third seven recordings

may your soul's lamenting ease
february 2014
tsr 024 - (view artwork)

ingrid bomann-larsen (pen) courtesy of, robert kyniston (melody), billy mickelson (harmony)



01 recuérdame

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02 moss rose

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03 green heron (for miles kyniston)

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04 the wall

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05 mourning dove

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06 marionette

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-00 zero

smoke rose in the distance. the sun turned hazy red. i tried to see what she was seeing. i tried to hear what she said. she lifted her nicotine hands. to cover her swollen eyes. and whispered a prayer of mourning. i watched the smoke rise.

-03 green heron (for miles kyniston)

twenty-one days before it flew directly overhead. taken as an omen. one i hope correctly read. that luck is still alive. that fortune hasn't died. that you will grow up strong. take the world in stride. and all my faults. and weaknesses. will be overcome. and i will give you everything i can. my son.

-04 the wall

she held her hands cupped together. letting them fill with rainwater. there was a grace about her as she stood in communion with nature. a sort of kinship with the rain and the steel grey sky. and as i watched the water roll over the edges of her fingers. it brought to mind images of waste and of plenty. i thought of trees with their fruit eaten by birds unnoticed and unneeded by we who inherited them. the lamb and the calf bred until ubiquitious upon the landscape and consumed in unnatural forms. out of want over need. i looked up to catch her gaze to tell her my clever observations. but her eyes were closed. and the expression on her face was such to inspire deep and resonant serenity. then as suddenly as the rain had
it stopped.

-05 mourning dove

will you paint for me. a mourning dove. soul is not so radiant white. it longs to be reconciled with love. strickenwith life and the faults thereof i've no affinity for your light. will you paint for me a mourning dove. the great omniscient force above. has left me here alone in the night. longing to be reconciled with love. i still remember losing this love. and hold its ghost now close and tight. will you paint for me. a mourning dove. like the string drawn in the archer's glove. the object of his wrath in sight. longing to be roconciled with love. my flame burns on in remembrance of spirit stolen in an unfair fight.

- robert kyniston.

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