1. |
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2. |
Hill Dweller
11:20
|
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|
Alone, on the ridge,
with whip-poor-will and the night wind
raising hell in the hills
just born to die here
In ev’ry flame
a mem’ry, and in mem’ry I burn
To sing true what once was
and what comes never again
And the bone-white ghost
of the past keens for you
Hill Dweller, reborn again
10,000 times in the soul of a man
The lofts have fallen
And those who raised them nearly spent
ruinous inheritance
green, ever-living gravemounds
Remember dusk,
song in abandon and coming home
The hunt clenched, women in joy,
summer’s heart set free
And the bone-white ghost
of the past keens for you
Hill-Dweller, live forever
ere your mountains are thrown down
Alone, up here
Renouncing the bastards
And this piteous dark age
Giving what I get, getting what I take
Hill dweller, live forever!
Friends sundered,
home is far behind,
the night meadow
sings a summer song
long-gone in my dreams…
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3. |
Dogwood Winter
09:25
|
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|
In the April woods,
jeweled eyes open
A fathomless heart
smolders beneath heaving loam
The nails of winter
drive at the heart of ferns,
beasts, birds, saplings
A dogwood winter blooms
And Leander
stands cold, her crown
bejeweled by snow,
wreathed in frost-fog
Oh to see
the petals gleam
In her white woods,
as the she-bear
falls to dreams again
Cattle have worked
this pasture to red lymph
amidst the thawing clay
The barn creaks
with the weight of age
and late-fallen snow
And I see
the old man
alone on the ridge,
stout as stone,
bent like the old oak
Eighty winters
on this land,
and soon he’ll greet
Summer again,
how the wheel has turned!
Lonesomeness aches
in a wanderer’s mind
trudging through ruin
of rain-green spring
buried under snow
Yearning brims over
in a hill man’s heart
for home beyond home
where evening lasts forever
above the Summerland
Sunder the days
from long nights of frost
Sunder my days
from cold memory
Dogwood winter lately comes
to the flowered ridge...
|
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4. |
Hearthpine Elegy
13:05
|
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|
Evening comes down,
on lost pastures
on the fallen lofts
Evening comes down,
on the whispering springs
on the red-tailed hawk
Evening comes down,
on the crippled doe
Evening comes down,
on orchards overgrown,
Red evening draws down
on every passing thing
At Hearthpine Rock,
blackened by flames,
of Fall fires burned
in deep nights of memory
Thy tale ends thus
a grave grafted
in the clay-red rib
of this hillside
Heaving earth draws down
on every passing thing…
And the wind
is cold in the moon
Nothing is as it was
the scent of cut hay rises
like hymns of the dead in dreams
be still…
be still…
for days that come no more
And the wind
is cold in the moon
Nothing as it was
a barred owl keens
through the black-limbed trees
be still…
be still…
for days that come no more
Let poetry
make fastness in ruin
An elegy
as our people and land
pass into twilight
|
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Leander Tennessee
Black Metal
Dungeon Synth
Ephemera from the hills of east
Tennessee.
Ravening and melancholic spirit of the county line.
Contact:
leandermusic33
@gmail.com
... more
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