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I wrote this song with a little poetic inspiration from Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Listen or Download (takes a few seconds to play).

Moon rich sky, I feel each
phase of time go by
long and high, I hear them echo by

Richer than the bluest blue
of velvet skies
I hear them echo by, echo by

Echoing dying, dying, forever dying

Echoes part in two from
heart to heart, two heartbeats
lost in time, echo by

Echoing dying, dying, forever dying

Taken by the hand with
no reply she sees
all her hopes and dreams
echo by

Echoing dying, dying, forever dying
forever and ever and ever…

(c) Mary C.M. Phillips
Produced by Mark Phillips

Inspired by Alfred Lord Tennyson’s The Princess
Mary C.M. Phillips: vocals, keys
Mark Phillips: guitars, drums, bass, vocals

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

The flying cloud, the frosty light:

The year is dying in the night;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind

For those that here we see no more;

Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife;

Ring in the nobler modes of life,

With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

The faithless coldness of the times;

Ring out, ringlet my mournful rhymes

But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,

The civic slander and the spite;

Ring in the love of truth and right,

Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

Ring out the thousand wars of old,

Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand;

Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be.

-Alfred Lord Tennyson

Wishing you all a Happy and Healthy New Year, full of inspiration, love, good books, and poetry, Mary

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With all the tension in today’s world, a little poetry and humor is a welcome remedy.

This past Thursday, poets gathered at the Onyx Theatre in Oakdale, New York for an uplifting evening of poetry and the launch of Rhyme and PUNishment (yes, you read that right), an anthology of comedic verse.

One of my poems appears in the book.

Below are some photos from the event.

Remember…

when the tough realities of the world are heavy,

humor can take away some of that weight.

Wishing you happiness — and lightness — for the holidays,

Mary

 

 

 

 

 

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This past Saturday poets gathered at The Walt Whitman Birthplace in Huntington, New York for fellowship, poetry readings, and most importantly…Bards Annual 2019 book launch.

The spirit of Whitman was alive and well as poets shared pieces of their heart and soul through the “glory of expression.”

With much gratitude, one of my poems is included in this wonderful new anthology.

 

Re-examine all that you have been told…dismiss that which insults your soul. – Walt Whitman

 

 

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Dusted off my KORG synth, recited a new poem, and pressed RECORD.

Feel free to listen.  It’s free…like all good things.

#SpokenWord #Poetry.

LISTEN HERE (FREE)   –    or Download HERE

 

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You must be the judge of your own happiness. – Jane Austen

I need to remind myself of this fact every so often.

When I experience the pleasure of simply staying home, by myself, I find that I am my best creative self.

I’m not surprised, however, when I’m crafting a poem, journaling, or reading, to hear the world whisper into my solitude saying, “Come outside and play with others.”  And I must admit there are a couple of options today:  the Mets game or meeting a friend for a hike.  But the simple pleasure of sitting in my little yard just journaling (and listening) are more appealing.

I know what makes me happy. blog happiness

Knowing what makes you happy is key in finding a sense of peace and moving forward.

To sit under a cloudless sky, happily in solitude, interrupted only by the occasional Blue Jay or Cardinal may seem boring to most, but it allows my mind to creatively wander.  I can actually hear myself think — and the voice I hear sounds calm and wise and happy or better yet…content.

We all deal with that constant nag of being productive, but it is sometimes just that…a nag.  The nag’s voice is not so sweet, and frankly, it’s annoying. So, I’m ignoring him today.

Hope you all find some creative solitude this week…

let your mind wander…

and find your happiness.

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Yesterday after work, I took a walk by the former home of Edna St. Vincent Millay at 75 1/2 Bedford Street.

I suppose the address includes “1/2” as the building itself is squeezed between two others, uniquely the slimmest on the block.  A befitting address, I think, as her voice was poetically unique.

Her middle name derives from St. Vincent’s Hospital (now closed) on 12th Street.  It was the hospital in which her uncle had been healed just before she was born.  She actually preferred being called Vincent, but her teachers refused to use the name, one calling her ANY female name but Vincent.

The shops on and around Bedford Street have of course changed, but the spirit of art still hangs in the air; the scent of coffee, bold paintings in shop windows, a flower stand on the corner of Cornelia Street.

From the corner of Bedford, one can see the red plaque that hangs above her former door and the thought of her sipping on a cup of coffee on the stoop beside 75 1/2 made me smile.

The plaque reads:

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950) – The irreverent poet who wrote “my candle burns at both ends” lived here in 1923-1924 in the time she wrote The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver, for which she won a Pulitzer Prize.    

The area is still charming and full of life, but (as you can read in her stanza below) there were times in which she craved the open air of the shore.

EXILED

Searching my heart for its true sorrow, 

This is the thing I find to be: 

That I am weary of words and people, 

Sick of the city, wanting the sea; 

Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness 

Of the strong wind and shattered spray; 

Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound

Of the big surf that breaks all day ….

* * * *

I snapped a few photos, felt an urge to blog about it (as I’ve now done), stopped by See’s on West Eighth Street for a few pieces of dark chocolate,

and, although not sick of the city myself…

headed home to the (sometimes salty) air of Long Island.

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