Another hot-too-soon Summer brings forth searing winds fresh off their forest fires and burning oils; awakening our inner sun. I do better in Autumn and Winter. AT least these sounds make sense and relieve me.

Rising Fire, Burning Wind

Another journal moment turned song in-the-making. I can't wait to add beats and sounds behind this. I always stumble into my favorite songs when this guitar is stretched out of tune; it's an inspired twang. I left the mistakes in at the beginning, for that late night feel.

Lyrics to Osha-La and O-Din:

"Silently
we fall into the darkness.

Silently we
make all this 
golden.

Moonlight.

oh light

oh light

Silently
I’m left with your own
circle of trees;
empty swings.

I can almost feel the Snow
kissing my cheeks
making us golden;
like the light.

Golden like a light.

Why can’t we 
find the Center Bear
who sings the songs at night?

I’m made of dark;
I sing the songs at night.

But he’s never there,
to sing the songs at night
with me.

oh where

Where’s the Bear?
Where’s the Bear?
Where’s the Bear?"

Osha - La And O - Din

No Pipeline/24 hour concept demo

Fossil Forest Chapter 2: Ash

Bones get stuck in the Earth’s teeth
only to those who dig.

And we’re uprooting 
all of our history,
when we steal 
these old truths
in the form
of value;
only to rush and to greed.

Oooh.

Lost ribbons fall
across the wind.
They’re spilling our fears,
so beautifully.
Ah 
I let it go,
every time that
loaded wind blows.

Ooh.

Bury 
all 
the old 
roads,
in the ground.
Don’t dig ‘em up;
ever come back.

Everything needs
its rightful death.

Built on
this holding on…, it
breaks the spirit of
the old ones.

You’re making ghosts.
You’re making
broken things.

Fossil Forest: Ash

Pollinic

Planted Copper for the Purging, and Green came out...but differently


Left my home in a garden
of copper;
hands fall
to the dust.

I wish all those plant-tip
stories 
could make print.
But the wind won’t blow here anymore.

Hooooooooo

I gave my sight to the writer
 (a part of me)
Now it’s gone.
Now it’s lost.

I can still hear the heartbeats come in
through
trumpet petals
always
pale violet-blue.

At least they keep my songs bright
in the moonlight
or the sun.
ho
oh
ho.

(Image: blue stain, pollen tubes, eve's apples)

Pollinic

Pneumonia Days- June 2014

Our Land:

Left your old homestead when you went back to the waves

’n Gave me something to plant a getaway

Oh, and it takes my whole heart

the sacks of the burden,

to change the scales

and make this a motion.

Something to give back to the Spinning;

Spinning wheel turn ‘round.

I’ll never leave this old home, 

Though I like to walk all around.

then

It’s the day that all the Birds return
leaving cactuses alight with many jewels of the flight;
Spring slippings; I’ll stick the feathers in my hair.

now

It’s the day that St. John’s goes blooming, tells us it’s June.

I hear no whistle

You’ll never return.

So make this farm home? I made it my home.
-------

Our Land

To my family and acquaintances who voted for Trump:
I will not separate voting for a fascist dictator as a "political difference". This is nothing like the Reagan Years, or any other piece of Republican voting history. This is an era of deep humiliation for the United States, and a genuine exposure to the roots of our country's hatred and fear toward anything OTHER than straight-white-male-patriarchal-domination.
If you voted for a man who was never a politician (but always a racist power monger) until you groomed him to be, you were not voting politically; you were voting hatefully. His only platform is woven clearly, with carefully selected language, native to lifetime KKK members and their ilk. You voted for a man inspired by the "work" of Adolf Hitler. You voted for a man who incites riots that would value mauling my friends and I, because of who we love; who. we. love.
When love is met with that kind of disgust and hatred, the person bearing it can only bring you destruction, manipulation and deliberate harm. Someone who cannot feel love, cannot be comfortable near love, is a person who CANNOT CONSIDER ANY of YOUR NEEDS. Even though you support him, he's using you. And now that you've voted him into power, he will use us all, TO THE BEST OF HIS ABILITY.
It wasn't a political vote; it was a vote against hatred, and you chose wrong.
I won't cut you out for choosing wrong. But I will expect you to figure it out, and change. 
Love and solidarity with all those AGAINST THE DANGEROUS NEW LEVEL of HATE CULTURE EMERGING.

Deflated And Scared

Cold Stars and Pale Flowers 
(A beacon for your eyes)

 "Sometimes 
I know when you fall 
upon the ground. 
Sometimes, 
I know when you call to me 
across the stars. 
I will burn, 
cold as the black; 
never-ending space. 

So far now... 
there are many in the ground who could 
grow into bright 
flowers in your name. 
I will burn..."

Cold Stars and Pale Flowers

Waking the violin, after a month in storage. Stretching the old limbs and feelings.

Out Of Dusted Hollows

We have tomorrow 
by: Erin ROse Winter
7/14/2019

Clock is ticking
You’d still meet me
Clock is going 
with the gears. 

There is metal
being hammered somewhere
There are keys
being made

There are stones breaking
There are mountains
shooting fire

There are skies
skies singing at the stars
and I can hear them. 
—-
Clock is ticking
I’ll read your fortune
you’ll go for a swim

We’ll still feel the same. 

Clock is ticking
I’ll sing your praises
you’ll touch my hair

We’ll still feel the same

Why does everyone 
act like it’s sad
to grow wise

I don’t 
think it’s sad
to grow wise

—
Measure hoof beats 
in the distance
don’t stop us
from walking on

Measured hoofbeats
in the distance 
don’t stop me
from bringing you a faun

of our oldest memories,

in the sun. 

Oh don’t stop me
from shakin’
as I kiss you 
 in the dust. 

I feel your hand in the dust. 

My only
my one

my only
my one

my only
my only
my one. 

I see you 
I taste you
on the day
and the light. 

You hold me
we speak
in this tongue. 

See you tomorrow 
see you tomorrow 
see you tomorrow 
see you tomorrow.

We have Tomorrow-shortened version

Imagine
(what the writers give)

Last night
we sat around the fire.

You held
your book up 
in our eyes.

To tell
the old stories

Light 'em up.

You gave us our pasts.

Oh today,
the sun shines brighter.

We carry
what you gave.

We imagine.

And we'll make
life
from your hope.

From your hope,

from your hope
we'll make life,

brighter.

Imagine

Be The Woods Sound

You sure know 
how to shine 
a light on
these strange nights;

make the trees come alive.

How do you act like the moon
on a word that's spoken
too soon?

Tell me that old story again
so I can 
put my worries down.
They're so heavy now.

Your hug it's
just like walking
through the wet, wet woods,
There are blackbirds and
stolen looks.
All kinds of good.

ooh
All kinds of good.

Thank god for your hands
when we're gone from the cold
morning air and
back to the hospital where
I can't see the sun
I can't hear the birds.

Thank god for the wind
that lives inside you,
that speaks
to the wind inside me.

<3

Be The Woods Sound

All songs recorded as they're being written. Usually into a handheld device, occasionally moved into garage band to add layers. #echofolk
EchoFolk is:
 Described as hollow, acoustic-simple and often very slow; always unmixed. Rooted in ritual folk, and inspired by anything raw and real that the feeling body and loam can make in this life. Experiences conveyed through somewhat poetic allusions, usually musical and always literal carvings around some deeply unbending subjects and candid stances; with sounds edited only for increasing the piece's performance.

Erin ROse Winter

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