Joanna Newsom

Though poetic words spill out as o'er a waterfall's edge, none tickle my spine like the lyrics dredged from the mind of a Bard, brimming with charm and cunning - phrases plucked for their stunning, aqueous viscosity. The bard strums on his lyre, uttering expressions garbed in flamboyant attire which weave thrilling tales of majestic myths and lengthy legends. Or rather she – and a harp not a lyre, for tonight Joanna Newsom warbles through the night air, recounting her streams of consciousness. Serendipitously I was out star gazing one night when I shuffled Emily; her narrative then seized me with delight, entrancing my thought for the full twelve minutes. Now every time Joanna belts out

Anyhow, I sat by your side, by the water
You taught me the names of the stars overhead that I wrote down in my ledger
Though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed in December
I promised you I‘d set them to verse so I'd always remember
That the meteorite is a source of the light
And the meteor's just what we see
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee
And the meteorite's just what causes the light
And the meteor's how it's perceived
And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee

I succumb to some sort of literary ecstasy, remembering twinkling dots in the sky above.

(These are both from Joanna Newsom's album Ys)

Emily


Sawdust & Diamonds

Gleam On Glamorous Gluttons

I call now for a change of pace, as I lack mobilized musical thoughts... so poetry shall soon flourish its flowery phantasmagorical feelers into this place of contemplation:

How does the moon feel so bright, shining forth upon splendid fettered swooning edged skies? My heart filters your downward gaze, as I often appropriate much to praise and silence emanates further. Piano reels pass by in time and thankfully await the omnibus's ever present wake. Lullabies and lovebringers swoop slyly into sight, the notes rain down upon dingy drums awaiting plucking parasites to end this fleshy fortnight's delight. Now the red behemoth does rise into the night, choosing gory sanguine color to do its flight. Dark and dreary does the rest of my vision hold weary contentment and still grows leery of the implacable void. And if disappear you must, fade fortuitously into slumber, loot the sailor's pithy plunder and tack no more of burdensome Earth - nay do it sunder.