Music Everywhere

The falling of raindrops

Causes the piano notes to play

When I’m outside in the forests

And it’s raining

It’s the most beautiful sound

You could ever imagine

Slapton Sands

Hand on the throttle

Mind racing the road

The corners twist and bend

Running right through

The crevices of my brain

Entwining themselves within its muscle

The sand whips up a storm

On the beach I sit at

While the waves come creeping in

Teasing to reach my boots

A lone man walks to the end of the beach

In search of his thoughts

While I count every grain of sand

In my palm

Looking for God

Nature to Machine

Sweet night

Comforting fog that looms

The church bells ring

Echoing, rolling through

These great green hills

The animals lie asleep

Attuned to mans rythmn

The path I walk

Is lit by silver moonlight

Songs played

From the violins of crickets

Soon my path will end

I will find myself

In a new kind of light

Force of Nature

Blessed is he with the sun baring down

On his boiled back

The sweat clinging so tightly to his skin

So that he does not forget

His fleshy prison

Up, down

Down, Up

The scythe attacks the grassy beds

Where grasshoppers still sleep

In their woven homes

 

In the night

They cry to the moon

At the loss of stability

The humans delight in their songs

Meadfoot Beach

I sit here tonight

By the pouring rain

My engine’s still purring gently

Its light playing with the dark

While I look out from Meadfoot beach

To the great black sea before me

Painted white specks dance over the waves

The moon is on the stage with her starry audience

While I sit here on the edge

Waiting for shooting stars to come by

To make just one more wish

 

 

Grains of Sand

The sea laps around

Melting the rock I sit on

Watching the horizon

Greedily swallow up the sun

The sand forms outlines of stories below

Each grain a life on earth

This one’s from the shores of Peru

Picked up by a tribesmen

Wondering what to do

And where to go

The land is barren

And his heart too

This one, the shores of Hokkaido

Picked up by a farming man

Who resided in the state of Japan

He picked up the sand

And wondered about the future

Of his plot of land

His family

Melting to the sand

Those grains of sand

picked up by my own hand

I let fall to the sea

From my palm

Where the sand returns

To now known lands