53. Eyes without lies 2.(Oct ’14)

I’ve been at this lyrics/poetry malarky more or less exactly two years this month (May ’15). This piece is I think the most complete rewrite I’ve done in that time. Version 1 which is the bottom piece here, No.22, was a great example of having a couple of lines that seemed to be great together and forcing things so I could use them.

It was a sunny August Saturday outside the local with a cigarette between pints and the opening two lines popped up amid the smoke and UV rays. But they didn’t come as a pair. “She had a face you could drink all night” was first and I thought, I knew, there had to be a similarly lyrical follow up that could follow logically. Then “And eyes you could drown in” arrived and that was it done. Well in inspiration terms it was.

I spent three or four nights after work the following week sat in my wee studio feverishly beavering away. Chiseling a phrase here, contriving a rhyme there, hammering things together with a big size 12 just to make them fit. I would have been enamoured  with those two lines anyway but the memories that gave them deafening resonance were what really drove this exercise in bloodymindedness. It wasn’t the first or last time this ghost would drive things (Nor was it the first or last time I’d force a piece into existence to flatter a line or two). But it was the (so far) most fervent.

The rewrite in Oct 2014 I’m much happier with as it was more organic and relaxed and it feels like me. It’s still not perfect but it’s several steps closer.

53. Eyes without lies 2.(Oct ’14)

She had a face you could drink all night,
And eyes you could drown in,
Had lips of Ambrosia,
And hips made of honey,
And her eyes,
Free of lies,
Always made me smile,

And I look to this, her song and think,
I must fix what’s broken,
And while I try to think of her,
I’m wondering,
Which one am I fixing these words for,
As we take turns being in focus,
But there’s more bitter than sweet,
As it comes from the distance,
The distance that comes,
From counting each grain,
As it falls through my hand,

And there’s more sand on the floor,
Than there is still waiting to fall,
And I can still, just, see her face,
When my minds eye squints,
But her smell’s long gone,
And her touch fantasies whisper,
So I’ll just leave what’s left,
What’s not been erased,
For on top of these words,
Still in the same place,
I still, just, have her face.

She had a face you could drink all night,
And eyes you could drown in,
Had lips of Ambrosia,
And hips made of honey,
And her eyes,
Free of lies,
Always made me smile,

(c) Jim Laing 2014.

Outtakes.

Sitting, driving at the front of my mind,
Or sitting at the back seeing,
What we’re seeing I’m not quite sure,

22.Eyes Without Lies. (September ’13)

She had a face you could drink all night, and eyes you could drown in,
Had lips of Ambrosia and hips made of honey,
And not knowing what she had made her so appealing,
Now she was a woman could give the dead feeling,
And her eyes, free of lies, always made me smile,

I could tell about how she stopped my heart still,
But the only truth in that would be in the lying,
Instead she sent it spinning with loves warm chill,
And when remembering occasionally it still goes flying.

Sweet memory I envy the clear feeling you hold,
That you still feel her breath and the touch of her hand,
Her torch still flickering sometimes so far from cold,
Loves former incandescence reminds me of its brand.

If I could I’d have swapped my coming years long since,
To have lived the ones behind filled with her smiles,
But this empty beds pillow’s taunt me with their distance,
And time stings sharper than all of geographies miles.

She had a face you could drink all night, and eyes you could drown in,
Had lips of Ambrosia and hips made of honey,
And not knowing what she had made her so appealing,
Now she was a woman could give the dead feeling,
And her eyes, free of lies, always made me smile.

(c) Jim Laing 2013

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About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.
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