Ripple

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung,
Would you hear my voice come thru the music,
Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken,
Perhaps they're better left unsung.
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air.

Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty,
If your cup is full may it be again,
Let it be known there is a fountain,
That was not made by the hands of men.

There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night,
And if you go no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone.

Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.

You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall you fall alone,
If you should stand then whos to guide you?
If I knew the way I would take you home.

Written & Performed by the
Grateful Dead

To Maine

To Maine:

A land to which a name has said it all

belying truth as it lies at our feet

and loyal like the hound or baying dog

we strive to act and honor with our feats

As brothers bound by slowly passing time

which leaves so little trace upon this place

and seeking something lost so long ago

escape one moment the endless human race

Water runs forever in decline

yet hope springs eternal in our cheers

life stops its rushing for a while

as jokes and laughs scare off the native deer

Tomorrow we will rest upon the grass

and throw the sacred die into the air

but never will we lay our beers to rest

nor stop the games for rabbits nor a bear.

Worry free and whimsy is the way

the MAINEly brews will surely find their end

when exiting our corpus in a stream

ne'er to be forgot just like a dream...

Camp Relief 2011

Andrew Hicks

Back to Earth

As the plane circled high above Boston's Logan International, the universe was modeled by a vast expanse of clouds. This grey scaled whirling world, full of smooth undulating valleys and the sharp towers of billowing thunderheads which rose, silhouetted against an endless, depthless field of infinite white revealing inside an emptiness from which flicker hints of another universe, much like our own, wherin lives the sun.

Winding around and down into the evolving physics of that vaporous realm, all traces of the sun were spun away and the once glimmering rivulets of rain turned to shade and blocked all meaningful perception of space. Time too was swayed by the ever tightening spirals of the descending plane.

The Boston he returned to was a colder, damper vision of the humidity drenched city from the sticky days of summer. This was his home away from home while away from home. Home resembling now more of a state of mind, a comfortable envelope of relaxation, a healthy active respite from the endlessly revolving carousel that was "routine." Home was the place where spinning ceased and the sun appeared and was appreciated, where the phases of the moon were more than passing glimpses of a far off sphere and seasons were allowed to flourish in all their wild variety.

Light exists at home - and love. Humanity with all its joy and suffering is born at home.

Through the wisps of condensing molecules and in the roar of the jet engines, the suddenly appearing runway lights, through washed out streets, under awnings and umbrellas, it was home he sought more than anything else.

Avalon Pt 3 - Man about town...

Avalon Part 2 - The Present

Avalon Part ! - The History

Smoke filled visions of Lexington, SC

They woke me up with a startling shock which featured the sharp ringing of an emergency bell. Without a fire to attend to, the cops and firemen searched the building and found the culprit to be an over heated piece of toast. The rest of the night, worthless for sleep, leaves only the opportunity to write and reflect in a half conscious state upon the moment that was shared between us all...

Under a cloud of toxic smoke and with the lingering threat of atmospheric thunder claps, the sharp elbowed lances of lightning ring forth across the valley as he stands, silhouetted, holding still despite the gaping eyes of the local rumour mill.

Full of honor and an inflated sense of self destiny, watching desire burn into a distant, steaming pile of shit, he finally grasps that the moment for which he waits is more obscure than those ripened fruits he had held so tightly in his nervous palms as a child.

Sincerely ignoring the way he should stand alone among the masses as they wander the various barrios leaving a trail of sorrowful misconceptions, he laughs at the remaining fog of war...

That being said, distinct carvings have come to define a class of furtive totems (in museums), revealing the passions of sheltered animals and exposing the sacred temples which exist within the shadows of his darkening paws.

We have brought you here and now, today, to find the very values and ideals which have been so close and yet so far from our grasp. I have confronted the ruined remnants of the unforgiving toast and found only blackened truths under an electric web.

We are happy to find ourselves here - happy to look into a neighbors eye and see the tranquil peace blow away the shadows of these long forgotten memories. Happy to ignore the smokey tears which drip ever so slowly from my eyes into the gathering puddle at my feet.

There is no escape from this nuclear event. Here we are as we are:

Tho much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,

One eual temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

-Alfred Lord Tennyson

While the feathers flutter and scripts are written, as bubbles rise and grass grows greener, we assert a true sense of ourselves. Alas poor Urick, I knew him well, Horatio, a man of infinite jest.

Paz afurea. Hicks 2011.