Isaiah 6:3

On Isaiah 6:3
6-4-16

I do it in a way that is soft upon my higher hill
Yeah, upon my loft
Hear that lonesome whiporwhill
Sounding too blue to fly
Like this here ink
At my door and landing
For rough edges to be sanding
Having first been cajoled and coerced
Sometimes losing the will to live
And in that year when Uzziah passes
I see the Lord sitting on his throne
Like the silence of a falling star
Holy is the Lord of hosts never lonesome
All in vain where nothing would do
Darkened in the heavens thereof
And my secret hiding places
The darkest news that comes to town
Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts....





Margoulette
6-4-16

What it was
Was a Sunday to go and worship again
A sweet melody for you
Stand up and sing it out
As if it were yours
Last chance, feeling like cooling the systems
And let them break the rules
I am no better
Walking out on Lorado
His train did this
The temple where I know I must die once
And twice in the chariot
For I'm dying today all for the margoulette
As you carry me along
I'm a cowboy without the hat
And without the draft
For our verdigrise
Woe is me for I am undone
But weal is me
I recover.....





Title It Blue
6-4-16

Blue skies drive the dark clouds far away
And we are happy to know its continuity
Like tracks on my disc
I put on another
And take a rind all for the posts of the door
Moved at the voice of Him that cried fires few and far between
And a hope to meet you there
For mine eyes have seen the Lord of hosts in my own special way
Some mistake has been made in my choosing of archives
They are punished and bridled
And she knows I must find my own way
That nobody saw
Exhort as grain exploring my threshold of pleasure and pain
Not exempt from attachment
The moon starts to wax again
As it's full on the first day of summer....