This is a song-poem that I wrote the other day. It will be included in my latest writing project - a fantasy novel I am working on. Actually, it's going to be at least a trilogy...
So, perhaps it's the fact that I am heading hypomanic again, but this creative project of mine has gone from a single fantasy novel that I wrote about 50 pages of, and then shelved because I didn't know where it was going to go. Sure enough, 12 years later, inspiration hits me like a lightning bolt from Zeus... suddenly I have the underlying premise of the book, and it has opened doors of creativity and imagination that are firing me and inspiring me to write write write write write... hahaha...
So, now it's going to be a trilogy... I've written 30-odd pages just in a few days, with lots lots more still bubbling away... with the notes and random snippets of dialogue I have written, I've now got probably 350-odd pages of material...
As part of the project, I am going to be writing 13 song-poems... I've reached out to a musician friend, and we are already excited about the project... so yeah... fantasy trilogy with accompanying 13-track concept album...
If you're gonna dream, may as well dream big... hahaha...
Anyhoo, the plan in the book is for each of these song-poems to be the basis of a chapter. The chapter will analyse, explain and expand the themes and concepts in the featured song-poem...
Without further ado, here is my first song-poem... as I was writing it, I had Nick Cave and Tom Waits duking it out in my brain, so that's the kind of sound I'm going to be going for here...
I hope you enjoy... I am very excited about this project... let's milk this hypomanic episode for all it's worth... hahaha...
Hugs and happy vibes beaming to you all... 🙂
Zagamott Grave
I went down to Zagamott grave
With just one simple life to save
Got to work with shovel and sweat
Repaying an unpaid overdue debt
I went down to Zagamott grave
Looking for peace that madmen crave
Digging down as far as I could get
As far as muscles and back would let
I went down to Zagamott grave
Working like a whip-licked slave
Dripping salt gets the shovel wet
As I ante up for the final bet
I went down to Zagamott grave
I did not rant nor did I rave
Digging until bedrock was met
Sparks flying I did not fret
I went down to Zagamott grave
Half of a coward with the other half half-brave
Swap shovel for pickaxe to sing the duet
Remembering the things I was meant to forget
I went down to Zagamott grave
With my pickaxe pen trying to engrave
In rock eternal I write my regret
Working to get my debt reset
I went down to Zagamott grave
Some bodies buried so deep don’t behave
Finally I see a body’s silhouette
My digging is done and I’m not upset
I went down to Zagamott grave
Laid down and waited for the sides to cave
No longer by stronger demons beset
Zagamott sleeping, my maker met
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Zagamott Grave is all about the journey inside yourself, digging away gravely (pun intended here and in the poem's title) and seriously and with great intent at the deep underlying psychological problems in your life... the personal hurts you don't share with anyone... the secrets in your deepest darkest heart of hearts that you don't even share with yourself... the pain bodies and the skeletons buried so deeply that they are poisoning the aquifers that feed the wellspring of your life and your capacity for joy and loving compassion...
You have to dig deep to find the causes of the problems in your life... in all honesty, more often than not, most of our problems are self-made...
Realising that simple insight is all you need to move beyond denial or avoidance or fear or anger or blame, and finally see the harmful patterns of behaviours and emotional responses that rule our lives...
Then we start to gain new insights, and those insights set us free from our demons, our pain bodies, our skeletons... one by one... chipping into the bedrock of our selves, that's what we have to do, because just digging up the soft dirt is simple in comparison, but you're still miles away from the truth...
So many people stop when they hit bedrock... don't stop... you owe it to yourself to hack away at the hard granite bedrock of your self... that stuff was laid down very early on in your life... it is the stuff that supports what you stand on...
If, like me and lots of other people, there were traumas in your young life, then fractures formed in your bedrock... and whatever you build or tear down in your life, those fractures remain and perpetuate the echoes of pain and trauma throughout your life and the lives of those around you...
Don't let the stresses of those fractures in the bedrock of yourselves become an earthquake... work to relieve those stresses and break those destructive patterns... work away at the bedrock of your selves until you get to the deeply buried pain bodies... lie with them and comfort them, and let the insight of it all set you both free...
Then, alas, keep digging...
What... did you think this was going to be easy... hahaha...
Eventually you get to a point where you break through the crust of yourself, and you reach the liquid mantle of liquid hot magma underneath... this is still rock, but it is so heated by pressure (by emotion) that it is fluid... see this great and powerful insight... you cannot work with hard fractured rock other than to smash through it to the soft creative pliable liquid rock underneath... this is why I use shovel and pick at Zagamott grave...
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That's why I want to write 13 song-poems and analyse the crap out of them in an entertaining way in the books I am writing... it's all about showing people that the words of a poem are very specifically chosen for a reason, to convey the words and feelings and themes that are churning around inside you when you (as the artist) are connected with the creative fire within...
Even if, as a writer, you feel that you are just pouring words onto the page without really thinking about it, still the words were chosen by you and/or your subconscious for very important reasons... it's more than just a handy rhyme at the right time...
Finding the reason behind the words... that is when it gets exciting... you start to become aware of everything going on inside you... you start to be able to speak properly inside the rooms in your mind... to make sense of things that before used to just drive you crazy or angry or sad or lost...
Writing as a form of therapy... I have lost count of the number of times it has saved my life... I cannot begin to measure the immeasurable good it has done in my life, as I dig ever deeper into the things that vex, perplex and excite...
Thank you for your time... it has been an honour to walk this journey with you for a space, shovel and pickaxe in hand, looking for the site of another grave...
