Archive for Poetry

The Music Drive

Posted in music, Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 19, 2018 by kathydasilva

I have been rounding up old song sheets of mine this last week. The stray and straggling words that rhymed or did not, according to the song, and whether it had been worked on or finished adequately. It seems an endless task to keep up with social media pages, and looking for work, but also realizing, daily, the work could be what I can do already, but, then, there is still the need to practice and perfect and make a choice for change. I was mindful that I had let my MySpace account drift into non-activity. And to be truthful a few events over a five year period held me in a stasis of sorts, not able to explore or move on. Songs for the asking. I think that was an old Art Garfunkel number.

How clever, and talented and timeless. I was so keen to see Snow Patrol recently, in London, there was a private event, which was I suppose the only time this side of Christmas to see them live, but, for an error on my part, over ticketing and entering with the grand masses the tombola of chance freebies. I had as it turns out signed up for their newsletter, but had not seen, that I needed to go out and then back into the web address again and submit my details for the competition. Oh me oh my, how my heart suffered on Tuesday night. Very pleased, to see Gary Lightbody back on tour with his band, with a completely new set of songs.

I watched a video once at a college, teaching the Btech in Music technology. And the video showed American song writers at their own homes in Beverley Hills. The writers of Madonna’s song ‘Like a Virgin’, were two humble, I think gay looking guys. It shot her to fame. And there you have, the main problematical relationship between, all factions, writers, composers, artists, producers. Marketing has changed so much since Apple kind of stole the market on the internet. But, there is always room for more, and the experiment to create something new and original. It is a wonder that these brave artists who spend a vast amount of their lives and freedom touring, and traveling to sell the latest offering of songs, are not given more time out.

Steeleye Span always fascinated me, because of their take on old folk songs of a few centuries back, adding the electric sound of newer rock sounds. Maidens, knights, and highway men. They even fit the subject of religion more graciously than any modern pop, (I saw his blood upon the rose). Lyrics for the song come from Irish poet Joseph Plunkett.

Snow Patrol have outdone anything they produced before with their latest offering. I am a hard person to please, but this album was an easy purchase, and will last I think for some time ahead. I think I love every song on it.

I use to love as a teen, bands like 10cc, or thereabouts, but, even then, most of the ‘bands’ that were worth listening to, were at least a decade ahead of my own years. Billy Joel, was a favorite, and Elton John, and many soloists who of course would sing ballads.

My guitar tutor, who originally was supposed to be teaching me finger-style picking rhythms, use to pick out all the songs with my name in them, even starting me with ‘Kathy’s Song’. But, hey, new songs for old rags.

Savage Garden, meet with a lot of respect from me.

 

I remember posting up some songs/lyrics on a poetry board in Brighton, one National Poetry Day. I did it to show off, my latest scrawling. I did not explain on the sheet they were lyrics, and rather strangely, I may not have even signed the sheet! Some people will call that a naive move, but, I was after all taken up in the spirit of ‘community’, not world market competitiveness. And how strange now it feels, the same goal there in all the work, but, more of a mellowing ascendance.

The Verve came to light in Brighton one day too, when I was living down there, I saw them play live at a promo event. But, even for them, the ‘chart’ had been split between Dance Rave music and Pop. I still feel frustrated that, the Beeb, stopped doing Top of the Pops, and cannot understand, how, anything now gets to be heard, other than through specialist channels, and Television interviews. And to the finer endeavor. I was feeling fierce, about a decade ago, over song rights. But, because of YouTube.com and a few other sites, there is every chance of protecting a song just by recording it. I hope to see some more bands some time this summer.

My own lyrics from a decade or so back, were about me trying to put together some semblance of who and what I believed in in life. They were supposed to be about romance and faith.

(Following lyrics by Kathy Da Silva)

Into the dark night slip away like a tide at the touch of your hand, And the hand of a clock ticks away to the sound of the beat of my heart.

In the blink of an eye turn around to see someone but no one was there, taste of salt on the breath of a love put to death on a cross,

Wood broken skin and the splinters within, The pained cry of a child living on in the memory of a woman, and the stain that’s within is your love growing dim as you move like the wheels of a car rolling swiftly away for a day.

Take a train from your mind and the spider inside weaves a web in your head like an intake of breath or the sweat on your brow when you’re tired.

Repeat ..

Wood broken skin, splinters within…

There, there a song stood, it explained something in my future. The more strange a thing is, the more I find I have to listen. Yes, it probably is not in its finest moment either the poem/song above. But, it is where I wanted the ‘feel’ of something I wrote to be.  My songs need other sounds than me and a guitar. Music is a bit more like a ensemble of percussive and other instruments.

 

 

 

 

 

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The Winepress of God’s Anger

Posted in Poetry, reviews, poetry, Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva, writing with tags , , , , , , on May 16, 2017 by kathydasilva

The winepress of God’s anger

Was created long ago

Our land our lives,  and now our living

Made the G_ A_ P grow

One night in the autumn in a  dark, dark dream

I saw the state of the present stream

The light over all things was grey like a cloud

The people in bondage the world in a shroud

In a shop down town, in the front of the store

I was like a  future bride  coming through the door

Escalators going up, were going to all floors

Well stocked and overflowing, the devil applauds

I couldn’t hear my footsteps, I couldn’t change the light,

There didn’t seem to be a way out  to join the BLESSED fight

I couldn’t find the exit

Which seemed miles away

I was praying for the dawn, I was praying for the Day

The clothes and carpet muffled every step

The giant padded cell,  that was playing with my head

And here’s the real mad house, not the way we’re led

If people can’t see the dark they are in

And turn away from their eternal sin

Stop all their magic, stop all the gain,

Start to live righteous, stop all the pain

Call in the debt the debt to Man

The God of Love can’t stop the plan.

(This and other poems of mine can be found in Life Dance, on Amazon sites globally..)

Breathing

Posted in Autobiography, Poetry, reviews, poetry, Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva, writing with tags , , , , on April 2, 2017 by kathydasilva

Breathing in, and out.. is such a game..

Bellows as lungs, and heart, beats beats beats

A runaway emotion like a runaway child

 

She runs the run toward the main roads light

Remembering, time over time, the calm, the present

Tomorrows that  never come complete with news of change

 

She races, round the cliffs chalk face, toward the bar, where

Only a small few years of life, ages of feelings buried deep

The edge of the reasoning presenting life, eating and sleeping

 

Was I awake at all, hoping for something clear, like the water

Drunk from a tap, and then the same feeling of continuing to

Search souls, my soul the world for souls   that understood.

 

Bellows as lungs, and heart beats, beats, beats

A runaway emotion like a runaway child

Breathing in and out is such a game