New Year’s Dreaming
Another year of restless dreams Patches sewn and broken seams Candles lit and candles burned Pages written, pages turned. Changes suffered, changes sought Cobwebs spun and spiders caught Tyrants toppled, tears of joy New horizons to deploy. Days are numbered, we are not Take a little, give a lot Write your tale in flowing reams Dress your year with restless dreams.
Reflection is a shortcut To the piercing cries of passion And yet we cast off silence Like a garment out of fashion.
Burn the Speaker
When emotion surges through you From belly to throat Resist the urge to speak Until the eruption has ceased. Words charged with such fury Can inflict permanent damage Upon the target And burn the speaker Upon exit.
I found her bound and broken By the deeds that went unspoken In a pool of stagnant dreaming With a voice long lost to screaming.
I am easily bruised But my skin shows no signs Of the feelings abused By love’s cruel designs.
Watch Him Dance
I met a fellow yesterday With such a conquered countenance That I did wish my life away To fill his heart and watch it dance.
When Wounds Are Bleeding
Do you ever get the feeling That we speak too much of healing But rarely of surviving And barely mention thriving? Is it anyway upsetting That we’re aiding and abetting The prophets of division By doling out derision? When the pathways to progression Are defended with aggression Walk tall with conscience leading Fight on when wounds are bleeding.
Lost and Found
I met a man who lost his mind He couldn’t find it anywhere And though he had the will to search He didn’t have the mind to care.
I wrote my plans in bright red ink To emphasise their urgency Euphoric feelings swallowed me When of the future I did think. But I received an awful fright When one by one my words did fade And with my hope they sank and strayed Into the page, the glaring white. I sat alone in silent gloom Lamenting my naivety When on the page, quite suddenly New lines did sprout and come to bloom. I...
We coil our dreams around one another. We heap expectations on fragile minds. Is it any wonder we falter? No person should be placed on an altar.
I sometimes see the heart As a general, ordering The surrounding organs To help bear the burden Of an ever expanding beat That frays nerve endings And shakes our fragile frame Until our entire body pulses Like the epicentre of a great Earthquake, relenting only When feeling fades.
She Draws the Curtains
She draws the curtains To blind the stars And chase the moonlight From her scars. She draws the curtains To dress the room With candle flames and Soft perfume. She draws the curtains To cheat the night By building wings and Taking flight.
Grasp and Seize
‘I want you to be mine. Your heart belongs to me. You are my love divine And shall forever be.’ What folly we do speak! What madness grips the mind When lovers grasp and seek To seize the love they find.
I find that our five sense organs are most powerful when combined with a sense...
Worry not For big decisions Changes come With small incisions Minor wounds too slow to heal Leaking life we need to feel.
Oceans within Learning to swim Cycles roll on Darkness and dawn. Death begets life Pleasure and plight Currents prevail Deeper we dwell.
A very insightful article on Lincoln's Depression
We Must Wade Through Grief
We must wade through grief We cannot leap over it Or swim under it Or peer through it Or subdue it. We must wade through grief And carry each other When legs become weak Minds become bleak And feelings leak. We must wade through grief We cannot leap over it Or swim under it Or sail through it Or subdue it.
Only We Concede
We talk too much of fear We fuel a wicked flame That heats the monster’s lair Each time we speak its name. We talk too much of fear Turn whispers into screams Until we cannot hear The voices of our dreams. We talk too much of fear We should not pay it heed It only speaks through us And only we concede.
I shall not trade in certainties Again, when sick with love For now I see the tracks lead down When once I gazed above. Oh madness of the restless mind Too long I’ve hummed your tune And followed you into the depths Expecting pleasure’s boon. The surface is a darker place Without your blinding light But here I see with sharper eyes The folly of my plight.
Her Brush Shall Never Flake
The sky is made of marble The clouds are specks of dust Our eyes were meant to marvel At ruins of cosmic rust. The town will soon be sleeping But I will lie awake The painter holds me spellbound Her brush shall never flake.
The third preview from my upcoming album, Drifters. This is the opening track. It’s called ‘Alliance’.
How should I love you?
How should I love you? Should compliments be the currency of my feelings? Should certainty colour my impulsive posturing? Should I fear the loss of you more than my own demise? Should I lose sleep waiting for your listless lullaby? Should I share my shallow insecurities with you? How should I love you? I do not know. But not like this. Not like this.
An article about my upcoming album...
…by Lute al-Raad who added magical backing vocals to five of the tracks. http://absolutelylute.wordpress.com/2011/12/14/preview-of-conor-ebbs-album-drifters You can find Lute on Facebook here: www.facebook.com/lutemusicpage Listen to her sounds here: www.soundcloud.com/lute Thank you to Lute. It was an honour having you. Conor
Forget Me Not
On solid-blue sky days the moon rises early like a friendly ghost to haunt the sun. ‘Forget me not!’, she screams ‘Did I not calm the sea for crystal pathways to enthral thee?!’
Too much time I have squandered Upon the ocean floor Too many dreams have lost their shape In sacrificial lore. I’d rather tread the surface Than face the undertow But loving fills my restive heart And drags me down below.
When we undress our opinions To strip them of their sanctity They appear as they are: Words rising to ricochet in Halls of ancient echoes.
Freedom without opportunity is a devil’s gift, and the refusal to provide such...– Noam Chomsky (via noam-chomsky)
Be Still Upon the Fence
Listen more than speaking Extend a helping hand Reach out more than reaching in And try to understand. Resist the jump to judgement Confine all ‘common sense’ Opinions have no place here Be still upon the fence.
Empty words are feathers With poison in their tips Fired from a thoughtless mind To exit through the lips.
Between the realms of Waking and dreaming I lived a life with you. But the morning mist Veiled my vision And you drowned in the dawn.
Overthrow my reasoning With flights of fancy. Indulge my slighted senses With lecherous lore. Slay my silent subterfuge With lurid longing. Only imagination Can restrain us.
Safer Down Below
Who would be so brave As to believe? Faith is for the foolish Don’t you know!? Who dares to dream is Reckless and naive! The winds are high It’s safer down below.
The well is slowly filling The pennies start to shiver I much prefer the water To wishes undelivered.
If The Sky Was Your Canvas
If the sky was your canvas For only a day Would you ready your palette Or cast it away? Would you sketch out a sunbeam Or outline a cloud? Would you carve out your feelings And read them aloud? Would you wait until sundown To fill in the stars? And blind us with Venus And colour in Mars? If the sky was your canvas For only a day Would you ready your palette Or cast it away?
I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, ‘Do not worry. You...– Ernest Hemingway (via annieatkins)
A body primed for pleasure An overactive mind Our isolated poisons Prove deadly when combined.
Why do we call them stolen glances? You know the ones: eyes narrowed by smiles,...
The Heroine of This Tale
She turns to the skies for solace But starlight is slow to heal And even the moon is hiding ‘Neath clouds of silvery steel. Her eyes have been stained by sorrow Bedecked in an ancient veil Tomorrow the tides will hail her The heroine of this tale.
She loves to be in love All gambles have a price The house has won again She rolls another dice. She loves to be in love A heart with many scars The skies are clear tonight She whispers to the stars. She loves to be in love All passions have a price This time will be the last She rolls another dice.
There are too many preachers and prophets and not enough compassionate...