Get It Going

In the quiet corner of the morning light,
where coffee's aroma swirls in the air,
the blank page beckons, pure and unaware,
whispering softly, "Get it going, write."

The painter stares at canvases so white,
brush in hand, with a distant, thoughtful stare.
"Get it going," the colors seem to dare,
mixing hues that turn the shadows bright.

"Get it going," hums the gardener, green,
as seeds in soil begin their secret toil.
Life's a canvas, a page, a plot of soil,
a universe of acts yet unseen.

So whatever you do, let passion sing,
set it in motion, let the morning bring.

Get It Going

In My Mind

In My Mind -with AnandaTuk

The Breeze And The Leaves

In the heart of the ancient Irish wood, 
Where emerald leaves whisper secrets old, 
The breeze dances with the leaves, soft and free, 
Their union a dance of life and mystery.

The breeze, a troubadour, weaves its sweet song, 
Caressing each leaf with tender embrace, 
Their rustling notes echo through the glade, 
A symphony of time, in that sacred space.

Leaves, like ancient manuscripts, unfold, 
Their veins etched with tales of forgotten lore, 
They flutter, eager to share their wisdom, 
As the breeze listens, yearning for more.

And so they dance, the breeze and the leaves, 
In the Irish forest, where magic weaves.

The Breeze And The Leaves

Times Mist

In the dawn's hushed breath, a veil unfurls,
A mist that clings to ancient stones and trees,
Obscuring memories of distant worlds,
Where time dissolves and whispers on the breeze.

Through dew-kissed meadows, spectral shadows roam,
Their footsteps fading into yesteryears,
As morning sun ignites the mist to foam,
Revealing secrets lost to mortal fears.

Within this shrouded realm, the past converges,
Where moments blend like watercolors gray,
And echoes of forgotten lives emerge,
Brief glimpses of eternity at play.

So let us wander through this veiled domain,
Where time and memory entwine again.

Times Mist

Remembering

Remembering, like whispers in the dusk,
The fragments of our yesterdays unfold,
A tapestry of moments, frayed and old,
Where shadows dance, and memories, they trust.

The scent of rain on cobblestone streets,
The echo of a half-forgotten song,
The taste of salt upon the ocean's tongue,
All woven into time's relentless beat.

We trace our steps along the faded shore,
Where footprints merge with waves that ebb and flow,
And seek the solace of what once was known.

Yet memory, a fickle muse, we implore,
To weave our pasts into a tale of grace,
As we embrace the fading light's embrace.

Remembering

Cycle

Cast of Characters:
Witches of the Alamo-- @witchesofthealamo – James – acoustic guitar, vocals, lyrics, and composition
TexMex Shaman–@texmex-shaman –Stephen– electric guitar. production, and mix
J.J. Terrell–@j-j-terrell – piano
K2 and the Three [and the Four]--@k2andthe3, @k2-kara -–Ken–drums
Entheogenic Psychonaught (Josh Clary)–@josh-clary-1 –- four-string fretless bass
This song started as a hauntingly beautiful acoustic piece written and performed by James on his acoustic guitar. He shared it with JJ, who got the rest of us involved. JJ first added his barroom tinkle piano to the piece. Stephen quickly added the moody, tremolo guitar you hear throughout. Then, Josh and Ken did their little dance of back-and-forth bass-drum tracks until the rhythm section was solid. All that was left was for Stephen to mix it, with which we always appreciate his expert hand. 
  This is our first song with James, and it came together relatively quickly, which means we were all into it and having fun on it. James' page has a lot to hear on it-- some great originals and collabs, and some really cool covers, too. If you like this song, you'd really enjoy stopping by his page, too. As always, we hope you enjoy listening to this one as much as we enjoyed making it.

Shadows At My Door  (Eclectic Collective feat. Witches of the Alamo)

We Go All Night

Shoreditch

Swing That Time

Let the music play, let rhythms chime,
In the heart of night, we find our prime.
With every beat, our souls entwine,
Swing that time, in syncopated rhyme.

The bass walks deep, the trumpet cries,
Melodies weave where passion lies.
In the dance, our spirit flies,
Swing that time, 'neath starlit skies.

Jazz notes soar, in freedom's claim,
Each measure's breath, ignites a flame.
In this moment, we're all the same,
Swing that time, in life's grand game.

Let the music play, don't let it die,
Swing that time, where dreams defy.

Swing That Time

Rhythm Of Life

Peter is a member of STEF (The Performing Rights Society of Iceland) and FTT (The Icelandic Society of Authors & Composers).
He has made around or more than 15 thousand music works, 7 thousand poems and 5 thousand landscape paintings...

Get It Going

Pétur Söebech Quinn

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