1. |
Folded Paper Flowers
02:59
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Folded paper flowers in a jar on window's ledge,
leaning into living leaves who are stretching toward the sun.
They will never grow into more than what they are,
but the hands that did the folding will hold much and travel far.
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2. |
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3. |
Now
02:56
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Now.
Now.
Now.
Now.
Now the word I speak is spoken.
Now the note I sing is sung.
(Now) is the orbit of all my choices.
(Now ) is the gravity of what's to come.
(Now) is the stillness the beat before action.
(Now) is the quiet when empty turns fill.
(Now) is the breath becoming vibration.
(Now) is the balance between push and pull.
Now. now. now. now. now. now. now. now.
(Now) is the heartbeat I will not remember.
(Now) is the glance I will not forget.
(Now) is the total of all that has come before
and potential for what comes next.
(Now. now. now. now. now. now. now. now.)
I cannot wrap it up or put it in a box.
There's nothing you can hold on to.
It's everything I've got.
It's all that I want.
And all that I want is to give it to you.
And all that I want is to give it to you.
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4. |
Drifting
03:15
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Drifting,
drifting,
Where is the sound of the wind?
Where is the touch of the tide?
Where is the compass, the map creased and aged?
Where are the stars and the sky?
The fog surrounding, uncertain of the tide.
Drifting,
drifting,
drifting,
drifting.
The mast, unbending and solid and strong.
The anchor and keel always ready for the storm.
Waiting in the fog for the sound of the horn,
for the wind to whisper in my sails.
Drifting,
drifting,
drifting,
drifting,
drifting,
drifting.
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5. |
Juggling
03:45
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What am I holding on to?
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6. |
Wash Through
04:16
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If I sit very still here
and don't move a muscle,
will it all wash through?
If I don't move my face
or betray any feeling,
will it all wash through?
There are no clean lines here,
nothing defined here,
it all washes through.
There are no certain edges
or solid defenses,
it all washes through.
If I slow my heart beating,
lungs barely breathing,
will it all wash through?
No show to see here,
no windows to be clear.
It will all wash through.
If I sit very still here
so still not to be here,
it will all wash through.
It just washes through.
It all washes through
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7. |
Looking
03:08
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I've been looking for you all day, buried deep and tucked away, where no one ever comes to play.
I've been looking into space, inside the lines etched on your face and through the sketch you tried to trace.
I've been looking for you in time, through the meter of this rhyme, in all the words you left behind.
Where you're painted as a still-life, holding mangoes and tomatoes, in the background there are elephants, being juggled by tornadoes
Shotguns line the railroad tracks and pigeons smoke cigars, and there are disco-dancing skeletons lined up outside the bars.
And as the rivers start to boil and the morning toast is burned, history's scattered in the streets instead of lessons learned.
And the colors bleed together and the oils start to dry, and our eyes are drawn to wonder at the cracks left in the sky.
I've been looking for you all year, through the thinning atmosphere.
I know it's hard to breathe right here.
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8. |
Maybe I'm Flying
05:37
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The sun has flown away, and the moon is giving chase.
All I know of gravity, I've learned from falling on my face.
But maybe I'm flying, cause I cannot touch the ground
I've been waiting for context, for something to come round
while I am floating in a sea of lost and found
or am I falling down?
There's no outside, and there's no inside
and the compass won't show the way
The needle keeps spinning
and there's no beginning or end
to every endless day
But maybe I'm flying, cause I cannot touch the ground
I've been waiting for context for something to come round
while I am floating in a sea of lost and found
or am I falling, falling down.
I'm falling, falling, falling down.
Maybe I'm flying, flying.
Maybe I'm flying, flying.
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Kristin Gordon Portland, Oregon
Kristin Gordon is a singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist living in Portland, OR. She loves coffee, singing in harmony, laughing, and looking for meaning in everyday things. When she’s not writing words & melodies, she’s often directing choirs or teaching young fingers to play the piano. ... more
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