See the Forest

In the dampness of the castle,
The shamans words, lay so thin.
Yet, my mind sees the armor,
Filling all with sounds so din.

Through our history rages battle.
Holding lives on fragile string.
Will we reach a higher level,
When war is only in songs to sing?

Threatened now, my brave young soldiers,
In this task you undertake.
As they push you to the front line,
Are your lives the bones to rake?

Do the leaders, not see the future?
Is compassion not in their heart?
Are we souls with no tomorrow,
Going blindly, as if we’re bought?

Stand up straight and see the forest.
See each tree as human man.
Find your path and know it’s distance.
Let the healing start again.

CAWatson08/30/2008

So Fair….

Birdhouse sitting in the garden,
Flowers blooming from the spring.
Sun dappled on the deck boards,
Country life has taken wing.

Cicada chirping through the woodland,
Squirrels scolding as they play.
Summer breeze, swaying tree tops,
Butterfly flying, in it’s butterfly way.

Air that smells of moss and freshness,
Pulling in it’s waif sweetened joy.
Filling me with it’s glorious wonder,
Then drifting off, remaining coy.

Oh, the sad ones that live in heartache,
War and famine, lives in despair.
Here I sit with calm woods around me.
How long will my life, stay so fair???

CAWatson08/30/08

Webs Gone Wrong

Stumbling down the every day streets,
Of a twisted, confused, mind.
Seeking out conventional thoughts,
Not knowing another kind.

Government objective, based on control,
Doesn’t care if it’s you or me.
Saying it’s for the good of all,
Why are people dying to be free?

Caught inside of webs gone wrong,
Challenging others to war.
Agendas full of greed and lies,
Totally missing what life is for.

We must stand together, now.
We must see a change.
Purity lost it’s soul somehow,
Can’t let it, get out of range.

CAWatson2008

Hounds of Sadness

The hounds of sadness,
Are biting at my soul.
They started in the basement,
Now, they’ve reached the first floor.

Coming with their misery,
Trying to bring me down.
Trying to wipe the smile away,
From this tired, happy, clown.

I’m gonna throw them a bone,
Let them chew on my heel.
Won’t let them come in,
Don’t like how they feel.

The politics are political.
They have to pay their debt.
They say change is coming.
Could be a hole in the net.

The wars are expanding.
Everyone wants to have a say.
I merely want to pay my bills,
And, have a good day.

CAWatson 08

Privacy…..

Two proverbs say it best: Quis custodiet custodes ipsos? (“Who watches the watchers?”) and “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

This is from a Wired article about Privacy….interesting read.

http://www.wired.com/politics/security/commentary/securitymatters/2006/05/70886

With a different look at real…

Hey there, ol’ McKay
I have to tell you straight a way…
I don’t think you’re right,
About only cowboys havin’ insight.
You don’t have to be a cowboy,
To know a cowboys soul…
You don’t have to put up fence,
To see the sweat and toil…

I had an Uncle Bob…
From Montana, Arizona, Arkansas, Missouri…
and probably a few more…
Started out in Kansas
You’ve probably met him somewhere before.

Well, he played a metal guitar….
Played it loud and free.
I can still see him sitting on that ol’ stump
In the middle of the desert…us singin’ harmony.
The heat from the campfire felt good at night.
His old dilapidated camper, glimmering in the light.

I grew up watching my Uncle Bob…
He could do anything….anything at all.
He was an average looking guy…
A little rounded, and not too tall,
He was happy and natural
He went with the flow.
There was always something different…
Wherever he’d go.
He once  worked for a silica mine.
I got to see him set the dynamite.
The way he did it, so exact and precise
And lordy, it blew up with a  fright.

I ‘ll have to mention my Uncle Jean….
He was a mountain man….with self esteem.
He worked rescues a while, in Colorado.
He never divorced his wife,
He couldn’t take the battle.
Did his own construction thing
At hard work, he’d never balk.
He was quietly,direct, and said few words,
Sometimes the silence was louder than the talk.

There are more that I’m related to
and then…
There are the ones, I related to……

He was a bull rider…good looking as the morning dew.
I related to him real well, whenever he rode through.
We both knew the story, we both understood,
I learned about cowboys, they’re a powerful herd.
He’d ride those bulls, broken ribs and a cast..
I miss those days, since we drifted apart, at last.
We’d go to the bar, after the rodeo,
They’d play those country emotions, and we’d dance real slow.

Now, don’t take me wrong,  McKay….
I’ve all the respect for you in the world…
You’re living the dreams, that I only feel,
You’re a true cowboy, and a man to behold.
However, I must argue about knowing a cowboys soul….
I think a woman may know it, even a little more.

I’ve heard the storm….
I’ve felt the wind….
I’ve known the moment….
I’ve seen the sin….

I’ve seen pain in a cowboys eyes,
I felt the clawing in his throat…
…I realized…
A cowboys heart, is hard and tender,
It’s as if it’s a soul, that man can’t render.

Carol Watson 8/14/2008

The Hired Hand…

The hours are long,
The days are hard.
There’s a lot of beans and eggs,
Quick fried in lard.

See those purple mountains?
Smell that pinion and sage?
They make it all worth doin’,
They’re part of the wage.

Long ago is the time,
I’ve sat down to dinner,
With family and neighbors,
On a cold night in winter.

There’s a part that’s missing.
It’s not in my soul.
That family thing….
I can’t make it a go.

Sometimes, I long for friendship.
Someone to soothe my wounds.
A woman to understand me,
As we slow dance to favorite tunes.

Then, I stop and look around me.
I’m a hired hand through and through.
I can’t settle in one place.
I can’t live a “me and you”.

My hands are worn and tough.
I don’t have no social graces.
Why, I’d stumble with my words.
I can’t look ladies in their faces.

So, let’s talk of cattle and horses…
That’s what I know how to do.
I can build a chicken coop,
I can run a fence that’s true.

In brakin’ horses, I’m gentle.
In standin’ my ground, I’m mean.
I can track a bobcat,
I’m fast and I’m lean.

I’m honest as a hog is stubborn,
And, on occasion, can shoot the breeze.
But, about that family life,
No thank you, please.

CAWatson 2008

The Old Man…

The Old Man

In the midnight hour,
Of the bright full moon,
An old man danced,
As he played his tune.

Played it full.
Played it strong.
Played every note.
Played nothing wrong.

Yet…sadness welled,
Upon my soul,
As the music played,
In a rhythmic flow.

All the wrongs,
I’d ever done,
Overlapped in my mind,
Becoming one…

Thoughts of judgment.
Thoughts of hate.
Thoughts of hurt.
All that would berate.

The music filled me.
Made me cry.
Made me see,
It was all a lie.

The old man stopped,
He touched my tear.
Then he whispered gently,
“Have no fear.”

“All is right,
That is not wrong…
Let go of the guilt,
You’ve carried too long.”

I took his words.
I did begin…
I never saw,
The old man again.

CAWatson08/02/2008