Euphrates river -

The Piper at Dunblane

amazing grace, chanter, children, Death, dunblane, god, High School, killings, life, mortal, murders, piper, praise, prayer, rememberance, sadness, scotland, teacher

The Piper at Dunblane

A chanter cracked from overuse
Cheeks salt stained from shed tears
Shed for those who lost their lives
Lost well before their years

The piper played for seventeen
Who never saw their best
Amazing Grace hung in the air
While our hearts beat in our chests

The massacre at Dunblane School
took seventeen that day
One teacher and lo, sixteen more
Beneath a sky all streaked with grey

The Pipers lips were dry and cracked
And the salt burned as he cried
but, he played the best he ever played
For the seventeen who died

The world was once their oyster
But, it never saw them grow
If you listen, you can hear him
That lonely piper blow

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
T’was Grace that taught my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
‘Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.
The Lord has promised good to me.
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.
Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.”

When we’ve been here ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun.
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we’ve first begun.
In memory of the teacher and sixteen students who were tragically killed in Dunblane, Scotland on March 13. 1996. Thanks to John Newton (1725 -1807), the author of “Amazing Grace”, used here in it’s entirety.

Cacao Prieto Distillery

The Candle in The Window

candle, crash, crying, enigma, ghost, ghosts, haunted, love, old house, plane, question, soldier, son, song, songs, spirit, waiting, War, window

There’s a candle burning nightly
In the window, on the right
The house has long been empty
But, the candle’s there each night
The house in old and ancient
I’m sure it has tales it needs to tell
Like, why the candle’s burning
And why the house won’t sell

The candle shows up daily
As soon as dusk begins to fall
The drapes are drawn so closely
In each room along the hall
But, in that lonely window
Burns a candle all can see
It’s been burning there each evening
Since nineteen forty three

They say the house is haunted
After all, the candle is a clue
Someone lights it nightly
The question asked is who?
The house has been abandoned
No one lives there any more
They say the last survivor
Left in nineteen forty four

The story is as follows
If I get my rumours straight
The house was built around
The year eighteen eighty eight
The family that did own it
When the candle came to light
Were wealthy, and reclusive
And they all kept out of sight

The story goes, their oldest son
Signed up and went to war
He was a pilot in the air force
He shot down 15 planes or more
He was shot down on a mission
But  his plane was never found
They never found the wreckage
Where it crashed into the ground

The candle started burning
The day the message came
It’s always burning in the window
It’s always lit, it’s all the same
The candle shows when it is dusk
It goes out just past three
No one knows who lights it
There’s no one there to see

Is the candle lit by spirits
Waiting for a missing son
Is it lit to help pass over
To make his journey done
No one knows the exact story
If the plane crashed and he died
But, even in the daylight
People don’t pass by on this side

The house is an enigma
Is a ghost there waiting for
A son to come home to them
Marching through the old front door
All I know is that the candle
Has been lit for 60 years
And there’s a ghost up there just waiting
Crying quiet , ghostly tears

shut in

I shudder

Death, family, fear, hope, laughter, loss, news, News related, night, phone, scared, shudder, sleep

Every time I hear the phone ring once I’ve gone to bed
I shudder
I’m afraid of what the news might be if I go and answer
I shudder
I hate the sound of that damn phone
Late at night and all alone
Feel like a kid though I am grown
I shudder

I don’t want to hear that someone died
That phone just reaches deep inside
And pulls me to a place I don’t want to go
With parents ill, and others sick
That ringing phones a dirty trick
The news that comes with it …I just don’t want to know

My mind is racing like my heart
With images of life as we once knew it
I don’t want to forget a single day
Of how we laughed and we would play
I just don’t know how I will quite get through it
The thought of losing someone close…is tough
Of pain and grief, this heart has had enough…..

So….Every time I hear the phone ring once I’ve gone to bed
I shudder
I’m afraid of what the news might be if I go and answer
I shudder
I hate the sound of that damn phone
Late at night and all alone
Feel like a kid though I am grown
I shudder

big girls

2 at 10, 10 at 2

bar, drinking, funny, girl, humour, messed up, one night stand, pick up, reversed

I woke up in a stranger’s bed
I’m not quite sure whose
I just know it was a woman
By looking at her shoes

When I woke up she was long gone
Her note said “Thank you for the night”
But, hell, I don’t remember getting here
Something ain’t quite right

How did I get so messed up
What the hell did I consume?
What made this girl…a 2 at ten
Into a ten at 2
I gotta know what did I drink
What the hell did I consume
What made this girl…a 2 at ten
Into a ten at two

I went out to the kitchen
grabbed a coffee and some toast
I couldn’t quite remember her
Though I do remember most

I left after a shower
Saw no pictures round the place
As hard as I tried thinking
I could not recall her face

How did I get so messed up
What the hell did I consume?
What made this girl…a 2 at ten
Into a ten at 2
I gotta know what did I drink
What the hell did I consume
What made this girl…a 2 at ten
Into a ten at two

I felt just like a hound dog
When I left through her front door
I just didn’t like the feeling
I don’t want to feel like that no more

Tonight I’ll pick another bar
So I don’t see you know who
Just what the hell was this boy drinking
And what exactly did I do?

How did I get so messed up
What the hell did I consume?
What made this girl…a 2 at ten
Into a ten at 2
I gotta know what did I drink
What the hell did I consume
What made this girl…a 2 at ten
Into a ten at two

Day 78 – Zero Tolerance

writing

Roger Turner:

we all have an Earl somewhere…mine is my brother. He’s put mum and step father into bankruptcy paying his legal fees, court costs. He’s stolen more than I care to count from our family both materially and emotionally. The brother I knew, is gone, the brother I have…I no longer wish to know. Strong write Mandy.

Originally posted on Willowwisp:

I was an only child until my dad married a woman who already had an 8 year old son– my age. When I first met Earl I felt intimidated by him. The more I was around him the more that intimidation grew until it was full-on hatred. Jealousy consumed me to the point I began to dislike my dad, feeling that he had pushed me away in order to make his new wife and kid comfortable. Those fuming emotions ignited by their new house, his own room but not one for me, his new Nike’s when I had Keds (before they were in style), his $300 school trip to DC while I got to stay in seat, his new clothes when I wore hand-me-downs from my aunt who was a size 9 when I was a size 0. Don’t get me wrong, my momma did what she could and I…

View original 979 more words

Taps

Friendly Fire

basic training, Death, friendly fire, heart, killed, loss, love, soldier

The doorbell rang
I answered it
And standing at the door
Were two men
In their uniform
I knew what they came for

I knew right then
I’d lost you
I was alone
And you were gone
The plans we made together
Were now dust
The plans were done

Friendly Fire, what the hell
I don’t know just where to start
Friendly Fire, What Is That
It’s left a hole inside my heart
Friendly Fire, that’s ok
I can’t get it through my head
Friendly Fire, not so bad
I don’t get it…dead is dead

You were killed while doing nothing
On patrol, on a safe road
When a soldier hit the button
Dropping his bomb payload

Sixteen men and women
Killed on their side of the wire
But, it’s ok, smile now…
They were killed by Friendly Fire

Friendly Fire, what the hell
I don’t know just where to start
Friendly Fire, What Is That
It’s left a hole inside my heart
Friendly Fire, that’s ok
I can’t get it through my head
Friendly Fire, not so bad
I don’t get it…dead is dead

Do you still die as a hero?
When you don’t die in a fight?
Do you still go on to heaven?
Do you still see the same light?

You survived your basic training
You survived the muck and mire
To go and be a victim of
Something called Friendly Fire

Friendly Fire, what the hell
I don’t know just where to start
Friendly Fire, What Is That
It’s left a hole inside my heart
Friendly Fire, that’s ok
I can’t get it through my head
Friendly Fire, not so bad
I don’t get it…dead is dead

Shiloh.-2011-.-19

The Death of Wit

Death, dorothy parker, fuck off, funny, groucho marx, humour, noel coward, verbally, watchtower, wit death, witty

It is with great sadness that I must announce that wit has withered and died. Actually, it probably died years back, but, like a character on a soap opera, it returns in flashbacks on occasion.

The ability to use wit to insult, as Will Rogers, Dorothy Parker, and the great writers of the past is no more. The use of wit to make someone leave feeling good about themselves, while having just been put in their place verbally, is an art.

I told someone the other day that he was a veldt of intellect, he didn’t know what veldt meant, I could see from the complete look of “duh” on his face. He told me fuck off….and then after I laughed, he said it again.

This is the replacement comeback now….fuck off. Witty…at the least. Groucho Marx, was great with the witty comeback, Noel Coward was a genius with his ability to use wit to disarm a situation. Now, fuck off. yep….that’s it.

If, wit has a resurgence and there is a verbal afterlife, let’s hope fuck off is left at the door, holding a copy of watchtower.