Get all 5 Stephen Mead releases available on Bandcamp and save 35%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Choral Soliloquies (II), Choral Soliloquies (I), Threnody for a Forgotten Plague, Whispers of Arias (I), and Whispers of Arias (II).
1. |
Stay Awake
04:56
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Stay Awake
I keep thinking. It can’t be much longer.
He turned on the gas exactly six minutes ago.
I can see the clock. Must focus. He’s staring at me.
I manage a smirk. It’s not that difficult, really, this
waiting him out. After all, considering how he came in here,
I’m amazed to be alive. I should have looked through
the peephole, asked, “Who is it?”, all of those things.
Oh well, when I saw his face, my intuition’s pretty keen.
Automatically I knew
“Look, you want some soda?” I asked. “The truth is I don’t
have much cash.” Oh yea, cool as a cucumber. The first
thing I noticed upon coming ‘round was the shade of his eyes,
how they bore down upon me.
Nice of him not to have blown my head off.
I never asked why. He was desperate. Any fool could see.
Loneliness and fear does that. I went and heated some broth.
Later we listened to a few details about him streaming
from the transistor.
“They got it all wrong, man. I didn’t use gelignite.”
I shrugged and switched the station. “You like Bach?”
I thought he’d break my arm, but was just testing.
“God,” he laughed. “What is it with you? You ain’t got no
car. You ain’t got no computer. You hear I blew up Mr.
Big Wig’s caddie, yet don’t even seem interested.”
“I’m kind of a dunce.” I faltered, trying to remember
if the newsman said whether anyone died.
“See this.” He went on, flashing that gun again. “Wanna
know if I used it?” I poured more soda and tried to keep
my voice even. “Not particularly.”
I held my breath, figuring violence would come then.
Only, “You’re no dunce,” he whispered, and went to the stove.
These last three hours he’s turned it on and shut it off twice.
I’ve noticed this third time he’s leaving it be.
I wish I were Scherezade and could entertain him with tales.
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2. |
Ariel's Mission
02:51
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Ariel’s Mission
This tree giant knows me, and the grasses
I pass upon looking to ignite brooks.
Listen, I’m calling
through the sudden undulation of leaves.
Is it some sea sound or else—stranger---
soft whispers—candles in petals
placed on a lake?
How they float to anoint senses, a hushed
traveling dreamtalk
that falls with a clash—tempest—sudden
tempest on the brightening horizon.
Such a wind is astonishing!
It is I, Ariel’s, the siren’s—Are you not awestruck?
Once a pine kept me captive. I bet
you can scarcely fathom, that for twelve years
I lived done up, wrenched in by bark, the distorting,
the twisted twigs. Then some great sorcerer got hold
of me. I flew to his bidding, released
by the energy that inhabits all oceans.
Now, as an enchantress, there’s an even greater
prophesy to fulfill, to ride—both one with the elements and that rest
in a song’s shell—Otherworldly, loving, loving
whatever planet, whatever dove wings,
whatever bat radar—in day time, in night,
the very air breathed
is my dancing
and it costs,
believe me, believe
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3. |
Joan Again
05:40
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Joan Again
It wasn't a dark dream which crept over me,
not like my mother warned, but a real war
& what had to be done. No,
how in the heavens could I possibly escape
the prophesy which chose me, though,
when it came, that's what I desired,
to be useful, in love with the land,
the people, swamped, not the bloodshed,
not the blood.
I saw no one as enemy really, in the beginning,
before accusations. I saw only suffering
& tried hard to listen for an angel's voice.
Long through nights it wailed, whimpered
of potential stakes, & yet even while paying heed
to go on was my part, the part which meant lead.
My god, but I hated the violence, the triumphant waste,
as so many fell & fell thinking we are right, we are right,
convinced of that on both sides.
Were they then? Are they now?
Lives lost in cannon's fire or hand to hand,
face to face, the combat of swords, even the one
which I carried, slaying no one, though arrow-pierced
& advancing high as a rippling, a certainly torched
& tattered flag.
It can yet be found, that riddling belief,
purely symbolic in the stones, the pellets flung
through headlines. You know the names,
the territories & how many are coming forth?
How I would like to place my ear on each wrist
to hear the priceless booming heart
& have that humble echo amplified.
Then I'd return to who I was
before all the wars & the voices, I confess,
the voices deaf deaf & blind to the outcome.
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4. |
Downtown
04:08
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Downtown
Trains & crickets, the space velvet enough
for a guitar & Elvis singing soft & low...
The night's going slow here,
slow as a naked back moving gently to the touch.
Reach up a little, feel & mess the hair,
taste distance so smoke-close it's a face being named
like streets as you near them,
slipping into a dream of fading cinemas,
of silver rain on the wind.
Heading east, now west, this maze takes form,
an envelope's navigation to where it belongs, or could,
delivered by a kiss of so much sweet spit & sweat.
Find, find the address, arm around arm,
over neon fields & damp fragrance dense
in the shadows.
We are that package, its interlocked strings.
We are those rooming house woods.
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5. |
Mother & Child
05:00
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Mother & Child
Wheels & tracks, baby
Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna
Let you be taken. Hush-a-bye.
Hush-a-bye. Sleep now, that’s right.
I got a couple hundred dollars
& in this knapsack you’re pretty
Much hid just in case, you know,
That welfare lady’s put out some
Warrant. O.K.
We’re hitching a ride & will hop
The next train soon. 3 A.M.
I think it’s early enough,
The whole station still groggy.
Thank god, it’s rainin’, good
Warm muggy dust of diesel…
Makes me wanna doze too.
Come on, hon, don’t wake up.
Here’s your old tick tock clock,
Just like a heart, & I’m right
With ya, rockin’ soft & close.
La la la. You see, I have to
Sing quiet, ‘cause they’re takin’
Our ticket & hey, lettin’ us board.
Nobody suspects. Want your bottle?
Look at those lights, the whole
City a Christmas tree blinkin’
“so long” as we plunge,
Express cargo, into the
Clickety-clack clickety-clack
Of this safe moving dark
(Thanks to Rickie Lee)
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6. |
Candles from Mist
06:07
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Candles from Mist
Weigh spirit with a feather, fill, buoy up.
Evanescent light thing, look, a final place:
Find, rest.
Love, since you parted, those likenesses
Buried with you, image after image, reflect & dream.
I have only kept one, I, Nefertiti, wed to worshippers,
Gossip, now hiding Akhenaten, a pharaoh’s idol,
Disfigured.
How can I confess it? They’d talk, shy away.
Yet, sphinx-like friend, I remember warmth,
Our involvement, the west sun dying nightly
Then miraculously east born...
Doesn’t the beetle, that scarab, represent
Metamorphosis, & you, you too, a common man,
But symbolic, your head, a vision-house, large
As can be.
Does the skyful expand? Is monotheism real?
Storms, blessings: religion is a concept.
Far flung weather, the Afterworld-----
Does the breadth spread? Is it luminous?
Yes, we accomplished several daughters & built
A life hand by hand, so, why---ignorant, petty---
“His ailment”, “a tragedy”---& civilization so strange...
People point, visit, have a desire to rob tombs,
Covet treasure, all Nile lost souls now curious,
Thirsty for jaded scandal & souvenirs...
Oh Akhenaten, I want none of such.
Let them take all of it but this: a window,
Lit alabaster, glowing like skin, from within:
Some soft mist candle. I clutch it, a statue,
Your profile carved there. Will you call, fly
Refined?
Pyramid strong: yesterday, tomorrow, all days
Are ghosts, but their quests flood, preserved fertile
From our divine all-seeing valley.
Dust the crypt, kingdom, this gold inlaid sarcophagus
I caress to put my missing
Where it rightly belongs.
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7. |
Blood Stained Shirt
03:00
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Blood Stained Shirt
I see no point in changing.
I see no point.
We were an Us, then there
Was just me
Hoping it could happen, a wrong
Move, deliberately done, easy
Target crossing the line.
You never knew exactly when
You went over, the why, the
How, & I too was far from
Fathoming the motives
Of assassins, the signs, the
Shift in temperature, in air,
As if from a distant oil fire.
I believe it ill fortune
That the tank didn’t blow
When bullets hit our car.
I believed I was never more wild
Than while screaming:
Bastards, god damn you,
& smashing the wind shield.
I was wrong
I’m wilder now, the stinking
Sticky scarlet shroud,
A tattoo of you losing
What we held last
& I can not rest, let go
Of the moment when our blood
Is not mixed here on this cloth.
Where is an enemy to head toward,
Even lie under, so I can be sure
I am your ghost before morning,
Before the knowledge I do not want,
The point of you being
Not being
& that nothing
too much
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8. |
Helen
05:04
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Burnt (Helen Speaks)
I have met you before. You were
Somebody else. My gaze
Says nothing, my fingers,
My lips.
I am still as the core of a
January northeaster
Waiting for the sky to grow
Clear with its cold fire,
The stars.
My skin is singed with their
Half-life, a wafer gone yellow,
Harsh, crisp, brittle
From one passing love, and then
The next and the next-----
Really, a whole legion...
That is what I dream of
And wake sensing no loss,
Only a huge hushed din.
It’s a riots’ aftermath.
I’m here to tell you
That’s why this won’t work.
Once, like an epic
Such a potential passion might
Have risen to quell the burning.
Then, from the ocean, we would
Have flown, a couple of comets
To the heavens.
Presently I am wiser,
Having no fantasy wooling my eyes.
The most steadfast lover is sadness,
Sometimes stern, but authentic.
Earlier you called me angel.
That’s when I fell.
Lies, lies.
Troy remembers
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9. |
Isis as Mortal
05:03
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Isis as Mortal
Feline as the sphinx & more veiled
With secrets, I’m re-rising
From my last burial
Yet keeping it all contained.
This is a primitive thing: only eyes,
Breath moving, the pulse probing beneath
Dunes to unearth winds, the old crypts.
They will search you out.
Centuries I have, the will of stock
Found in a Nile steep with blood
& equally black.
That darkness invites light & shelters it,
Sun or moon, cast magnetic over poles
So you, Osiris, shall surely be a drawn tide.
Make no mistake. I do not stir at amulets
Left, wince when inscriptions scratch
Or some soul breaks off bits of my hide,
A remembrance of solace, the most my quiet
Profile has given, & gives…
Will that always be enough?
I can’t afford to question, have doubt,
A conscience of luxury. I can’t afford knowing
Distraction erodes or could give hope
When I am so fixed by this position
& never dream of you as lost.
Lost! As if one could misplace a heart
Ripe in the throat, in the gaze, as if
One were not yet a temple fullest
When empty of all but one thing.
Osiris, my walls turn to veins & the veins
Are highways. They travel long, go deep,
Waiting not for caravans, the usual parties,
But for the day, the night, where concrete
Turns to sand & your waters come in…
Still, I must admit, many of these wanderers
Have such need & I see, feel them as lovable,
Not made of stone after all, Osiris, nor even,
Quite, nine hundred lives
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10. |
Patroclus
02:44
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Patroclus
Wound to my wound, my groom
Your foot, a betrothal to pain…
Should I let go of it there in the tub,
The great ice vat where we’ve laid you?
I think not, not yet, forged to your loins
By faith.
The curtain’s sweep is a roman toga,
& your more pronounced nose, your rib’s
Jutting hull, roman as well.
Do not protest, I say to myself, a surveyor
Of these signs: the untimely flesh, the plates
Of bone, the cape of waves in the wake
Of all that melting
Thanks to lime rubbings with alcohol…
Gladiator, savior, enemy, brother, lover of mine-----
We don’t get off that easy since, even at the beginning
There was an arena, Olympics, torches, our sky,
A spearhead. I count the flames still
& wash your spine down, your thin thighs leaning,
Finding my own, & as for that one leg,
Its amputated absence, I bless the warrior’s sacrifice
There, name it brave, sacred even, to keep the blaze
Of my own injury as tenderness raging
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11. |
Bagoas
06:36
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Bagoas
Won’t there be snow?
Our mouths would be cups,
our hands, helmets
taken off for a dip.
Homage is the greatest gift
to the giver as well.
Earnestness is the only quality
this loyalty has left.
Earnestness! Loyalty!
More pure instinct, my lord,
devotion, the whole soul,
and longing deeper than thirst,
the knot of it, love and fear
dragging on past the grip.
Here, not even cowardice
can have any force.
Cowardice——
the waterless days, the sands,
the gourds withering...
Cowardice——
the mica mist, the feet stirring
grit, the thousands pushing forth
through mirages, and through the dropping
of horses, the haze, the haze,
and with much farther to go...
That’s why keening stays silent.
That’s how whispers fill the gulf,
and you, in fountain shimmers,
the spectacle of good sun——
How shall I know you
without your wounds,
the heat of them,
Sebastian’s?
How shall I know you at all,
gentle tyrant, without the blaze of
your marks which my hands did fondle
‘til we were both cool?
Here, waiting to cross another drying
stream, a different fissure,
visions appear:
crags this side of Eden,
and, Alexander, battles.
Did exploration take conquering?
Did freedom take funerals?
Now we are dissolute.
Now evaporative spirits rain upward,
and how shall I find you?
Look. Snow is falling,
its wet feathers prayers
of spring, and I was only sleeping,
some seer in fever, but what
do these words mean
when your arms are so close,
when this tent has their heat,
and outside there’s just the heavens?
Come, my lord, the men have struck water
and I must say nothing
of all that I dreamed.
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12. |
His Coat
02:11
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His Coat
Come. Bring me to it.
We could pretend anything.
Pretend I were Judith & that fabric
Actually Holoferne’s head.
Aren’t those buttons his eyes?
Please do not pluck them
Unless it is to lay their shine
Upon mine. Yes, then fit
The epaulets to either ear &
Make a crown of the medals.
Anything, I say again, anything
As in even burn, bury my arms
In those arms
To once more have his warmth,
He who was our enemy
According to the flags that know
Not our names.
Yes, according to the flags that know
Not our names,
I am traitor, you, assassin, & he,
This riddled cloth woven to hold flesh,
Innocent of everything while mad
With the design of love
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Stephen Mead Albany, New York
A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published outsider artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. If you are at all interested please place his name in any search engine in conjunction with any of the above-mentioned genres for links to his multimedia work and merchandise. To order CDs via VISA or PayPal please visit stephenmeadmusic.weebly.com ... more
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