tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64228774542819259542024-02-07T19:54:19.467-06:00.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-40139075157349019662009-06-03T18:10:00.003-05:002009-06-03T18:10:39.126-05:00Evora<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ7alPY3ynQwg5AlARny45iEfHdLLFJF_CWfZkRedBrjGt9FzP2IbR5278LpD3Dkr4pZzN_pZk22bFRNHqdcewvOoggsR5bMLvQQN90NTcN6mwmmI8DXeJDCl7ARpuaQib77gUt9tJMBY/s1600-h/l_2f05c0e6f3d74c74b3b73fae2c85bd83.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ7alPY3ynQwg5AlARny45iEfHdLLFJF_CWfZkRedBrjGt9FzP2IbR5278LpD3Dkr4pZzN_pZk22bFRNHqdcewvOoggsR5bMLvQQN90NTcN6mwmmI8DXeJDCl7ARpuaQib77gUt9tJMBY/s320/l_2f05c0e6f3d74c74b3b73fae2c85bd83.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321013784666205906" /></a><br />In Evora there is a church<br />and the church was once a mosque <br />and the mosque was once a church<br />and the church was once a temple <br />in the time of the Romans<br /><br />Behind the altar there is a false tomb<br />and beneath a Christian name <br />there are thousands of years of roots writhing through stone<br />and water echoes up vertebrae <br />which must have been steps <br />and its light is the juice of emeralds <br /><br />Now, consider the well that is my throat<br />and the pool that is my chest<br /><br />What does one do when a well has been capped for so many generations?<br />Is water safe in the stomach?<br /><br />How did I become addicted to a self-imposed periphery, its tithes, its prick and its poison?<br />Can all of this be unlearned in one generation, one season, one summer?<br /><br />My grandfathers and grandmothers <br />and their grandparents meet <br />for the first time in me<br />I carry them to familiar places<br />I am their hands, their thighs, their nose, <br />their eyes, their lips, their teeth, <br />their tongue<br /><br />How did I become addicted to a self-imposed periphery, its tithes, its prick and its poison?<br />Can all of this be unlearned in one generation, one season, one summer?<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I am the voice and the body now<br />and all that is closed will be opened<br />and all that hurts will be repaired<br />and all that sleeps without dreaming <br />will be green again</span><br /><br />In Evora there is a church<br />Inside the church there is a tomb<br />and inside the tomb there is a cistern<br />Inside the cistern there is water <br />and it’s light is the juice of emeralds <br /><br /><br />© 2005 Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAP<br /><br /><br />To experience a performance of <span style="font-style:italic;">Evora </span><br />please visit: <br />http://www.reverbnation.com/pontdesartsensemble<br />and listen to selection #1 (upper right corner).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-31178621173721334472009-06-03T18:10:00.001-05:002009-06-03T18:10:17.097-05:00Rouge<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEORx7etJxJICJx0I_qfbfiksuISk1vLTlVA7s0_TbwQI1-1dWiOdj7blzy5l-ojLTJvOawqxBORmr9-yziZE_wVQqPcW5aK02uQAL2HWVRzdz80l1tkRJ_-1pRNoQkKP84mpM3a5CiLk/s1600-h/_DSC1114.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEORx7etJxJICJx0I_qfbfiksuISk1vLTlVA7s0_TbwQI1-1dWiOdj7blzy5l-ojLTJvOawqxBORmr9-yziZE_wVQqPcW5aK02uQAL2HWVRzdz80l1tkRJ_-1pRNoQkKP84mpM3a5CiLk/s320/_DSC1114.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267581693001270018" /></a><br /><br /><br />Tu pense bien que tu vie<br />Je vois seulement que tu pense.<br />et moi, je vie pour tes yeux,<br />un mignon trompe-la-balance.<br />Nous créons rien.<br /><br />et je t'enprie<br />pensons avec nos yeux<br />créons en souriant<br />ascendants en soleil<br />vivons en respirant <br />les couleurs du vent.<br /><br />Et, Va<br />continue faire ta naissance<br />Et moi<br />je continue a ma naissance<br /><br /><br />Ce moment, c'est le travail triomphant<br />Un petit soufle de la joie.<br />J'aimerai un ballon rouge, et la mer,<br />et, une poire d'anjou.<br /><br />Pensons avec nos yeux<br />créons en souriant.<br />Ascendants en soleil,<br />vivons en respirant<br />les couleurs du vent.<br /><br />© 2008 Carrie Ingrisano & Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAP<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">You think that you are living.<br />I see only that you are thinking. <br />Myself, I live for your eyes,<br />A charming little stumble.<br />And together we create nothing.<br /><br />Let's think with our eyes,<br />creation in a smile,<br />our ancestry in light,<br />we live breathing in<br />the colors of the wind.<br /><br />You go..<br />continue with your birth,<br />and I will <br />continue with my birth.<br /><br />This moment is<br />our triumphant work,<br />a little puff of joy.<br />I would have a red balloon<br />the ocean...<br />and an anjou pear.<br /><br />So let us think with our eyes,<br />creation in a smile,<br />our ancestry in light,<br />we live breathing in <br />the colors of the wind.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span><br /><br />© 2008 Carrie IngrisanoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-87294976068324591022009-06-03T18:08:00.001-05:002009-06-03T18:08:14.284-05:00Trop foncée (Ephemerae)I could not sleep while you slept. <br />Any little animal might have sheltered <br />in your body; and I kept <br />leaves from your eyes and things from your hair <br />until your lips revived, bending <br />back my fingers to the lessons<br />of water and thirst. <br /><br />Fires that night digested the wet, <br />and when their long viridian <br />became your arms and a delirium <br />became our legs, threads <br />relinquished us, and we were not puppeted <br />by earth, and we were not puppeted <br />by heaven. We became <br />larger than form and texture and scent--<br />something like clouds--and fear was driven <br />from the manger of our bellies, and anger's thin <br />lips could not diminish us. <br /><br />We ate everything that was red, <br />and everything red <br />was delicious. My sap was greening <br />your milky body, then your legs slapped. <br />They slapped into fins and you arced <br />and my chin and <br />ear separated, and silver and more silver and silver <br />again, I quivered behind you.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Orphalines de nos rêves<br />tes chausettes cachées au fond du lit<br />Elles attends avec moi <br /><br />Aussi la dans la Méditerranée<br />chaque nuit est trop foncée</span><br /><br /><br />© 2008 Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-27300600374056135812009-06-03T18:07:00.001-05:002009-06-03T18:07:31.823-05:00En hiver<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_GOx-WpZNDkwbG5ltVonGdOBLm9JwY3WfrPTcN7OyBTCwqKzbTMWgaTYMApUkihuqa7nj_hifUunzBxg88DtovTXUdLjhApf5zi1dt3vn-KwnMuYwKxyiK9OzLzyugpwDJSkx5XWsYU/s1600-h/DSC_1086_5.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_GOx-WpZNDkwbG5ltVonGdOBLm9JwY3WfrPTcN7OyBTCwqKzbTMWgaTYMApUkihuqa7nj_hifUunzBxg88DtovTXUdLjhApf5zi1dt3vn-KwnMuYwKxyiK9OzLzyugpwDJSkx5XWsYU/s320/DSC_1086_5.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267573287588602386" /></a><br /><br /><br />Le soleil <br />ne brille jamais<br />en hiver,<br />...hiver.<br />Mais ta voix <br />brille toujours.<br /><br />Je cueille <br />les petites gouttes <br />de ta voix au vaisseau.<br />Ce vin d'hiver<br />guarde ma chaleur.<br /><br />© 2008 Carrie Ingrisano & Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-26728198915611087472009-06-03T18:06:00.001-05:002009-06-03T18:06:34.698-05:00Notre Dame (Blue & Green)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvm2YQJC9i9NS0200yd-uvp2s6OJJp9H1ORkU7DtAuAFBONW7EEZ2b1SVox27Zkz1ioCqRA2lpadHPjxoNzaT-cpn-f4jhBxje-sCJSXrIuuedvZcQ26DjCgeaIakp32MiVps2ctFgxQ/s1600-h/m_8eaf54ec4b17f43771c9388ccc679900.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvm2YQJC9i9NS0200yd-uvp2s6OJJp9H1ORkU7DtAuAFBONW7EEZ2b1SVox27Zkz1ioCqRA2lpadHPjxoNzaT-cpn-f4jhBxje-sCJSXrIuuedvZcQ26DjCgeaIakp32MiVps2ctFgxQ/s320/m_8eaf54ec4b17f43771c9388ccc679900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258627008352570418" /></a><br />Blue and green, somewhre in between<br />That's all I really know where life flows<br /><br />Green and blue, someone like you<br />Love always knows where life flows<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Our Mother who art in everyone, <br />everything is thy name.<br /><br />Thy garden serene, thy waters green<br />the earth as they blue the heavens.<br /><br />Thank you for our daily bread and the blessing <br />that no one can be satisfied until everyone is fed.<br /><br />Forgive our ignorance as we forgive <br />those who ignore you in each of us.<br /><br />Lead us from fear and deliver us from anger <br />and anxieties, <br /><br />for life is a ripening to return to you, to feed you,<br />to seed you,<br /><br />to be reborn forever and ever<br /><br />Again</span><br /><br /><br />© 2005 Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAP<br /><br /><br />To experience a performance of <span style="font-style:italic;">Notre Dame (Blue & Green)</span><br />please visit: <br />http://www.myspace.com/fammereelive<br />and listen to selection #1 (upper right corner).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-84671478673694521722009-06-03T18:05:00.001-05:002009-06-03T18:05:14.356-05:00Each Body BeautifulIt is sky in your eyes I see<br />It is life in your lungs, breathe freely<br />You are the one <br />You are the one <br /><br />Twelve thousand skies<br />Twelve thousand nights<br />I should have known I would outgrow<br />A fascination with empty<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Always ready to be unloosed from satin and the white bodice of clouds<br />each body beautiful, its river, its sinuous logic, its deliberate destination<br /><br />Awake, asleep, awake, asleep, awake, asleep<br />Moving in three directions,<br />towards the sun, away from exhausted deities, away from death<br /><br />There I am before death and here after:<br />in the hesitation between leaves, <br />in the hesitation between knees </span><br /><br /><br />© 2008 Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-78422241982200151142009-06-03T18:04:00.001-05:002009-06-03T18:04:23.404-05:00Left Eye of the Moon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVm_2v8TLnHUax4X9OrHrcSjT1INZAWJInUN7jBoMJZI8pnMul0o_IX9mKEYpqd7N0SBS99OerFogIGGBojDIfDtWW-97oA1NoMouZU4NdI-z5IRum_WhuvIsoAFW6UHwy1xPW4hT1UcU/s1600-h/fammeree6.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVm_2v8TLnHUax4X9OrHrcSjT1INZAWJInUN7jBoMJZI8pnMul0o_IX9mKEYpqd7N0SBS99OerFogIGGBojDIfDtWW-97oA1NoMouZU4NdI-z5IRum_WhuvIsoAFW6UHwy1xPW4hT1UcU/s320/fammeree6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262802329536077026" /></a><br />There is a room in a wall, and the wall is mud, <br />and the mud, crenelated and pink. <br />There is a bed and cold-water sink and two pillows.<br /><br />One window is pomegranate, the other pregnant. <br />They whisper over our bed <br />from the starry book of the dead <br />a story of two inseparable children. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Now that I've found you<br />Every sun in the sky will be drawn to you</span><br /><br />You are the tree of life kicking blanket <br />and sheet to the foot of the bed. <br />You are the book of life Hebrews undress <br />and spread upon velvet, <br />caress with a silver finger and silk and knots of silk. <br /><br />You are a chalice raised high as my arms can hold you,<br /> jeweled in front and smooth in back.<br /><br />Inside you I am transubstantiated into blood <br />and the breath of blood. <br /><br />What church can refute this miracle?<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Now that I've found you<br />Every sun in the sky will be drawn to you</span><br /><br /><br />© 2008 Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-19912195225955269652009-06-03T18:01:00.000-05:002009-06-03T18:02:00.922-05:00Pink<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_91J85Wazcd5A0YKJkkR-E0AAXACahuNXSISLDO96zS9QYM5rbSeAn5IXzp5cW5FauWeNe2ZAGxo1hFwbGAzwSJ6BrbMsLzpTegomrJzR4xqpGTFr-BpA0pJPakGe3sxjQsTRtiVGzUM/s1600-h/IMG_4476.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 251px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_91J85Wazcd5A0YKJkkR-E0AAXACahuNXSISLDO96zS9QYM5rbSeAn5IXzp5cW5FauWeNe2ZAGxo1hFwbGAzwSJ6BrbMsLzpTegomrJzR4xqpGTFr-BpA0pJPakGe3sxjQsTRtiVGzUM/s320/IMG_4476.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263764605484847666" /></a><br />If my certainty is causing you to doubt,<br />I can take it off for you.<br />If my purpose separates me <br />from your thought,<br />I can take it off for you.<br />I can take it off for you <br />and stand beneath the rising <br />all pink and new,<br />and melt into the water surrounding you.<br /><br />And when memories <br />have covered you in veils<br />I will take them off for you.<br />When regrets make your voice a little frail,<br />I will take them off for you.<br />I will take them off for you<br />and gaze upon the children <br />inside of you.<br />Allow me to.<br /><br />© 2008 Carrie Ingrisano & Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-77223487520266007112009-06-03T18:00:00.003-05:002009-06-03T18:00:59.065-05:00Circle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxWt9h-CU5HrSkxi4Mj7zSRHcucHHPUjRp8OhgMhz2JPT8tB6kHXlsfaLaG6wgH_sJU3jptXG8KRyH6522-9PbdSjf-r49ysgJPrV1C2H2Mb4zXJUHKs9svoL31js8SWoDvlRa9CAf0Y/s1600-h/l_cdcd96caa0a02f00d5331db0d7897d8e-1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxWt9h-CU5HrSkxi4Mj7zSRHcucHHPUjRp8OhgMhz2JPT8tB6kHXlsfaLaG6wgH_sJU3jptXG8KRyH6522-9PbdSjf-r49ysgJPrV1C2H2Mb4zXJUHKs9svoL31js8SWoDvlRa9CAf0Y/s320/l_cdcd96caa0a02f00d5331db0d7897d8e-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262801136658989810" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And when our cheeks were red as poppies<br />we blessed the night.<br />You wed me in the ocean<br />and I wore midnight.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">We knew the sky<br />Cloud after cloud<br />And after all<br />Each leaf did fall</span><br /><br />I have been awake since early light to walk<br />and smell the dampness drying from the stones.<br />Jon's got the coffee hot.<br />My hair is drippin.<br />I'm so grateful for his chatter.<br />Today you're going on the road<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Here was the bright field of our gathering, <br />and the shrill of the silence is the sound of our chorus, <br />the memory of an intonation, little whistles and green stories, <br />prayers we repeat in the gethsemane of our hearts.<br /><br />Darlings of the water darkling, what did we know beyond <br />the reflection of the low, stone bridge--</span><br /><br />and if I climb a little higher in the rocks<br />I can see you as you go<br />We'll let the sun kiss you<br />and let the wind touch you<br />this time.<br /><br />and take this in remembrance of me.<br />Take this<br />of me<br />and take this<br />take this<br />take this<br />of me<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">We knew the dark <br />The slightest spark<br />Could birth the sky <br />And last the night</span><br /><br /><br />© 2008 Carrie Ingrisano & Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-31909135514092740292009-06-03T18:00:00.001-05:002009-06-03T18:00:08.632-05:00One Life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEibb3JrlchCqG5zFFzdxnRvDLowtSZsvs-mumuoz9XNbt7puN9i2sTgW7kYcbhf8wOAiGsZJLoTN6GSzhIY-xgmGelXrPhwsD3rD5pzKNWz93wktofhqmWv_6j4BV4zIn5PxQUMl9CI/s1600-h/Petra,+Jordan.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEibb3JrlchCqG5zFFzdxnRvDLowtSZsvs-mumuoz9XNbt7puN9i2sTgW7kYcbhf8wOAiGsZJLoTN6GSzhIY-xgmGelXrPhwsD3rD5pzKNWz93wktofhqmWv_6j4BV4zIn5PxQUMl9CI/s320/Petra,+Jordan.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263133713581748514" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">If we were one God, we would feed each other <br />everything; and everything would eat us, <br />and we would never die. <br />My tongues would serpent in your temple<br />where water becomes blood; <br />and the pink imprint of our lips would be <br />a talisman above the bed.<br />We would not need <br />to protect our skin from light; we would not need <br />to protect our skin from skin; <br />and nothing red would be unclean <br />at the mouth of the Tigris. </span><br /><br /><br />Long before there was one father in the sky<br />Words did not confuse and everything was all one life<br /><br />All that dreams and greens and breathes its life<br />Back into you and you into me and me into trees<br />We're all one life<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I am a green man, and I am my messiah now.<br />I am not embarrassed, I am not alone, I am <br />not afraid.<br />I cannot lose anything, for nothing is mine.<br />And I will never be hungry, for everything is mine.</span><br /><br /><br />Look into each face<br />One storie's written in lines<br />All the waste, when after all we're mud and light<br /><br />All that dreams and greens and breathes its life <br />Back into you and you into me and me into trees<br />We're all one life<br /><br />I love you. . . .<br /><br /><br />© 2005 Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-40806069261472604952009-06-03T17:58:00.001-05:002009-06-03T17:59:36.460-05:00Children of Darfur<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZq5B22-SRwtjVX6Z29ES3x0TGQYhOw2dq_fCxPu77ja9XemO3K2rBb51SlFhL8cZSlD3SJERiS-Lw1PQWu3NoN10eQpxrboz6r24yRZ3zWDwjQv3i3rwmNEhQAVlHNmnm0q09GOePaoM/s1600-h/NewDarfurPics13.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZq5B22-SRwtjVX6Z29ES3x0TGQYhOw2dq_fCxPu77ja9XemO3K2rBb51SlFhL8cZSlD3SJERiS-Lw1PQWu3NoN10eQpxrboz6r24yRZ3zWDwjQv3i3rwmNEhQAVlHNmnm0q09GOePaoM/s320/NewDarfurPics13.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267571115804580562" /></a><br /><br />photo © 2008 <br />Ibrahim Bigal Sarag<br />Sudan Tribune<br /><br />By the side of the road,<br />shivering<br />the living children hide<br />and dream they hear <br />their mother's voice<br />from the empty place inside.<br /><br />They cry, Oh, tell me<br />Is it you I'm waiting for?<br />And, our silent eyes <br />are silvering<br />the children of Darfur.<br /><br />The hut built by their father's hand,<br />it smells of cinder now.<br />And the trucks that bring the angry men,<br />they are rumbling just below.<br /><br />They cry, Oh, Tell me,<br />Is it you I'm waiting for?<br />And our silent mouths are silvering<br />the children of Darfur<br /><br />© 2008 Carrie Ingrisano & Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-35414756379635844912009-06-03T17:57:00.000-05:002009-06-03T17:58:03.045-05:00Khóra Sfakia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMj6vJhWQ7Hq3KLaDre0PZ_DttdHPLYtXEnA7_NmfrsVF3fy1A3BBF7u8_hhA4hNGk9-UZP-axwEei1RciA3Qs573InaSA_L-8OEJ5t3m5CFUKqKrIa6pKs6riZENoIzHYcwaRuygK6s/s1600-h/Jerash,+Jordan+3-1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMj6vJhWQ7Hq3KLaDre0PZ_DttdHPLYtXEnA7_NmfrsVF3fy1A3BBF7u8_hhA4hNGk9-UZP-axwEei1RciA3Qs573InaSA_L-8OEJ5t3m5CFUKqKrIa6pKs6riZENoIzHYcwaRuygK6s/s320/Jerash,+Jordan+3-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258628165935091346" /></a><br />I walk among the whores of Sfakia, the once beautiful <br />sons and daughters hoarding fragments, lording and ladying <br />and burning from the altars of their lips all instinct<br />still migratory.<br /><br />For them the paths of scree to the promontory <br />decay at the turning of the sky. They hobble to the one tree <br />where an attendant is also a boatman and negotiate <br />a passage back. <br /><br />I am pressed to vertical <br />earth, hatless, mapless and without sunglasses. <br />Golden bellied birds flash in a swift geometry upon lapis <br />lazuli, and I tremble with the thrill <br />of superstition: What spirits are these? Whose soul cries <br />from the mouth of the ass?<br /><br />Now, the water is a Leviathan<br />and ready to swallow. <br />It thrashes about, not content with its containment, <br />neither convinced nor concerned that lungs <br />need land.<br /><br /><br />The whores of Sfakia wheeze and sleep with mouths open <br />and lamps glaring and garments pressed to their eyes. <br />If their messiah were to come in the night, <br />I could not follow, for this is not a Diaspora, and the Son <br />and the Father are only one half <br />of one God.<br /><br />I wonder why the earth supports us. We expect so much <br />and renew so little.<br /><br />It's Hero and husband, back and forth and up <br />and down, scattering bones of aborted destinies.<br />He first slurred the ancient name<br />of this place, Khóra Sfakia--<span style="font-style:italic;">The whores of Sfakia</span>, he announced <br />and everyone laughed, then laughed again and laughed <br />all the next day.<br />Now, she and he and I are pinks upon the sand. <br /><br />We offer our knees to the waves, and Hero calls, and her call <br />takes the body of a gull.<br />Each of us awakes from the truth of dreams to the lives <br />of our own making.<br /><br /><br />The sea moves her skin and enters me. <br />I do not fear translucence. I do not fear this pregnancy, <br />for I am with me. <br /><br /><br /><br />© 2005 Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAP<br /><br /><br /><br />To experience a performance of <span style="font-style:italic;">Khóra Sfakia</span><br />please visit: <br />http://www.myspace.com/fammereepoet<br />and listen to selection #3 (upper right corner).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-54926259017493630992009-06-03T17:56:00.001-05:002009-06-03T17:56:41.996-05:00My Hidith<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTK5Spz63yA2EnP4I6eBSyQLDRv42EKLNIf9m8Au13J2BwdC2N9w_HRLH1NtBrb0xxhicj44IGEkcggxShPW04HjYKzBs2JZb-bXkevXB3A3wURxC1D3IwSWcp2XJu_3CqEeNqnQMt1Oc/s1600-h/l_1221c1f167f45da638d09bad23f460ed.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTK5Spz63yA2EnP4I6eBSyQLDRv42EKLNIf9m8Au13J2BwdC2N9w_HRLH1NtBrb0xxhicj44IGEkcggxShPW04HjYKzBs2JZb-bXkevXB3A3wURxC1D3IwSWcp2XJu_3CqEeNqnQMt1Oc/s320/l_1221c1f167f45da638d09bad23f460ed.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259089178507473762" /></a><br /><br />Unwind the parchment of my heart<br />and search its symbols.<br />I find no laws that keep me from loving you.<br /><br />And if you were my sister<br />I would braid your scribbled hair,<br />and barefoot we would go in the water.<br /><br />If I was your sister<br />you would henna both my hands<br />and feed me our grandmother's yoghurt.<br /><br />We'd play running games with our brothers<br />....running games with our brothers<br />W'e play .....running games with our brothers<br />and laugh....laugh at our genius.<br /><br />Where does love school to become fear? <br />Where do hearts train to be siteless? <br /><br />Where do brothers learn to be killers!<br />Where do brothers learn to be killers.....<br />Maiming the fathers and withering mothers.<br /><br />Don't they recognize each other's eyes.... don't they recognize....each other's eyes <br /><br />I'll hold the pen<br />You write the words the laws of our heart.<br />and, this is my Hidith { our law of heart }<br />...this is my Hidith <br />Our Law of Heart.<br /><br /><br />© 2008 Carrie IngrisanoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-86328385985474932612009-06-03T17:35:00.001-05:002009-06-03T17:35:52.649-05:00Scar (Just Another Scar on the Body)But sleep, a beaded talisman. Our hearts working <br />as rain, fluttering <br /><br />forests of rose and bone, perpetually reborn, protected by thorns, <br />where fear is sin<br /> <br />where no sword turns<br /><br />where angels are the body within<br /><br />each body a portal<br /><br /><br />Each window as hesitation?<br />What are salt and glass to me.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Just another scar on the body<br />You are always pointing to come home</span><br /><br /><br />You understand even if you pretend not to<br />The way the dying light favored you five hours later--<br />staining your blouse, staining our fingers<br /><br />that last light lives in your body and the soul of your body as auric deities <br />hidden in dripping caves<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Just another scar on the body<br />Every arrow points to somewhere<br />You are always pointing to come home</span><br /><br /><br />Falling through the sky again<br />Seeping through each veil of rain<br /><br />Deep into your summer<br />Try to find the source again<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Just another scar on the body<br />Every arrow points to somewhere<br />You are always pointing to come home</span><br /><br /><br />© 2008 Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-3856661294737885992009-06-03T17:34:00.001-05:002009-06-03T17:34:29.906-05:00Fire Light<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZK_KF01dvVFI_e-nSLuaFmY9K8rnhFhswky3gmhOObr8DuMuJdwPP-BqludE03v8Cpc69X1coaoIKjq0cgvpKOg-ezGwoQq2ckvQpVL-BOcg9AFXfH4a-fHrFJ2leV-z5br6Rfvn1Rs/s1600-h/Leonard_The+Light+of+the+Way.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 224px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZK_KF01dvVFI_e-nSLuaFmY9K8rnhFhswky3gmhOObr8DuMuJdwPP-BqludE03v8Cpc69X1coaoIKjq0cgvpKOg-ezGwoQq2ckvQpVL-BOcg9AFXfH4a-fHrFJ2leV-z5br6Rfvn1Rs/s400/Leonard_The+Light+of+the+Way.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267571563464612226" /></a><br />Paint a body <br />on my soul.<br />Make it big enough <br />to take me whole.<br />Paint it high<br />up in the sky,<br />any colour<br />that you like.<br /><br />Tie an anchor <br />to my heart.<br />Keep it tethered<br />to the deepest part.<br />Then cast it wide<br />out into the sea.<br />You keep just a part of me.<br /><br />As we belong to the ocean.<br />As we belong to the sky.<br />We are angels.<br />We are angels, you and I.<br /><br />Write the legends<br />of my life.<br />The words will comfort peoples minds.<br />Then close your eyes <br />and you will see<br />the fire side of me.<br /><br />We are fire<br />We are light.<br /><br />We are fire<br />We are light.<br /><br />Fire * Light<br /><br />© 2008 Carrie IngrisanoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-85583182472871456822009-06-03T17:31:00.001-05:002009-06-03T17:31:30.218-05:00Someday<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ZCuPXrrDj3-Zf5qzx7VtQScjNGoRhZp5v6L_-D1stVlJndg0KvdkDJ_2Qi2305ifhRWONyLq-NJfhysnC7o5V-jeb0GTREuz5Qqg7oEzL-Lq9xKvdo60CNmfky2j-s-VncOOSLVG0Qs/s1600-h/IMG_3849.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ZCuPXrrDj3-Zf5qzx7VtQScjNGoRhZp5v6L_-D1stVlJndg0KvdkDJ_2Qi2305ifhRWONyLq-NJfhysnC7o5V-jeb0GTREuz5Qqg7oEzL-Lq9xKvdo60CNmfky2j-s-VncOOSLVG0Qs/s320/IMG_3849.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263435192921589074" /></a><br />Someday you’ll be wandering to somewhere<br />Starting a new page in a story begun with us<br /><br />Someone will be singing beside you<br />repeating a chorus written the night before<br /><br />Somewhere over a rainbow<br />where your mother is always this young <br />and beautiful<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Conspicuous as a sonnet, I pass through <br />shadows. I do not know their names and <br />I decide not to count. There are so many <br />going up the hill and back, alongside the <br />vein of meadowsweet and loam. They are <br />a forest. They are a frost. I am their field. <br />Each ancestor rising one summer higher <br />in a line, planted along the rutted road <br />which is now a footpath for fewer and <br />fewer.<br /><br />It was a Roman lane, their tomb a mound<br />sprouting yew and laurel, pregnant two <br />thousand years. They return to recall as do <br />their descendants, my ancestors. One day, <br />my daughter will come here and tell this <br />story to her grandchildren, and they will <br />sit within my shade and shiver with <br />mysteries as she, three months old today, <br />looks up my tall, deciduous body into <br />leaves.</span><br /><br />Somewhere over a rainbow<br />where you are is always this young <br />and beautiful<br /><br />Often I am singing beside you<br />writing this song again <br />as we once did so long ago<br /><br /><br />© 2005 Richard Fammerée/Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-59225396324961260792009-06-03T07:57:00.001-05:002009-06-03T07:57:21.754-05:00Shine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArlvNlTTsSOFQYeOquUDOzg3CGx2CMIpvR0aZD0zybxZZXkEGaxcegSjxrd6_VtBDgP8C-Ln8wHNo6l_ho58CArfnyGPTwWoUjdyPoMQdq4pBamSn7s3TCsGIQiRNM3XGzC3sNm7ELK0/s1600-h/m_c24c3edd2e994dca9913460236de0cf4.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 127px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArlvNlTTsSOFQYeOquUDOzg3CGx2CMIpvR0aZD0zybxZZXkEGaxcegSjxrd6_VtBDgP8C-Ln8wHNo6l_ho58CArfnyGPTwWoUjdyPoMQdq4pBamSn7s3TCsGIQiRNM3XGzC3sNm7ELK0/s320/m_c24c3edd2e994dca9913460236de0cf4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262006870374693314" /></a><br /><br />Now I know why I’m sitting in the sky. . .<br />All I really want to do is shine like you<br /><br />Just this morning I decided to be free again<br />Just this morning I decided to me again<br />And shine like you<br /><br />All I want is to be happy<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I am pregnant and I am not embarrassed, and I refuse<br />to defend myself before the disappointed.<br /><br />I am going to live in a forest where moss bathes my toes <br />and makes slippers for trees and pillows of stones;<br />I am going to deny concrete and its fumes;<br />I am going to swim every swell of my heart; for it is good <br />for my babies.<br /><br />And when voices no longer echo<br />from the bones of my back, sleep makes me a baby<br />in a belly again.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-38952611311221827462009-06-02T22:40:00.001-05:002009-06-02T22:40:48.166-05:00In Our Heart<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqI3bV-azYRcVMDtfcuOCiLX5fdk8df9aKAAUYdYjiFM-2kiMIynLwPNZ6xL9JiRFu9HqXqSBo-RZF_fODgEaCNmKGNGVomtsxhZM4GEy4MPR_igLb2ctkLefRbEujywWw4UL4uUH_Sw/s1600-h/l_2f05c0e6f3d74c74b3b73fae2c85bd83.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqI3bV-azYRcVMDtfcuOCiLX5fdk8df9aKAAUYdYjiFM-2kiMIynLwPNZ6xL9JiRFu9HqXqSBo-RZF_fODgEaCNmKGNGVomtsxhZM4GEy4MPR_igLb2ctkLefRbEujywWw4UL4uUH_Sw/s320/l_2f05c0e6f3d74c74b3b73fae2c85bd83.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321009780177528658" /></a><br /><br />True the sky white-winged light<br />All begins again<br /><br />Green and blue I am only as free as you<br />Each is born to a destiny<br /><br />No matter what is said or done<br />The future has just begun<br />All begins in our heart<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Every time<br />We decide<br />To survive<br />And give life<br />Hope is born in our heart</span><br /><br />Hold me close, this night is almost over<br />Light begins in our heart<br /><br />No matter what is said or done<br />Our future has just begun<br />Love begins in our heart<br /><br />All begins in our heart<br /><br /><br />© 2008 Richard Fammerée, Nomadica Musica & Poetry, ASCAPUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6422877454281925954.post-47439950157377745592008-11-02T09:05:00.001-06:002008-11-02T09:07:28.151-06:00Pont des Arts Ensemble<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXsB68HQEG4j5QwfcSyPZ_6zZJaCsKYILNoQU2L_ej5dX-dmbA58E_DU4QOD0_APMqrhAP1r7t2-peVAOu64mbDe7pz25dPHWzKxFJKNcVztKxjfcyUzzELCPlLI87i0ShSEevWvNPeI/s1600-h/Unknown+Name.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXsB68HQEG4j5QwfcSyPZ_6zZJaCsKYILNoQU2L_ej5dX-dmbA58E_DU4QOD0_APMqrhAP1r7t2-peVAOu64mbDe7pz25dPHWzKxFJKNcVztKxjfcyUzzELCPlLI87i0ShSEevWvNPeI/s320/Unknown+Name.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264077013705631154" /></a><br /><br />Pont des Arts Ensemble features Richard Fammerée (poet, <br />composer and multi-instrumentalist), Carrie Ingrisano <br />(singer-songwriter, bass) and Meg Lauterbach (cello) with <br />Vic Sanders (electric guitar & electronica) and Meg Thomas<br />(percussion and drums).<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">A sensual banquet of poetry & music, passion & spirituality</span>, <br />Pont des Arts Ensemble is the finest example of the global <br />renaissance of the marriage of \poetry and new performance <br />media. Poetry married to music, theatre and dance is more <br />ancient than recorded history and the freshest movement <br />in contemporary performance worldwide.<br /><br />Pont des Arts features passionate, compassionate, <br />alternative/contemporary art songs of Richard Fammerée. <br />Singer-songwriter Carrie Ingrisano offers a vulnerable <br />elegance and decidedly neoclassical element. Further refined <br />by the exquisite, compelling contributions of Meg Lauterbach <br />and Vic Sanders.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Shakespeare meets Sigur Ros meets Piaf along the <br />Mediterranean. . . . A sensual banquet of poetry & music, passion <br />& spirituality. Viva la evolution!</span> (George Whitman, <br />Shakespeare & Co., Paris)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0