Jane Siberry – Love Is Everything (Harmony Version) 

Maybe it was to learn how to love
Maybe it was to learn how to leave
Maybe it was for the games we played

Maybe it was to learn how to choose
Maybe it was to learn how to lose
Or maybe it was for the love we made

Oh, love is everything they said it would be
And love made sweet and sad the same
But love forgot to make me too blind to see
You’re chickening out, aren’t you?

You’re bangin’ on the beach like an old tin drum
I can’t wait ’til you make the whole kingdom come
So I’m leaving

Maybe it was to learn how to fight
Maybe it was for the lesson in pride
Maybe it was for the cowboys’ ways

Or maybe it was to learn not to lie
Or maybe it was to learn how to cry
Or maybe it was for the love we made

Oh, love is everything they said it would be
And love did not hold back the reins
But love forgot to make me too blind to see
You’re chickening out, aren’t you?

You’re bangin’ on the beach like an old tin drum
I can’t wait ’til you make the whole kingdom come
So I’m leaving

First he turns to you, then he turns to her
So you try to hurt him back
But it breaks your body down
So you try to love bigger, bigger still
But it, it’s too late

So take a lesson from the strangeness you feel
And know you’ll never be the same
And find it in your heart to kneel down and say
I gave my love, didn’t I?

And I gave it big sometimes
And I gave it in my own sweet time
I am just leaving
I am just leaving

Love is everything
Love is everything
Love is everything
Love is everything
Love is everything
Love is everything

 

Museum Pieces

They aren’t the same
without your eyes.

My poems, I mean.
They sit like museum pieces
once living and lustrous
but now flat and lifeless
and pinned to the wall
by the absence of eyes
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your eyes
in particular.

And yet still I spin
your petite Blooming Spider
fostered and called
into life by your love
and your ever-there eyes
so alert and so bright
like two diamonds in snowfall
or brown chips of light.
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And
My words
in multitude

they pour out from me
intimidating others
so few pay attention
and savor their marrow
and turn their hides over
to show there beneath
all the worlds that lay hidden
and safe underneath
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but they
(your eyes and my words)
miss each other

like ships in the night
calling to each other
but passing slow blind
and I miss you terribly
in our existence
of presence
so absent
and me on the outside
with only
my words
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Words Like Poetry

sometimes words,
in and of their
individual selves
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ring like poems
of the highest order
in the dark night
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and language broad
stretches, blanket-like
across the heart
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so those words
can shine and sing
in their entirety
creetown__eyjafjallajokull_sundown_by_coigach-d2oamdkwords like
“Glasgow Cloisters”
or “Cairnsmore Horizon”
glasgowcloisters1_by_coigach-d1laamvand “Autumn Blood Mist”
or maybe even
“Loch Deep Still Water”
autumnblood_by_coigachEach word a poem
in its complete
voice ever ringing
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Lavender Singing Borealis Heart

I sat down in lavender fields last summer.
I sat in the sun in the southlands of France.
The wind tossed my hair playfully in its tenderness
made it lift, gleeful delightedly laugh and dance
with fragile soft petals of swift amethyst
and quick to return to the baking brown earth.
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I stood in the icefields surrounded by cold trees
and singing to stars in the High Northland woods.
The wind threw the lavender into the skies above,
dancing on stars and singing in the spaces that
stretch between stars in eternity there and here
just before it fell back into my heart.
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My heart,
my lavender singing
Borealis Heart

Into The Forest

follow me into the forest
and tarry with me in this deep vale
open your eyes to the wonder
and watch in the shadow of night
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look for the figure of darkness
so pale against those deep green souls
it floats like a thief in the market
purloining the diamonds and pearls
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watch how it throws them up so high
and see them become stars above
but you cannot see this from your house
so follow me…into the forest.
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Une Matinee d’Hiver

an afternoon in winter…
the geese above the field…
the field beneath the rainclouds…
so thick and straining full…

the lonesome sounds of wind-song…
the listless rustling branches…
the silhouettes so stark…
the weak grey skies above…

Une matinee d’hiver…
the useless summer stubble…
it lingers on the creek-banks…
I tarry…there…I wait…
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And Gold All Underneath

Behold, the darkness thick and lurking, growing
like ennui in my soul, in my heart doomed and waiting
in this long moment, seemingly forever
it will remain, this painted grey, this second…
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this minute is an hour is a decade
and I exist here…floating in the nothing, growing-shrinking…
it defines me as some-thing…no…as Some-one
whose breaking renders her unbreakable…
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The growing darkness lurking, insubstantial,
The river Ennui flowing out to nowhere, to everywhere
The shocking joy and wonder also shining, in
This painted grey, and gold all underneath.
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