Stephen Pickering

Poem | “Thunder Painting”

Stephen Pickering — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 08:42:00 +0000

Don’t be desireous under White Mountain
The river’s tall feathered tail
Will turn you into a fountain.
Will wish you away
To a faraway place
In the dream boat’s desert Sun
Buried beneath a 17th century ruin.
You won’t get to stay up and play.
Each door will turn you away
You won’t burn your fires at midnight
Or dream of the horse haired magic at twilight.
The cattle callers will stake their claim
Down your captured mustang mane.
This time it has begun.
Now you are forever on the run
From the father with a shot gun
From the book that’s never done.
A story of a man who climbed a rope
And a Giant up there with whom he’d have to cope.
If not he may sleep on the stove or be a meal
When there’s a castle on your head
That’s part of the deal.
If you find your way down
You’ll be the talk of the town.
Covered in Goose down
Eveywhere to go golden eggs rolling around.
Rescue Mother from debt.
Get this weight off of your head.
Lift the Goddess of Sais’ silken veil.
For the New World set sail.
But your Indian master has been two places at once
Before he sold Manhattan for a buck.
Inside his pipe is a 10,000 year old pine,
Japanese Geisha girls and black Saki wine.
It’s one hundred home made catamarans
Sailing Chinese warriors to settle Peruvian lands.
They’ll block your walls and tear down your office
If all you can think of
Is sex with the White Buffalo Goddess.
So when you approach her, lay down your mask.
Let the blue Moon dance on the snowy fields and pass.
Let the deer’s eyes see through the men with guns
To the glistening forest and endless mountains beyond.

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Poem | “9 Miracles”

Stephen Pickering — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 00:07:11 +0000

We can all be good.
The rough beast crawling towards Bethlehem
says, “You should.”
But we can let it go,
face in the wind, rain, and snow,
as the falcon of our soul soars off Kilimanjaro.
The distant bells
are Black Sea shells,
and her lips sail closer
as we fall deeper
into a dreamless sleep, dryer than the Sahara,
only broken up by the sparkle of the Sun lasered sand
that the beast remembers as a once fruitful land.
At once we transcend Pharoah’s gold
and the story of Yusef that’s been told
of falling in a well and into Egypt being sold.
It doesn’t hold as much for us anymore now that the fire
has colored the mountain and drinken from the well
of thirsty distraction that’s blinded to the veil
covering the passage to the Promiseland.

We hold true to these words,
heart given to each other,
and our congregation formed like a ring of birds.

One for the Trinity two for the show
three to take the chances so that all can know.

Isis can hold us up even as she nurses the productions of time
in search of her husband the divine.

We sit on the throne, a Supernova
that produced all this gold,
as the serpent slithers towards Rome.
Ptolemy falls from the Alexandrian stacks
carrying the Moon and stars on his back.
Someone such should know
that the Caliphs have buried his secret scroll.
The priests drown the halls in chants
as the prince discovers the burning bed.
Each Irish maidens’ beauty more spectacular than the next
as Olympus opens each door to the morning breath,
and Demeter sprints to Avalon
with the message of Aquinas’ last glance.

A New Poem | “Octavia Blue”

Stephen Pickering — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 19:45:57 +0000

Let’s relax for a moment.
A raison d’être will be our token.
The city is broken.
The few who’ve moved here haven’t spoken.

The fugue in Boston will have it lit for March,
Springing a dolphin jump over Constantine’s Arch.
But they can’t make their decisions in any sort of style.
It means we’ll be waiting in this district of oranges for a while.

The valley of the beast
Needs a decent release.
It’s good the smoke’s stopped here
Before killing all the Hudson’s flock of deer.

I’ve looked at you for a moment.
Wow, I didn’t die or become frozen!
I’ve taken the Chinese coast by storm
Soon my personality there will be all the norm.

They will be drinking my blood in Calcutta,
Drunks scrapping the Ganges for God, or the son of.
Yesuf they call him? He came here a few years?
Yes, here he learned the tricks to tear the Devil to tears.

By what caravan did he arrive jaded in gems?
Oh alone, discreet, no one can even swear it was him.
You don’t understand these new age Gods:
Not flashy, they’re more subtle with their charms.

Did he visit the Buddha’s holy tree?
Yes, there he envisioned how his would turn out to be.
Did he think the Empire would have come this far?
Yeah, but he never dreamed things would get so dark.

Shall we return to the tavern for one more drink?
Yes, by Jove, it’s the only thing that let’s us think!
One more question is nagging me: what about the girl?
Oh, he thought ’bout it a while, but then figured he’d save her
For the next World.

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Ocean City (A Poem)

Stephen Pickering — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 12:54:29 +0000

There are stars inside my blood
And my blood’s inside a star.
We’ve rolled the comet oceans, survived the flood,
And harmonized infinite worlds inside a beating pulsar.

I saw silver tonight and one red flame.
My sky was below me and my sea above.
Though we knew the answer, we couldn’t say the name.
We became pure feeling, but it wasn’t hate or love.

The true victory lies inside the undefined.
True love was two minutes before you were not mine.
When the ship returns with his golden flock,
Greece will be restored, and Hermes never stopped.

The old German man looks down from the Bavarian Alps,
Watching the Ionian fishermen scratching their scalps.
The Fisher King returns damaged goods
To his drawbridge castle hidden in the English woods.

The maiden escaping the God turns into a doe.
Pluto knowing both, hesitates, and turns white as snow.
All the kids take photos of St. Petersburg’s colorful dancers
While an iceburg dead eyes the city, waiting for answers.

Finally the two of us feel good as rain.
Two more days and we’ll bake these alleyways again.
The twelve headed monster respects no sleep.
But he didn’t know what slayed him was us waking while we dreamed.

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Where’s the King?

Stephen Pickering — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 09:20:36 +0000

Where’s the King,
The radiant crown?
All winter long he’s been down,
Down to the ground,
Driven by a stake.
Oh, how he pays for the glowing mistake.

But I’ll take you in my arms at night.
Alice will soon find the cat,

And everything will be alright.
The lake will glitter with moonlight
With the boxers exuberant by the pool
Not understanding where he’s at.

Will we go to school
Or hooky down by the river
Protected by the Cottonwoods and the cool
Shoals that makes our souls shiver?

An ant awaits us to give up our thoughts,
To set our books down by the stream.
He digs his hole in search of the literary dream,
the fairy tale, the only thing
that can truly be lived out in Spring.

He’ll say I loved your wonderful musings
But the sentence you wrote on Romeo’s confusing.
Shouldn’t you kiss or at least hold her hand?
And let go of the reins like a romantic man?

The Russians are under ground, you know,
Dating bronze, silver, and golden girls
Who’ve built castles under the snow.
Each night I speak to them
To see how their adventure’s turned.
Pa Ruuski is not the language we speak
It’s one you never heard

Jesus’ triangle sweeps the West.
Buddha’s the East.
They say the great mountain fills the South
With eternal life for he who sucks from it’s rivers mouth.

But you should take your girl now
And go back to school;
Back to the chambers of the golden rule.
There will be other times
To play and frolic and rhyme.
Come back tomorrow and you’ll lose your sorrow.
Come back next week,
I’ll bring you the dream you seek.

Catfish at night: the crickets delight.
They belong in eternal June
Hanging from the crescent Moon.
Lay here for a moment, but then you must leave soon.
Isn’t that what your mind says?
But rejoice, for you may leave your Soul here,
for all of eternity, to swoon.

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How to Use an iPhone as a flash drive

Stephen Pickering — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 02:52:19 +0000

Easy, just use iPhone-Explorer from Mypod apps. It’s really cool and free, for Windows or Mac. It’s a little program that browses the files and folders of an iPhone like it were an external drive. Nice because iTunes keeps a lot of things hidden, for instance sound recordings and notes. But it’s also nice to have direct access to all your files on any machine, without always going through the cumbersome iTunes, which sort of locks it down to one machine.

I’m going to add it to my ‘Cool Apps and Sites’ page now.

You can go to their page and download it here; iPhone-explorer.com

Raw Video: Chile’s Quake Caught on Camera

Stephen Pickering — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 02:37:24 +0000

Song: “My One Intention” Rock Organ Remix – Album Version

Stephen Pickering — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 23:39:15 +0000

My One Intention v.3.0 Album Version by spickeringlr

iPhone Link

A New Original Song “My One Intention” v.1.3

Stephen Pickering — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 04:10:06 +0000

MyOneIntention1.3 by spickeringlr

iPhone Link

Man, I’m getting tired of this song too. I’m mostly obsessing over it, not because I love the song so much, but because I’m trying different things with Garageband and trying to see in my mind if I can make a professional sounding recording out of it. This is important to the back of my mind, the creative part. Whether to march forward or learn a new program. For this mix I’m testing Wire Tap as an exporter, as I haven’t been happy with Garageband’s “share” feature, as far as how the final mixdown sounds.

“My One Intention” (Remix)

Stephen Pickering — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 20:58:38 +0000

Stephen Pickering “My One Intention”(Remix)
iPhone Link

I’ve been messing with this song for a few days in Garageband. I put a beat in there and some loops. I cut 6 vocal tracks thinking I’d take the best of each one and mix it down and then at the last minute, or maybe I was just being lazy, I decided to see what it sounded like with all 6! It’s different, kind of 60’sish, but trying different things is fun, keeps the creative juices flowing.