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Mist into Light

Wisteria Sonnet

 

Wisteria blue and indigo sonnets against a saffron rose

Edge the clouds of my day

These moments of youth pursue

My inspired hues of clay

My renewed joy

Up above the sunset, where darkness soothes the heated streets

We sing forever in the holy mist of the pure and perfect Dove

Gathering in wonder

Forget the plunder, the push and shove

And remember the song we are suppose to live

Love

To Sing the Light Fantastic

poetstreets.com

 To Sing The Light Fantastic

    Laura Botsford

   I wasn’t a very quite child by nature. I talked a lot, and thought everyone should listen to me. I thought that it was expected of me to keep the conversation going, or maybe  I was a little to precocious to know any better. Fortunately for me I believed in everything I said and felt confident in expressing myself. Oftentimes I emulated the best of my made up characters from my imagination; trying on personalities like hats. I was creating myself from plays, and movies that I admired; I was the song that I  wrote on, inventing harmonies for the present moments I found myself in. I always sang. That was who I liked being best of all. Life was a musical, and when it wasn’t, I was bored, detached from who I really was. It was a more than a pastime; it was a state of…

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Laura Botsford – “Aquarium Funk” Album Review

simon353

Aquarium Funk

Laura Botsford is an artist. And I don’t just mean in the musical sense. Visual arts are also a creative outlet for her. Collages seem to be a speciality of hers and when it comes to music, this also seems to be her strength, musical collages, or as Laura calls them “I coalesce the vapors”.
This album fuses a number of genres and collects a wide variety of instruments as well. The danger with this style of production, is amalgamating mismatched themes and instruments, leading to a cacophony of sound that never settles down to be a listenable, engaging tune. Well thankfully, Laura has not fallen into that unfortunate, well worn rut, that so many producers end up in. “Aquarium Funk” is engaging and musical on so many levels and well worth your listening time.
If you are a fan of Jazz, Hip Hop, Soul and a melting pot of…

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Turn Rows and Country Tunes

 

HankWilliamsh1_pe

Hank Williams

 

loretta_pe

Loretta Lynn

 

 

   Tonight I watched American Masters on PBS that featured our Lady of Country, Loretta Lynn. It is something of a revelation and a  surprise to relive and hear the paths of influence in my own song writing through the influences of such great songwriters like Loretta, Johnny Cash, and Hank Williams. I was taken back to the moments of my life where  I had immersed myself in their nuances, poetry and chords over the years, and took their hands down those same turn rows into country fields, real life story telling,  and yes, ached along with them in each note and word.

   It’s been awhile since I wrote story telling songs, as I wish for the days to return when I would write with friends, and hear their artful and authentic contributions to the song;  this longing is indeed it’s own unfinished song of unrequited partnerships. There is beauty in collaboration. This part of the documentary really resonated with me. Garth and Trisha defined it the best I have ever heard said.

   My Grandfather  loved the Sons of the Pioneers and all singing cowboys. I think we were the only ones in the family that did. My parents liked Jazz and Swing, female balladeers of sweet persuasion, but there in the spinning of old 78’s, I found a home in country songs that reached out with simplicity and those sweet harmonies.

   I have always loved singing this song of Hank Williams. The melody winds out like a train, and the lyrics are clouds across the moon, I can imagine that only the crickets chorused along when this was written. My recording of it isn’t the best, so I hope you’ll hear past it to feel the poetry of this well written classic.

   So, I’ll just ride off into the sunset for the night with heartfelt appreciation to all the country storytellers, and cowboy romance novels that have touched my heart and moved me along into “my slow moving dreams.”

 

 

Over the Rainbow

poetstreets.com

 Surely a dream must have a song, this is a classic common tale that we all share.

   Why do I love this song? is it because it reminds me of my childhood? Or perhaps speaks of dreams coming true? Yes, all the best of life fulfilled eventually, after the longing, in the sweet sadness of life’s woes and disappointments.

   There in the heart of everyone is this universal truth, somewhere we can escape to, someplace where we can live our dreams. It is a common calling that comes with being born. No matter your fortune, good or lack of, there is always something we want to make right, to have or be delivered from. In a world of such diverse contrasts, it is an ignitable presence in all of our lives that resonates at our core and surely seeks a hopeful distraction.

   When I was young, the elders spoke…

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Preface for Prayers for the Artist

Prayers for the Artist-Laura Botsford

poetstreets.com

Leaning Church-Tim Sorsdahl

Leaning Church by Tim Sorsdahl

Preface for Prayers for the Artist

by Laura Botsford

 

   The story of the artist is a breath page from a book found written long ago in the halls of a poet’s dreams, written with nature’s brushes in quiet places where evening subsides into stillness.  The images and sounds can be found like bells waiting to be rung. Only some find that these apparitions are fleeting, vivid, and then disappear as one wakes suspended between reality and dreams. It is in this regard that the desire for the ability to hold the flame, and channel the river is what we have come to talk about in this book. It is where the in-between moments are saved and savored, scribed in detail for a lasting reflection of guidance and support.

   It is also for those that feel that they are lost in the spheres’ of indifference, casually displaced like mismatched shoes and…

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Glass

                               Fire of Regret by Laura Botsford

(Kitchen Tapes PAu000727463- © 1985)

Verse 1

WOODEN SMOKE, SOLID THICK, A BURNING LOG IT FIRED QUICK

FLAMES SHOOT AND PIERCE THE SKY

SPARKS IGNITE THEN DISAPPEAR IN THE NIGHT

Chorus 1

WATERS GONE…I MUST GET ME SOME, RIVERS WILD AND ON THE RUN

IT MUST KNOW IT’S GOING TO FIND THE SEA…WISH YOU WOULD FIND ME

OH, OH, I SEE. NO, no, no, no, NO NO, IT CAN’T BE

 

Verse 2

I TREATED YOU BADLY WAS CUTTING AND COOL

THERE’S NOTHING SADDER THAN A TO LATE LONESOME FOOL

BROKEN TRUST WON’T RETURN IN TIME

STILL I WISH YOU COULD AGAIN BE MINE

Chorus 2

I KNOW WHAT’S DONE IS DONE IF SAYING I’M SORRY WOULD CHANGE ALL,

I’D PLEAD FROM SUN TO SUN

Verse 3

FORGIVING NOT SO EASY FOR THE ONE WHO’S BEEN WRONG

STILL MY LOVE FORGIVE ME FOR YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE

OH, OH, I SEE NO, NO, NO, IT CAN’T BE

Instrumental

Verse 4

I SPEND TIME UNDER ICY STARS THAT ONLY DRIVE ME ON

MAYBE SOMEDAY I’LL GET ANOTHER CHANCE

BUT FOR NOW I’LL BURN THIS FIRE OF REGRET UNTIL IT’S DONE

Chorus 3

WATERS GONE…I MUST GET ME SOME, RIVERS WILD AND ON THE RUN

IT MUST KNOW IT’S GOING TO FIND THE SEA…WISH YOU WOULD FIND ME

OH, OH, I SEE NO, NO, NO, IT CAN’T BE

Tag

OH, OH, I SEE NO, NO, NO, IT CAN’T BE

IT CAN’T BE, IT CAN’T BE, IT CAN’T BE, IT CAN’T BE, OH

News Type

  Bookman Old Style

   In our request for changes to benefit our lives, one thing is worthy of meditation and that is, to be of kind heart worthy of poetry and steadfast in pursuit of joy as being our novel aspiration.

   “I love the relative emptiness of the days between Christmas and New Year’s. In the space of so much not happening, so much seems to be getting ready to. You can almost feel all the forces coalescing for a new beginning. The perception that it produces.
The miracle is always there.” – Marianne Williamson
   It is important to remember that miracles and vision necessarily go together. This needs repeating, and frequent repeating. It is a central idea in your new thought system, and the words that are found to describe are tapped out in sound and light. The treasure of an old typewriter is in the ink and touch of the keys on blank paper. The pressure of the strike, the shape of each hammer alphabetical key,  are all so relative to the model, settings and the age of the machine.  My father’s old Corona sits on a shelf in an aura of history that still lends a perfected cadence when tapped. His was choppy, broken in nuance and memorable in its tap. I can hear it still. The wise beating of the eloquent resilience of his life.