Sunday, December 4, 2011

What is a good death if not a safe bridge?
Wading righteous rivers of war,
in waters too red to look at,
admitting we can't see anymore.

What is a good bridge if not a safe heart?
Wishing for truth, icing the blood,
Hoping for gold, drowning in the flood,
reserved to not hear anymore.

Who told us to weep for ourselves?
Who gave up the game?
came up lame...
Who built these bridges
to keep us sure?
...of the pain,
now too weak to endure.

Jeff Swensen

Dragon Scales

Jesus stands in the midst of rush hour,
baptized by rain, holding his sign,
dumpster-diving our line,
eyes for hands
our cars, his cans...
discovering, collecting and examining.

We pray his timing is off,
that our eyes won't meet,
too sure we're moving together,
arrogant about forever...
He takes stock of our shelves,
granting us the chance to see ourselves.

Giving us back something empty,
light enough to soar;
the rain continues to pour.
Our dragon scales no real armor;
for the one,
smiling with his sign,
clocking our time.

Jeff Swensen

Common Sunshine

Conversing with the light,
rebirthing sight,
running from the night,
we just might
do it right
and enjoy the flight,
from guilt to wisdom?

This common sunshine
aging the vine,
drying the line,
baking in those fine,
bittersweet memories;
halcyon trinkets
for our time.

Jeff Swensen

Someone Might Get Hurt

Can you pull back the bullet
from the gun it sprang...
or harness the words
that Muhammed sang?
Can we cap off the well,
close up the mine,
bask in the sun,
enjoy the wine?
We worship fear and alert
that someone might get hurt,
and tell ourselves the lie
that we'll never die.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

"Black Dub" in the studio - "Nomad Knows" from Daniel Lanois on Vimeo.

ballpoint maze

all better...not bitter

Yesterday, in never neverland
the hawk kicked the vultures
out of the circle in the sky
and the swallows sipped the river
in swirls of mellow gold.
Bit down on all that could have been
and surrendered up to what was...
Expert rites and hallelujah calls
to make time stand still long enough
to catch its scent...fresh, warm, now..
not bitter, all better from before
when the hunger pangs
locked the door and blinded
me in your house.