Blue, so Blue we look to the skies for hope and to renew our definition of pure blue. along a caribbean shore, beautiful sky and water help paint a picture. somewhere nearby, it must be at the edge of paradise. we have to listen for an angelic choir: sweet birdsong reward. we can look around and miss so much; we cannot see it all, we like to think we are so big! in truth, we are so small! sometimes we do not feel the beauty that surrounds us, appreciating little of this world, destroying so much! we cannot win if we destroy our home, our world with so much foolish joy. chattering monkeys without long tails, make so much noise, such awful smells. we look to the skies for hope and to renew our definition of pure blue. along a caribbean shore, beautiful sky and water help paint a picture. somewhere nearby, it must be at the edge of paradise. we have to listen for an angelic choir: sweet birdsong reward.
i could not walk a single step further alone. but she was there, beside me all the way. unusual heat dogged our steps, so cold drinks and ice cream saved our walk. in the heat, we walked at a slower pace. nearly deserted ancient ways. we walked in near silence through nearly empty squares, past abandoned lanes and alleys. even shady places were too hot, but they had amazing glass sculpture. so we had a gift, very special to us, as we had suffered in order to see.
we saw feral roses blooming by the lake, nobody pruned or watered them in recent times. never a weed but not without sharp defences, their blooming season almost in the past, they did impress, demanding a bit of attention from a photographer. my photograph triggers memory. and that's good, as i get older, sometimes i can use a bit of help.
in an empty museum, on mikonos, a guard sat alone. in such a place, i wondered where the tourists were, they were not there. our lonely guard stayed nearby, answered questions until he realised he was a guard, and went back to his desk beside the door. thousands of years of ancient history has left captivating artifacts suitable for a museum. but i remember the only visitors: they were us.
Ancient Warrior carved by an ancient craftsman on a pottery shard, dressed to kill, but now is gone, for all the good he did. his helmet on his foolish head, a shield he wore, but now he's dead. two spears he had to go to war and now he's dead, will fight no more. the battle that he could not win. death comes for all i've heard it said. and long ago it came for him.
not far away, from the seaside, a garden grows under a row of old arches. a mediterranian sun warms this world. a flock of tourists may outnumber the raucous gulls. on the horizon, distant shores cause us to strain our failing eyes. i stare through cataracts, almost able to see those islands. and then these vivid gardens under the hot sun. out in the harbour a cruise ship awaits. and looking back, eight years have ago i see the memories have faded but the pictures help me remember.
tourists come in swarms like locusts, sometimes even stripping bare ancient olive trees. souvenirs are always in demand. roads so narrow delivery mini-trucks need room to pass, pedestrians will squeeze tight against store walls. in a store, a bowl carved, she told us, from an ancient olive tree. and walking back, we saw seaside businesses, places you might sit and drink coffee, with new friends or old. didn't test the water, expected it was cold.
narrow streets and narrow minds! these streets aren't straight; they wind and wind. people come and people go. some walk fast and some walk slow. it doesn't matter who you know. it seems there's room for all. predators walk down our streets; you see their nimble bodies; you'll never see their souls. in all the streets, in all the worlds, there is no refuge from these evil minds and evil souls. the time is past; it always is, when we can protect ourselves. they're predators and we are trapped on narrow streets by evil minds. these streets aren't straight; they wind and wind.
Pompei Wall a volcano on top of the mountain, they may have forgotten the sound, vulcan awoke, beat his anvil, blew smoke, and then the earth quaked and land rose up out of the sea. harbour went dry, temple walls fell awry, huge boulders rolled down from above builders were called to repair as they could but the earth was not finished quite yet. a rumble and roar, the crater blew up. hot ash just flew down the slope. smothered and burned (vulcan's offerings spurned). now we look and wonder everrything is all thrown asunder, the walls, they fell down all over the town. it came down with a roar. vulcan hammered the floor they didn't understand then, we don't understand it much more.
at the corner of someplace and nowhere, between tomorrow and yesterday, this corner's my home and i'm not alone, this corner is home for you too. where is this place where i've fallen? we've been learning this place our lives long, it isn't something we can understand. this isn't a place that you find in a song at the corner of someplace and nowhere, between tomorrow and yesterday, this corner's my home and i'm not alone, this corner is home for you too.