Every Man

Two and a half days

Pushin’ bare earth ‘n’

Cold blood ‘n’

Iron bones around.

Send me the word,

Oh send me the word:

The one that means

Slaves can have honour,

The one that’s carried

By the northern star

And passed on by

A man named for colour,

A man named for royalty.

Every man headed for freedom

When the word gets here.

Your Own Freedoms

So, it’s true?

The sage is dead ?

Whether he was grey,

White or rainbow

Others may choose to debate.

Continue reading

Buds of Wings

Before the Devil finds out

She is missing –

She can be free, be here;

Looking for a song to wear:

Hair like a mithril waterfall

Under a full snow moon.

There’s hard ground to be broken,

Cold season to battle,

Seeds to be drilled.

The strongest will floursih,

She promises, in

The spaces between rocks …

And if our love be real enough

Strong, limit-beating  wings will grow,

Where now there be only buds.

If the liberty bell blues and our chorus

Soar with heart, compassion and courage

She will be free, free  from the Satan-burn chains –

At least until the song – and

Our memory of it – fades.