Love Survives

George Clark Stone May 25, 1936 – November 4, 2012

Love Survives
By Peter John

Do you search for an answer in the rising Sun?
Do you reach out for comfort from the Moon?
Does your heart long for friendship when the day is done,
When the sky seems dark too soon?

Love survives in the desert.
Love survives in the sea.
Love survives in the memories
Of you and me.
From before we are born
To beyond our lives
Love survives.
Love survives!

When you welcomed your brother who was on the street
Did you offer him shelter from the rain?
At the crossroads where happiness and sorrow meet
The joy overcomes the pain.

Love survives frigid alleys.
Love survives fields of snow,
But it still takes a burning
For a hearth to glow.
When our vengeance has answered
Our hateful drives
Love survives.
Only love could still survive.
Love survives.

It dangles our hearts on a web between
The best and the worst we can feel.
For love sends a scalpel to slice our souls,
And love brings a balsam to heal.

Love survives every promise we fail to keep.
Love endures every fault we pass by.
After anger and envy have wept to sleep
Love alone still survives.

Love attends to the sunshine
But can offer the shade.
Love inhabits the hovels
That our hatred made.
When the night’s creeping darkness
Has left us blind, fear arrives
Love endures it and survives …

When you’ve found all your answers in the sunset’s glow,
When you’ve danced with the moonbeams on the sea,
When I’m never returning, only then you’ll know
The depth of your love for me.

Love survives — I remember
Tender nights, you and I —
Love survives when we wish
That it could simply die.
From before we are born
To beyond our lives
Fate contrives,
Anger weakens,
Hate deprives.
Love survives.

—-
(c) 1991 Peter John Stone. All Rights Reserved.
COntact the author for permissions.
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Read Why it's important to say "I love you"on the Mind Candy Blog

Down The Road

Picture by Tony Karp, http://timuseum.com . Used by Permission

Down the Road
By Peter John

Right here my roots are growing.
Right here my corn is tall,
And I know every fencepost
Like a brother.
I’m leaving God this chunk of sod
My sweat has tilled and hoed,
‘Cause I know I’ll find another
Down the road.

Down the road –
I’ll find a place to pitch my tent
And spend the night.
Down the road –
I’ll find some peace of mind
And set the wrong things right.
Right here your touch is velvet
And your kisses burn like flame,
But down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name.

Right here we drink of friendship.
Right here we sip of love,
Applauding every honest
Man and cheater.
But in this town my jug’s run down,
I’ve paid all that I owed,
And the water will be sweeter
Down the road.

Down the road –
I’ll find a place to pitch my tent
And spend the night.
Down the road –
I’ll find some peace of mind
And set the wrong things right.
Right here your touch is velvet
And your kisses burn like flame,
But down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name.

My thoughts of you weigh more
Than any treasure in my pack,
And that’s the only reason
I might have for coming back.

Right here I saw you smiling.
Right here I took your hand,
And never thought my future
Could be brighter.
Since I can’t flee you’re memory
I’ll bear the heavy load,
But the burden will be lighter
Down the road.

Down the road –
I’ll find a place to pitch my tent
And spend the night.
Down the road –
I’ll find some peace of mind
And set the wrong things right.
Right here your touch is velvet
And your kisses burn like flame,
But down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name –
Down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name.
—-
(c) 2002 by Peter John Stone. All Rights Reserved. Originally published in “Songs in the Key of See” (C) 2006 by Peter John Stone

Thank God I Can’t Believe My Eyes

Thank God I Can’t Believe My Eyes
By Peter John

I see Earth wrapped in heartache.
I see Earth washed in tears.
I see Earth full of wasted lives,
And countless, endless, wasted years –
One vast and dizzy wasteland
Spinning hopelessly through space –
One dark demented landscape,
Lost to heaven, lost to grace –
A planet that’s forever lost its way.
I look around and see it every day.

And I thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Cold shadows surrounding me are only a cruel disguise.
The Sun’s still shining warmly over the overcast skies.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.

I see our armies clashing.
I see their pain and blood.
I see the battles raging on
For empires made on murky mud.
I watch wives turn to widows
Never knowing what it’s for,
While mothers bury only sons,
And orphans march to war.
When peace seems broken far beyond repair,
I hang my head and whisper one soft prayer.

And I thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Cold shadows surrounding me are only a cruel disguise.
The Sun’s still shining warmly over the overcast skies.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.

They say that seeing’s believing.
As I watch my life unfold,
Some days I see myself getting nowhere,
Other days just getting old.

I see my dear ones aging.
I see some pass away.
I see some nurture brand new life
With hope to bring a brighter day.
When everything around them proves
That all their hope is vain,
They face the darkness, fight the wind,
And disregard the rain.
They borrow light from some great source above,
And shelter a tiny candle lit by love.

And I thank God they can’t believe their eyes.
They show that the shadow lands are only a cruel disguise.
They draw warm sunshine down from over the overcast skies.
Thank God they can’t believe their eyes.
And I thank God I can’t believe my eyes.

Cold shadows surrounding me are only a cruel disguise.
The Sun’s still shining warmly over the overcast skies.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.

———————-
“Thank God I Can’t Believe My Eyes” -Music and Lyrics ©2006 by Peter John Stone/Audio & Video Recordings ©2008 by Peter John Stone. All Rights Reserved; Video: Images courtesy US Army, US Air Force, US Navy, US Marine Corps, and NASA-Available artist credited individually in video credits.
Free for all non-commercially related use, provided full credit and copyright notice is given the author. Please inform the author of any intent for creative application. Contact the author for permissions of anything involving funds changing hands, or other transactions of value.

Dark Oracles

Dark Oracles
By Peter John

Electric jungles, black and white,
With bullets broadcast every night,
And body counts from Walter Cronkite.
That’s the way it was …

When screams from someone else’s war
Entranced me on the parlor floor
And Daddy said, “We’re killing for the right
Our country does.”

Now Technicolor airwaves beam the battles from abroad.
The heavy decades of regret and still we’re playing God,
But I have shed the biases my father taught his son,
And recognize the wrong our country’s done …

Now I scream –
This is the wave of tomorrow, it’s breaking,
No soldiers to train.
No sons for the motherland.
No daughters to chain.
No fathers can force us to follow
The trails their lies have worn
No beatings can bring us to follow
The empty oathes they’ve sworn.

Dark Oracles blind us from knowing
The destiny we earn.
They tell us tomorrow must burn,
But the tables still can turn.

Today we are contemplating
Destroying Earth and sky.
No armies will need to be marshaled
If we should ever let the missiles fly.
Our navies will drift unattended
On seas of glowing blood.
Our bones will be washed with extinction
On shores of steaming mud.
A thousand millennia linger
Till dawns another age.
We’re smudges of ink on a finger
That helps to turn the page –
That’s all we are …

Dark Oracles echo our questions
With riddles of their own.
The answers that slice to the bone
We interpret alone.

Our planet is plagued with a species
A tumor in her head
Infesting her face with a growing
Malignant urban spread.
We poison her provident waters.
We scrape away her skin.
We synthesize sunspots in kettles
And melt her flesh to tin.
The hands of the stopwatch are frozen
A second to the bell.
One moment will show if we’ve chosen
To make the Earth a paradise or hell.

Dark Oracles’ blinding ambitions
Are fostered by our fear.
They say a catastrophe’s near,
We create what we hear,
And then we say Dark Oracles are right –
Dark Oracles calling in the night –
Dark Oracles swallowing the light.

The future offers these footsteps,
Oh, Mothers! Your sons refuse to kill.
Your daughters’ desperate oppression is over
Protected by the pill.
No promise of life without aching,
But one more day to live.
No glorious prize for the taking,
But one more chance to give.

Dark Oracles promise tomorrow
Humanity must die,
And then leave us wondering why
Without a clear reply.
It’s time for Dark Oracles to die!

Electric jungles, colorized,
While bullets go unrecognized,
With freedom blindly jeopardized,
Just like the way it was.
——-
“Dark Oracles” – Words and Music © 1991 by Peter John Stone. Video © 2010 by Peter John Stone; Brief tune in video, from “Dark Oracles, © 1991 by Peter John Stone. Please contact author for permissions on any use, but the atuhor offers reasonable terms.

Tequila, Sheila

Tequila, Sheila
by Peter John

Pour me a shot of tequila, Sheila,
Draw me a draft of beer.
It’s getting late,
But the music’s great,
And I like drinking here.
I don’t care if it’s after ten
And I get up at four.
One more shot’ll drag me home.
I can pass out on the floor.

Pour me another gin and tonic.
Pop me a couple of Buds.
I’d like to wade
In the mist I’ve made
And swim in the golden suds.
Lost on a foggy sunset road
I seek a thirsting soul
Drinking misery I don’t know,
Swallowing sorrow whole.

Another shot,
Another bottle,
A filtered quart of my blood —
Another cocktail,
I’ll trade a meal
For a swallow of Tennessee Mud!

Pour me another neon headache,
Congas announcing the dawn.
My pocket’s bled,
And my pounding head
Is taking the morning on.
Bloodshot images steaming thick,
The mirror hears me pray.
Wake me up with one more shot
So I can stagger away.
Hey! Pour me a shot of tequila, Sheila,
Another shot and I’ll stay.

(c) 1991 by Peter John Stone All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.

Premonition

Premonition
by Peter John

The first time that my brother came to visit
My uniform had almost left me mad,
Till on a foreign shore
He found my barracks door,
And I forgot why things had seemed so bad.

A voice I know, a face that looks familiar —
A face that carries features of my own —
He offers me his heart
When mine is torn apart.
He opens up a harbor far from home.

A questing heart, a mind that masters meaning —
A body strong, a soul that earns no shame —
Though I came first in birth
He helps me feel my worth,
And makes me proud to share his family name.

Another time my brother came to visit
When I was free but still had dues to pay.
He stepped into my cell,
Dispelled my private hell
And heaven didn’t seem too far away.

It bothers me to think how much I hurt him
When we were children learning how to grow.
But when I try to say,
He laughs it all away,
And I’m the one afraid to let it go.

So when the Stars and Stripes have brought him homeward,
And set him free to wander once again,
He’s sure to come to me.
I know I’ll never be
As good a man as he’s already been.

The next time that my brother comes to visit
I’ll open up that special jug of wine.
But he can’t help me drink.
So, when he’s gone, I think
I’ll drink it by myself, and I’ll feel fine.

(c) 1990, by Peter John Stone, All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.

The Cross I Carry

The Cross I Carry
By Peter John

I’m not worthy of the cross I carry
But I carry it anyway.
I wear it with the weight of wood
Anchored on bone
By a nail I won’t let fall away
Long as I can feel its loss.
So I still carry it,
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.

I wear mine tattooed on an arm
Of bronze, muscle, and pain —
Drawn from an angry road,
Leather, and steel —
On a one way run
That once begun
Takes  a miracle to leave undone.
But rage won’t let the miracle take the wheel

I’m not worthy of the cross I carry
But I carry it anyway.
I wear it with the weight of wood
Anchored on bone
By a nail I won’t let fall away
Long as I can feel its loss.
So I still carry it,
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.

I eat my fill. I stake all my claims
And claim all of my due,
Confident the poor and weak
Reap what they sow.
Through a cross they made
With a surgeon’s blade
Beats an offering beyond all trade,
And pride denies my gratitude
Room to grow.

But I’ve been blessed!
I’ve been blessed —
Though God knows I don’t deserve it —
Blessed in spite of each old curse
I entertain with each new dawn,
When I choose my daily dues
With loaded dice each losing toss.
Although I carry it, I know
I’m not worthy of The Cross

I bear mine in bottles of dreams
I drain empty and stale,
Or any battle I fight
When I should flee.
For my own strength fails
Facing up at tales
Of a sturdier Cross than the sharpest nails,
No cross I carry, but The Cross
That’s carried for me.

I’m not worthy of the cross I carry
But I carry it anyway.
I wear it with the weight of wood
Anchored on bone
By a nail I won’t let fall away
Long as I can feel its loss.
So I still carry it,
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.
Yes, I still carry it
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.

(c) 2009 by Peter John Stone – All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.

A Song Coming On

A Song Coming On
by Peter John

I feel a song coming on.
When the night air is silent
A symphony tugs on my ear.
I feel a beckoning song
And I wish I could share it,
So all who would listen could hear.
I ran from the rhythm of rocks by the sea
For stillness in solitude under a tree,
But whispering moon dust keeps chanting at me.
I feel a song coming on.

I feel the dawn coming on.
In a scepter of brightness
Assaulting the night’s stubborn shell.
I feel the beckoning dawn,
With a voyage commencing,
And strangers all wishing me well.
Now plunging through spindrift that begs me to stay
I struggle for breath, kicking blankets away
Toward menacing hands that await me today.
I feel the dawn coming on.

I feel the pain coming on.
From the piercing extrusions
That gouge at the death in my skin.
I feel the beckoning pain,
Tugging arms groping outward
From eyeballs compelled to gaze in.
A cold iron virgin is waiting to feed,
And wrapping my world for the howling I bleed
When razor fine feathers advance and recede.
I feel the pain coming on.

I feel a friend coming on.
The beginning of healing,
Auroras that melt where I’m bruised.
I feel a beckoning friend,
While caution responds.
I’m a puppy who’s always abused.
But loyalty answers if honesty’s there,
And each of us offers our efforts to share
The burdens to pressing for one back to bear.
I feel a friend coming on.

I feel a love coming on.
In a garden of daisies
An orchid unfolds into bloom.
I feel a beckoning love,
Though I pause to embrace it,
Determined to give it some room.
The space in a heart that a love needs to grow
Is worth all the blossoms that finally show
When roots sink so deep they will never let go.
I feel a love coming on.

I feel a dream coming on.
Though my eyes are wide open,
My senses soar out into space.
I feel a beckoning dream,
And a rainbow keeps scattering
Kisses all over my face —
And jasmine is dancing through tickling haze,
To echo in highlands where unicorns graze —
A fragrance I fancied I’d find from a phrase.
I feel a dream coming on.

I feel the night coming on,
The comfort it offers while
Gently it’s settling in.
I feel the beckoning night.
It’s a shroud of deception,
So firm, so incredibly thin!
With nothing to fear but my skin in a gown,
When flickering flames force a choice from my frown –
To snuff out the candle, or let it burn down.
I feel the night coming on.

And I feel a song coming on …

—
(c)1983, 1992 by Peter John Stone. All rights reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.

The Wind is A-Risin’

THE WIND-IS-A-RISIN’
by Peter John

I feel those drops begin to fall.
I watch them splatter on the wall.
Is there a way that I can call my home?
Can’t buy a car, can’t hitch a plane,
And waiting for a drenching rain,
I wonder if it’s worth the pain to roam.
Is it worth the pain to roam
Too far to call back home?

And the wind is a-risin’
And the clouds are a fallin’
And the sky is hangin’ low,
And if you ask me where I’m goin’,
I’ll say, “I don’t know.”
And if you ask me where I’m from,
I’ll say, “The place I’ve been.”
I’d like to move, but I don’t dare
Until that voice can tell me where,
Until that still, small, voice can tell me when.

I’ve played the games that rule the night.
The winning’s never worth the fight.
The fighting’s never worth the teeth I lose.
I’m living hard, and living fast,
I’m hoping that my life won’t last
If living’s never worth the life I choose.
Will the memories I choose
Be worth enough to lose?

And the wind is a-screamin’
And the clouds are a-crashin’,
And the sky’s about to fall,
And if you ask me what I want,
I’ll say, “I want it all!”
And if you ask me what I’ve lost,
I’ll say, “I’ve lost my place.”
I’d move ahead, except I fear
No still, small, voice will reach my ear.
I need a voice to coach me in this race.

The storm of life has worn me out.
It’s torn my mind and made me doubt
My purpose here, and in a life beyond.
The waves of time soon pass away.
Though some might capsize ships today,
They’re only troubled ripples on a pond.
Will the ripples on my pond
Lead to a life beyond?

And the wind-is-a howlin’
And the clouds are a-drainin’
And the sky is almost down,
And if you ask me what life is,
I’ll say, “A beggar’s town.”
And if you ask me what death brings,
I’ll say, “You let me know.”
‘Cause when I get there, I’m afraid
That facin’ each mistake I made,
A still, small, voice will say, “I told you so.”
I’d like to move, but I don’t dare,
Until that voice can tell me where.
Without a still, small, voice I just won’t go.
—-

Hear Peter John perform “The Wind is A-Risin'”for a live audience
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Lyrics copyright 1979,1988 by Peter John Stone. All rights reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.—