me and not wanting to inflict any of my own 'Problems with Christmas' on anyone else. But they weren't to be put off.
Their eldest child, Alice (aged ten) sent me a drawing of the Christmas biscuits she would be making just for the occasion. Her picture had been used to make a Christmas card, but I realised it was also a rather cunning, official invitation.
Anyway, I agreed to go and despite getting grimly pissed on Christmas day, I managed to keep my promise and set off to arrive at theirs for one o'clock Boxing Day.
My journey was a reflective one.
For me, it hasn't been easy spending Christmas alone, but obscurely it's just as hard to spend time with others - especially a family with kids and such.
I'm sure that must be difficult for some of you to understand.
After all, my Devonian neighbours had been gracious enough to invite me to share Boxing Day with them; you'd think such an act of kindness would cheer a man like me; right on through to my cockney heart perhaps.
But of course, it doesn't work like that.
Just for today
I shall anaesthetise my heart
Tuck its deformity
Deep down inside me
Hide it at my core
Where it shall not be seen
Nor heard
But let it dream
In darkness buried and asleep
I will hush you sorrow
Lest you tremble pain from my eyes
My hurt I'll blindly bind
With iron cord
To hide
These aching ribs
And somewhere along the way
I shall find a smile
And press it to my lips
What should have been a fifteen minute walk turned into half an hour.
I wasn't happy. A smile eluded me and suddenly I begrudged being forced out of my sanctuary. In a way, I feared human contact. It was that simple.
By the time I reached the lane at the bottom of the field, I'd half convinced myself that the fairest thing to do would be to turn back.
After all, I would only spoil everyone else's day.
(An excuse I've used time and time again, in preference to facing my own cowardice).
To be fair, there was also a part of me that didn't want to be witnessed feeling as I did. There's a hell of a lot of shame attached to being unable to 'pull yourself together' - even when you have every right to be nuts.
You see I've grown used to dealing with my pain alone, but it isn't something I can manipulate. I can't switch it on and off, like a tap.
When it hurts it hurts, so to speak.
The lane turns up-hill and it's a seven-minute walk to the farm gates. I thought about calling Tom on my mobile and telling him I wasn't going to make it.
But somehow my legs kept walking and of course the dogs heard me coming and started barking and rushed out to meet me at the gates. Then Ross was there and I saw his boy face was bright with excitement as he grabbed my hand and led me, with smiling ceremony up to the house.
This child sees no scars
Knows no stranger truths
Only accepts things as they are
The man whose hand he holds
Is as his father
. Isn't he?
That is how it must be
He still believes in Santa
Plenty of time
For him to discover torture
Butchery and debauchery
To learn
That there are broken men
As well as heroes like his father
To discover
Nothing lasts forever
And life is dust
Blown down a road of quick distraction
He'll learn fast
He cannot save the world
From its corruption
But for now he has pure vision
Existence sublime
And I'm afraid
To look him in the eyes
For fear he'll see a different truth
Revealed in mine
Despite the wound
I'm no true cynic
For I believe in love
And how it can change us
But I fear
For this small Christmas sprite
Innocent
And in love with life
As I hung my coat in the porch, Tom called out a welcome from the kitchen down the hallway.
It wasn't easy walking on in, but I was warmly met by Alice, - who led me straight (and rather proudly) to her freshly decorated, spiced biscuits. (Delicious they were, too.)
Tom put a glass of beer in my hand and by the time Jess joined us, I was helping prepare salad and talking to Tom about global warming.
(No kidding, there are primroses growing where we are).
We ate dinner together at the long kitchen table and there were no problems, no humiliations.
I have, on one horribly memorable occasion, embarrassed myself by experiencing a very bad reaction to the smell of roast pork being served to a mate's girlfriend in a restaurant in Soho. I managed to make it into the street before I threw-up the little that was in my stomach; and everyone was very understanding - but, I tell you the truth
it made me feel like a social outcaste, because I could see people staring at me and I couldn't defend myself. What was I meant to do? Go back in and explain?
Do you remember, man?
I know you do
I see the fire
Melting tears
In the burning night
Pounding feet
On old concrete
The roasting stench
Of screaming meat
Behind buckled doors
And always
As before
The pressed handprint
Your girlfriend was kind, man
And very pretty
How I shrank from her look
Of horrified pity
At my uncouth exhibition
Lack of self-control
Too demeaning
Doubled up outside the restaurant
Shaking and weeping
In my neighbours' kitchen, no such thing occurred and I was very glad about that.
After dinner the kids opened their parcels of coloured pencils, pens and paper I'd wrapped for them. Ross asked me to help him draw a snowman and I had a go. I guess it was the next best thing to actually building a real one.
All this may seem quite normal to you. Uninteresting even. But for me it was a big deal, never having been a part of any loving family, such as these close-knit, intelligent people, who speak straight to each other and laugh often.
I could tell how absolutely the children trust their parents and love them with a passion they aren't afraid to show. Being there with them was very strange and terrifying indeed. But it was also wonderful.
In the kitchen later, Jess asked me what I did with my time, now that I have so much of it on my hands.
I almost told her about my poetry. And about everything I've discovered over time, since I decided the written word might be enough to save me.
But in the end I didn't.
We talked about the countryside and even a little bit about the war in Iraq - but we mostly talked about the hobbies we share.
All this sounds easy, but talking is not something that comes easily to me. I have plenty to say (I'm sure you realise that) but I have some trouble speaking. These days it's not too bad, but I can still find myself stammering unintelligibly or even becoming verbally paralysed.
With Jess it was alright, and as we moved on to talking about simple things, I found myself relaxing.
Later in the evening, after the kids had left us to it, we sat by the fire and listened to some music, picking out albums we liked and discussing them.
For a while I felt like a normal human being, as we talked about local issues and how Tom was taking Ross up on the moor in the morning - hoping to see some snow. I remember thinking to myself, I'm glad I came. It's all going to be alright.
Alice came downstairs to say goodnight at nine o'clock and made a point of thanking me again for her present.
She stood in her dressing gown by the door, her arms folded across her chest, holding a book; her long brown hair in bunches tied with pink tinsel.
I never spoke about what happened in the next moment. Sure, I've dealt with similar shocks before and managed to conceal (for the most part) my initial terror. But I could not share the nightmare. It was beyond explanation. Words come cheap but not easy.
As I look at her
My brain slips
Playing a familiar, twisted trick.
Sticking a rogue image
Into the mix.
Swapping Alice
For another kid.
A dead child Alice's age
With a bullet hole drilled neatly
Through her pretty face
Unresponsive
To her mother's cries
Before me she bleeds
She pink-toothed smiles
And suddenly I cannot breathe
Cannot deny the seeing
Terror creeping through my flesh
Like a rising tide of screaming
Then again it's only Alice
No accusation
Fear or malice
My heart beats hard
A thief's own guilt
As I turn to the window
And search the night sky
Longing for the darkness
And a place to hide
Tom offered to accompany me back down the lane. He said he had to walk the dogs anyway, and went to fetch his own torch while Jess cut a wedge of Christmas cake, wrapped it and slipped it in my bag along with a present from all of them. She told me that if I wanted company on New Year's Eve, I'd be welcome - they were having a party at the house
. but they'd love to see me.
I didn't give her an answer.
At the door she said goodbye, taking my hand and leaning in to kiss my cheek. I thanked her for everything.
Then, with the dogs circling us, Tom and I set off together.
This is the hard part. It's what I came here to say, for certain.
If you're still with me, maybe you're willing to listen a little longer, but it won't be easy to say. I don't think I possess the words to take you even close.
But I'm here now and I've come all this way.
Tom and I walked as far as my gate out the back and stood in the light of our torches listening to the dogs chase each other around the field. He'd walked further than he'd said he would, because for some reason we were suddenly really talking to each other. I was telling him how I find it hard to be around people and he admitted that he already knew quite a bit about me through the token (and not unkind) local gossip he'd overheard on one occasion or another. He hastened to add that he'd never spoken to anyone other then Jess about the morning I'd arrived at their place pissed out of my brains.
He thanked me for coming over and I thanked him for a great day and we shook hands. I was about to say goodnight then and walk away from the man, this forty-five year old farmer, with a truck load of responsibilities and no time to waste on idiots, (his own words) when he suddenly asked me if I was really going to be alright; if I was keeping on top of things; if I was going to get through the next few days okay.
I don't know why, but instead of saying the usual thing, "Yeah sure, I'll be fine," (the kind of thing I say to doctors, therapists and old acquaintances all the time) I told him the truth, which was that I didn't know.
Here's how stupid I was.
I thought he would be disgusted by my weakness. Or at least embarrassed by it - but he wasn't.
Still, I expected him to say goodnight and call the dogs away - but he didn't.
Instead he stepped forward and embraced me. Hugged me. He even called me son.
If you don't know me very well, you won't have any idea why this hit me so hard, and I haven't got the energy to explain
in fact I couldn't.
But my God, the pain was unbearable. I wasn't expecting it at all, and I almost collapsed, breaking down right there in front of him.
Somehow I was able to hang onto everything, including my pride, as we parted.
"You look after yourself, son." He said.
When he was gone I went inside. I was shaking badly. I unscrewed a fresh bottle of whiskey and sat down in my coat in the dark and got very quickly drunk, swigging straight from the bottle. Every mouthful was a poisonous dart in my brain. I knew what I was doing. The tears came very hard.
I found myself saying over and over, "I need my father. I need my father."
It went on for a very long time - a great flood of deep-rooted bewilderment and grief.
The pain was so intense I thought I might start screaming.
I wrapped my arms around my gut as if I'd been bayoneted and rocked back and forth. I hardly recognised what I was saying. The words just burst out of me. They formed a simple truth that I could no longer deny.
"I need my father."
I'm not a kid any longer, but I really felt like one. Like a kid begging, pleading for understanding.
Tom's kindness had been well meant, I'm sure - but somehow he had ripped open an old unhealed wound.
Inexplicably - he had also freed something in me.
My father
You are lost to me forever
I understand that now
I can never know your name
Nor you mine
My existence does not touch yours
For you know nothing of me
We will pass through this world
Without meeting eyes
And I shall never hear your wisdom
Nor feel your arms of protection
And you will never know
The boy tears I have cried
Needing your love
As I fell through the darkest night
Without your support at my side
Yes I have waited for you so long
My father
But now, goodbye
This is my resolution.
Endymion Dec 2006
And a peaceful 2007 to you, too, Endy.
(Still here & still reading your words.)
Thanks for posting
Here's a song I finished with tonight
The Girl From Albion
*******************
My God Sarah I miss you
So much it makes me insane
There were things I needed to tell you
But I was taken too far away
When I learned you were sick I was desperate
I wanted to be at your side
But you know how it was then, Sarah
I just couldn't leave them behind
When I finally got to you, darlin'
You'd slipped down into a dream
And I sat and I watched you sleeping
With my fingers pressed over a scream
I couldn't believe what was happening
I'd seen enough of death
And you so loved life, Sarah
You believed in happiness
My God Sarah I miss you
So much it makes me insane
There were things I needed to tell you
But I was taken too far away
I wanted to hold you tightly
To breathe my life into your soul
I needed a miracle, Sarah
But my prayers had no place to go
I watched as you died without waking
And just like that you were gone
And my heart has never stopped breaking
For the girl from Albion
My God Sarah I miss you
So much it makes me insane
There were things I needed to tell you
But I was taken too far away
When I learned you were sick I was desperate
I wanted to be at your side
But you know how it was then, Sarah
I just couldn't leave them behind
Endymion 2007
A Villager's Death
He walks out of the building
Scattering children
Pauses on open ground
Turns his face up to the sky
Is that Death close by? He senses
His village standing proud
Behind him
Lit in golden light
Land and life to protect
This paradise
This ancient lore of his ancestors
But listen
What end begins?
What changes does the invader bring?
He wonders
As he falls paralysed
And the sky swoops in
Endymion 2007
R I P
You stand there
In the shadows beyond
Paused before the foot of the bed
Waiting for me to look you in the eyes
While the clock ticks tricks of time
And the stars shine their lost magnificence
You are not real big Bill McGregor
With your blasted smile
And your sticky blood-hands
Yet there you stand
A stolid man-shape seeking recognition
This night you've turned aside my reason
Made doctors words seem nothing more than lying, cheating
As I try to breathe around my screaming heart
Ease back the painful muscles that hold me upright
I'm a statue fixed rigid with pure terror
Permission to Rest In Peace
Big Bill McGregor
Endymion 2007
I am Stone
*********
This is the place where nothing moves
And nothing moves me
I am stone
Deaf to the cries
Of the world around me
Just for tonight
Who cares who lives who dies?
We are all dead
Or shall soon be
Our hearts are broken
Flesh sliced open
We wear the mask
As a very last token
Get up stand up
(Someone said)
But the word is dead
Endymion 2007
Just going to write what I feel for a while. See what happens.
Back to rap
I ain't no damn poet
And I know it
Sometimes I've got close
But I've always blown it
Do I think the **** I write
can replace the pieces left behind?
Do I think the **** I write
can relocate my lost mind?
The written word
For all to see
Somehow it's gona save me?
Oh, man
.what a joke
Gona keep drinking the drink
And smoking the smoke
Nothing else to do now
But wonder why?
Why?
Why?
Hey, baby
Don't cry
It's nothing but ****
In your dying eye
"Oh, Danny Boy"
They sang in the pub that night
I couldn't join 'em
Cos my throat felt tight
I'm London born
That's very true
But that don't mean it don't get to you
Take me back
To sunshine in the meadow
Or when I didn't feel this way inside
I couldn't sing along with them
You know?
But I shared their pride
I ain't no damn poet
And you know it
Sometimes I've got us close
But I've always blown it
Do you think the **** I write
can replace the pieces left behind?
Do you think the **** I write
can relocate my lost mind?
The written word
For all to see
Somehow it's gona save me?
Oh, man
.what a joke
Gona keep drinking the drink
And smoking the smoke...
hitting the bottle - things may get bad but i don't care if you dont
Mr Blair
You know, we trusted you
Like fools
We wanted to be heroes
Never thought you'd lie
Not to your country
Or to us, waiting
In good faith
You sent men to die
Raping an innocent country
And we believed
Your weapon lies
Your terrorist ties
Your loud wolf cries
But Iraq had nothing, did it?
Only oil
And oil
And the US beside you
Brought the city down
Buildings flattened
Bodies strewn on the ground
Men women and children
With no weapons at all
No air force to protect them
No defence to call
It was a bloody slaughter
And you watched it from afar
Rubbing your hands together
Like the evil c*nt you are
To think we thought YOU naïve
Bush lied and you believed
But now we know differently
Mr Blair, don't we?
Proof you sent the British out there
Knowing damn well Iraq was innocent
Still, you sent us into that hell
Well,
Mr Blair
F uck you
And f uck Neo-Labour
That bunch of craven, fascist cowards
You say the press is whipping up anti-war feeling?
Where you been living?
A million Brits marched against this war
And you chose to ignore
You chose to intimidate
And spread the lies and hate
But the people on the street
Saw through you, didn't they?
Long ago
You are a disgusting man
Marked by the blood-spot
In the palm of your hand
Pathetic public school-boy sod
Blaming your war crimes
On your Christian God
Well, you're never going to own us
No never again
And when it suits us
We will walk away
I keep myself alive just for that day
Endymion 2007
...
how about a big:
W - O - W
Adagio
In between listening
To Rage Against the Machine
The Sex Pistols
And Hendricks
I listen to
Samuel Barber's Adagio
Loud enough to reach the stones up on the hill
And not because it evokes the memory
But because it seems to speak a greater truth
To me
It calms me with its honesty
That man could understand
How truth is freedom
And can liberate a man
Endymion 2007
***********************************
Hello lostnsearching
Well
I'm back on the wild ****
High and tight
Strung out two ways
On a thin line tonight
When I draw the smoke back
Or pour this amber poison down my throat
I tell myself not to look down
Beyond the rope
Cos it's ten thousand feet to the ground
And man
I'm tired of standing around
You out there?
Come back
.
Endymion 2007
Listening to the news
I ask myself
"What-The-F*ck?'
Every day the politicians lie!
Man, what do they think?
We're dumb or sumfink?
Hell, I've got to get away
Fade away
Out of my head
D'you want to leave, too?
Hmmm?
The knives are hot
An' there's a single malt whiskey
In my big clay pot, man
More than enough to go around
But if it' not your drink
Well, let me think
..
Ahhh, Tequila
Well, what can I tell ya?
Tequila rhymes with Cecilia
And man, you shoodaseena
<Laughs>
Hey, how 'bout some London Gin?
By Appointment
To her Majesty, our dear old Queen
Long may she float in her princess dream
Oblivious to us
Yeah, that's gin
Guaranteed to make ya mince-pies swim
A poor man's friend
A lonely lover
Gin rhymes with sin
An' I done some of that
An' long may I suffer
"Guilt for Dreaming"
Bowie said, in Time
An' he was right
That geezer was always bright
Gin makes you maudlin
Cut your wrists in the night
Switch off the lights
And fade away
Out of my head
So here's to mine
The number one leader
Of pissed-up crime
The King of all demons
The Queen of the crop
The drink that makes you crazy
Even when you're not
A drink that tries to kill ya
And ridicules your shame
A drink that fills your heart with rage
An' cannibalises your brain
Whiskey rhymes with risky
And shame rhymes with blame
And once you get
Hooked on this stuff
You're never the same again
But if you need to feel the pain
It is a friend
And will stick by you (like a parasite)
To the end
Endymion 2007
Where the hell
?
I've been cutting with scissors
Hair grown down passed my ears
Thrown in the bin
Took a razor to my face
Lost the beard
Then buzzed my head
Number one
Looked in the mirror
And saw some kid I used to be
When I was full of pride
And stupid as they come
I ain't changed that much
If you look at it like that
Now, where the hell did I put
My old woollen hat?
Endymion 2007
really have buzzed my head
what a pr*tt
(and i was starting to look so f*cking Che! hahahah)
