Alabaster

How could they ever know
That there were love letters written to them...

How could they ever know
That there were love letters written to them
Eyes long looking at them
Nights spent heavy
With their absence

How could they ever know
There were voices cut short for them
Pages left white for them
Beds left made for them
Leaves of grass
All un-crushed
Because of them

But how could they ever ask
For a voice to ask for them
Or of the shape of the memory of them
Or for the sun to rise for them
Tomorrow

Donkey Oatie

August 29, 2011

At Shambala Festival this weekend, we were referring to a certain substance as the ‘Joy-Shovel.’

It takes an absurd host of the most delirious wonderful friends to find you the energy to play at 7pm, then 11, then 3am, having arrived the previous night at 1 from ANOTHER festival…

That was a beautiful time. Impossible thanks to all those involved. I feel we all fell off something, but we stand, somehow, a little higher, now.

Here is a recording about Shoes. That’s a vinyl player. And Biff Roxby on cello.

[wpaudio url=”https://www.alabasterdeplume.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/Shoes-Doddering-Singsong-A-1.mp3″ text=”Shoes” dl=”0″]

Good luck, one and all.