~grave epitaph~

05/19/2012

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~a cool breeze drifted through the thick sway of grass~
~up the down hill we had so recently climbed~
~my friend & me~
~old dogs talkin’ about new tricks~
~we could just write ourselves inside out~
~damned straight I was excited~
~doors~
~wire hinges~
~fire in the night hole~
~I haven’t slept since that day~
~a year ago~
~could be two~

~grave epitaph~

~hinge theory as I under/misunderstand it~
~bugs the hell outa me~
~when applied to creativity~
~the foursquare side of me~
~cringes~
~in its shadow~
~its very existence threatened~
~by the certainty~
~of changelings~
~shape shifters~

~it is terrifying~
~& exciting to edit~
~written pieces & graphics~
~in light of the moment~
~to realize the absurdity~
~of considering them finished~
~unsettling when I review them~
~in their tens of tens of thousands~
~new work piling up in steno pads~
~& bulky graphic files~

~songs whittle deeply~
~at the stick of me~
~decades of writing & performing~
~guitarists & percussionists~
~singers & keyboardists~
~whose energy & input~
~is difficult if not impossible to assess~
~hell some of them have died~
~right in front of me~
~come to think of it~

~excuse me~
~I must compose my epitaph~
~its worth hopefully~
~equal to my last breath~
~its final edit~
~its last line~
~a sweet flower & carcass~
~to attract honeybee poets~
~& burial buzzard madmen~
~to continue as I have~
~in the digging of my grave~

http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com
© artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
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~Cold Winter Eyes~

06/22/2011

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Picture
~from the Shadow Danse album~Bloodline~
~a vision of winter reflected in the eyes of age~
~the guitarist on this album is my son Tommy~I write and sing the words~
~he remembers them~I don’t~yet he refuses to sing~I hear his voice~
~like an echo of my own when we play~I’ve never actually caught him singing~
~in addition to the guitar work~
~he does all the mixing down a & finessing our work in his studio~
~as a father & creative man myself~I am enthralled at his genius~
~when I first heard this recording I thought he had mixed~
a harmony track of my own voice into the chorus~
~my daughter advised me~don’t tell him but no~
the voice harmonizing with yours is his~he finally did some singing~
~(I knew he could)~ but not in front of dad~

~Cold Winter Eyes~

~she gets up every morning~
~she drinks a cup of coffee~
~there’s a face inside the mirror ~
~and a thousand broken pieces~
~the cold moon surely freezes~
~all hope attends the rainbow~
~and life just passes by~
~cold winter eyes~
~cold winter eyes~

~she’s had some kids and husbands~
~they send her cards and pictures~
~lots of letters full of kisses ~
~she reads between the lines~
~the darkness comes upon her~
~as she turns the empty pages~
~and her heart is cold as ice~ 
~cold winter eyes~
~cold winter eyes~

~there’s a cold cold cup of coffee~
~and an old and broken mirror~
~and a pile of worthless ashes~
~where once there was a fire~
~and the spirit is the reason~
~what sad and broken angel~
~whose wings will never fly~
~cold winter eyes~
~cold winter eyes~

~la la la la la la~
~la la la la la la~
~la la la la la la~
~la la la and la~
~ah ah ah ah ah~
~ah ah ah ah ah~
~oh oh oh oh oh~
~cold winter eyes~
~cold winter eyes~

~when death stands in the doorway~
~all promises are broken~
~and the shadow of a woman~
~living in the mirror~
~and the cold moon surely freezes~
~as she cries into the winter~
~and the tears freeze in her eyes~
~cold winter eyes~
~cold winter eyes~
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