O' 2010, “O'!”

To the year below, all begone and to history. 
To you, 2010.
The past is yours with all its digital replenishments, and embellishments,
and the future is for the people who will read about us later and say, “What hogwash!”.

To 2010, o' year of instant calamity. You hit us with everything you've got.
And it's still not enough. Quite done with you. So there.

Here's your poem 2010, and off with you!
Dedicated to all the sentient beings who lost lives
senselessly and without compassion this year:
Humans, animals, plants, cells.

May we transform our relationships.

O' 2010, “O'!”

In numbers alone you came.
We measured you by the grain.
Another year, you were so profane.
O' 2010!

For the news, communication, conversation.
To the media, that drives sensation.
To my newest app and moral conflagration.
Here's to you!

Your numbers managed sickness and sleight of hand,
and the joys for many, were like quicksand.
Though the true people are still here to stand.
And wave you gone.

From the murder, theft, snark, and ballyhoo,
to the latest snuff news, we're stuck like glue.
I have to text it now or else you know I'm through!
O' what a lie.

You sold it over and over, with no reaction.
A shudder, loud word, or human traction.
Everyone just stood absorbed in maniaction.
Yes, you're a joke.

Counting friends, family, people, the sick, and the dead,
and our living being friends, most filled with dread.
Can you call yourself human instead?
No?  I say, “Next please.”.

To the politicians who dashed our hopes,
as some power climbed the velvet rope.
“We're down here waiting!”--- But they said “Nope.”.
And so it goes.

To my loved ones in America, who also went,
through this year, which we all know, was quite bent.
Knowing people in other places, are all quite spent.
From all the laughter.

To this country, that made us wait.
And to the people, some filled with hate.
Now all that good “light”, is going to have to wait.
For 2011.

Writers will write about how you've grown,
from a wee baby to an old, dead bone.
And now the dustbin's from where you'll phone,
"O' 2010!".

Hope you make peace there my little friend,
because your reign here's about to end.
A hurried exit? No, it's just a trend.
Just like you.

The miracles came and surely shined,
and hit me upside, to make up my mind.
That positive is the only thought, that isn't blind.
To what you showed me.

I want to thank you, O' teacher great.
For delivering us, with heaps of fate.
To energetically, know just what's on our plate.
In days ahead.

So as you go dear, please shut the door,
I have some things to do, you filthy snore.
'Til we read our history: “The days of yore”.
You were a yawn.

O', 2010, you won't be missed,
I have had plenty of time to have you dissed.
You're now a figment upon my fist.
O', thank heavens!

alberoliformat asm 121410 binary series


The shimmering

(this poem is dedicated to my friend Tracy.)

The shimmering

when any thought in the night is bound to send you sputtering and reeling
into the morass of doubt and insufficency.

your mind, your life and your essence feel bound to lose.
but yet, you have found new strength,
a new definition in your-self,
beyond the thorny, gaunted silence of the usual, heady routine.

it is in your heart you know, and remember the place
where you saw that flicker of unbounded hope,
the stilling waters after the raging flood,
the break, the breach, the fail-safe gone astray.

as fibers of your being activate,
you feel the precision of your selfhood
emancipating itself towards a glimmering, glistening, gallantly inscribed hope
that is yours and yours alone. it sustains you, it maintains you, it adores you.

it is you. so be still and witness, the shimmering.

alberoliformat asm 060710

Soul unbound

a celtic newage with a mayfair lilt and a dose of country put back in.
a healing lullaby for the living and the dead.

my mother loves this song, and so i dedicate this song to:
Mary Bernadette Theresa McGrory.


Soul unbound

it's when your souls been bound,
that a heart is unfastened. 
on love's merry go round, 
ah, wandering heart.
mother said, all kinds are out there.
did she warn you dear that fate was unkind?
did your daddy mention that love is capricious?
did he tell you so from his broken heart?

yet your soul's been bound.
and your heart is unfastened.
not anymore tethered to,
anything solid.

oh, wandering heart,
appears in the clouds now,
soaring high and waiting for the wind.

it is everything you wanted it to be,
and you note that chapter and verse are never the same.

and the wind did come, and you pushed to the groundswell.
a rainy night, no shelter to be found.
when you checked your heart,
you had the good fortune,
to see it trampled, under a boot.

then the snow, and the sun, and the dirt, and the footprints,
a dirty old sod is your precious heart right now.

and in good time your heart'll be bleached white again.
yes you took yourself home, had a look in the mirror,
had some thoughts, and another cup of tea.

yet you made your bed, and now your heart's lying in it,
hospicing, it's true love to full.

then your heart will be light, and quick as a feather,
floating 'round, spreading love everywhere.

and when another heart comes, happily to greet you,
you will notice again that your soul has been unbound.

let it be unbound.
let it float around.
let it be a hound. you've been unbound.
let it be lost, and again found,  
may it never be bound!
(premiere voce - largo e decresendo:)


my wish to you is that your soul is unbound.

alberoliformat asm 082510

My dutch song | Mijn Nederlands lied

a first attempt at using translation tools
to craft song lyrics and a euro mood


My dutch song

i did not ask for any altercation
or even one excuse

if you came to my house
and you gave a little "rom-dom"
you may find that no one's at home
because i've had it with your games
...with your stupid name calling
...and you calling me and calling

Mijn Nederlands lied

ik vroeg niet om enige onenigheid 
of zelfs één verontschuldiging

als u aan mijn huis kwamen
u gaf een weinig „ROM-dom“
u kunt vinden dat niemand thuis,
omdat ik het met uw spelen heb gehad...
met uw het stomme naam roepen...
en me roepen en u die roepen

alberoliformat asm 073110

Meditation Michael

an acapella angelic vibrational hymn to personal power

Meditation Michael

You will know just what to say.
You will find your way.

I will be right by your side.
No need to run and hide.

You will know what you will be.
I'll dream a dream for thee.

An earthly being of the light.
You'll do what is right.

You will know just what to do.
I will follow you.

alberoliformat asm 091710

Alternate realities

another song another time this time, 2010.
it's really a poem of hope.

heavy rocking guitar intro wall of sound
anthem pounding rock drums
Alternate realities

These realities, they make scared.
Total realities, that screw with your head.
Some fallacies, that fill you with dread.
Some reason, to choose something instead.

My status is fake, though my profile is new.
All my things are made, from broken backs.
Pets are dying, and the children are scared.
Shots are flying and...
...and I think, think it's time, to get down,
down on the ground. (On the ground! On the ground!).

(fast break, quick solo)
Alternate realities they're mighty fine.
Keep that train moving, right down the line.
And if you doubt it, then breathe my smoke.
'Cause it's too crowded, and it's no joke.

Realities, you create in your mind.
The travesties, of the much maligned.
The status, of exactly where you stand.
In 2010, you found it was quicksand.

Realities, are what you create.
So take the positive, or the cyber-bait.
The winner, those who would truly choose.
For everyone, win or fail and lose. (For everyone win or fail and lose.).

My tongue is tied, no one will abide.
The clock is ticking, but we're on the ride.
Field of flowers, and the woebegone.
The sunny hill, and windy farm.
The apartments bleed, we know what to do.
With animals and children and the future too.

We will work this time, we will build the schools.
We will learn to help each other, beat the blues.
From the frozen North, to the deep, deep South.
From Westward Ho, to the Atlantic sea.
A home for you, and a home for me.
Your home is in you, and my home is in me.
A place to go called America.

We're in a place to go called America.
We're in a place to go called America.

(then fade or last licks, then full stop)

alberoliformat asm 092410


Dizzy precipitation

song arranged with a cool beat - or a poem. take your choice.

Dizzy precipitation

it was a blustery nite,
weather.com made a fright.
inside the preparations had begun.

i went out of my head, and nearly came back in.
it was coming right down, and floating on the ground
and flowing all around again.

my heart was so drowned in all the emotion.

i wondered, when will i see land again?

dizzy precipitation.
falling right down, with the strength of gravity.

work was alright, and my friends were alright,
family shoveled out from all of the dizzyness.
the snow that stopped everything, and still continues to fall.

one cousin was over it, the week before it began.
(oh yeah she was.)
another lost her job, didn't really lose her job, ya know?
(after the hurricane.)
you lost your umbrella, someone else has lost an arm.

and the water comes rushing, its turn,
and then, one sister was burned.
and the rain came down again.
though i thought i'd never see the sun.

and then the snow was spinning around,
i'm like an animal that's run to ground,
makes me dizzy like i'm lost and found....

dizzy precipitation.
it feels real heavy, like snow you're told that suddenly falls.
dizzy precipitation.
its the rain that's so heavy, where you can't even see your hands.
dizzy precipitation.
swirling on the ground, and swelling on your mound of strife.

yah-ee-yay, precipitation.
just when you said, that you thought it was ok to go.
dizzy precipitation.
flushes the thought you were the king,
as it brings you down to your knees.

dizzy precipitation.
(digging out of anticipation)
dizzy precipitation.
(drying off all your despondency)

can you feel that...
dizzy precipitation?
i think i've been there,
and i think you lived there before.

can you feel the...
dizzy precipitation.
dizzy precipitation.
dizzy precipitation.
dizzy precipitation.
dizzy, dizzy, dizzy, dizzy....(echo fade).

lineup production notes:
percussion: do-do-do-dite-dunk
guitar: wah2, blues/paul/raitt
bass: lay it down funky
extras: sax or keys, an arranger's dream

alberoliformat 2/25/10 1:16 AM


Untitled London

This was originally put forth as a song, beat unknown.

Untitled London

An American artist came to me one day
What should I do?, she’d often say.

I’m here to recommend something to you
You never before have heard.

I want to say what is in my heart but something is
stopping me. You want to see? You want to see?

Showing you as I do my comport and fanfare
I show you the lights, but the inside is bare.
My feelings I’ve hid so well I wonder...

Where are they?
My question is this.

Where are they?
They want me to do it
Where are they?
How often you're through it.
Where are they?
I'm on all cylinders now!
Where are they?
I wanna know how.
I wanna know how.

They said do it this way
We all want to cheer.
Some days on my way
I heard the crowd sneer,
'Kiss, kiss!'.

I wanna kiss now...
I wanna kiss now...
Steal her.
I had a feeling...
I had a feeling...
Steel bar, forever no feeling...
Forever no feeling...
Senses are going and reeling
On fire.
The senses are bleeding.

Seismic shifts and velvet thrusts
Lots of pics and fading to rust.

Online the foil is no excuse,
On time the product is built to last.

Enzymes and splitting of atoms,
Warm climes, the polar is melted.

On waves that got right through you
On and right through you.

Microeconomics today,
So you can pay and pay.

How much is the real cost,
Of karmic meltdown?

Instead of sparks.
My throne is down.



Running through clouds

This was another song
written for an uncommenced project with Andrew Dyer.

Running through clouds

it grows and subsides
ebbs and flows

found and slide
seek and hide

running through clouds
no road for ruin
no castle to hide in

running through clouds
growing and subsiding
ebb and flow

a majestic coincidence
where your treasure is buried

looking not finding
seeking universal joy

going through the roof
to where all happiness resides

running through clouds
making sure of the surprises


The waiting

Reflecting on life one day, this is what I saw.

The waiting

there is haste in this life
and time for beauty
time for reflection and care.

the darkness is near
and so are the stars
boundless mysteries unfold.

people in private minds all alone
the feast is in their famine
is there a power to deliver them?

look inside, heal spirit, body, mind
the energy is all inside you.
exploring uncharted boundaries
with joy and happenstance.

eating the fruits of your labor
blood and sweat and tears of life.
years will pass before you notice
the waiting.



Media Medea

Are you ready for this? Life in the developed world.

Media Medea

i don't want to write, but write i must.
a writer once told me that in order to be a writer
you just have to write.
what do you want to write?

dreams of babies made with dimethylcellulose
missing sleep from seeing the state of the world in the news.
in photographs.
this is my medium, media, medea.
what's your happy medium?

you are what you eat, you smoke, you drink, you read
you watch, you see, you feel----you are.
what's your poison? what's your health?

a banana went in and carrots came out of him.
his body is ulcerated and alcohol flows freely in him
through him, with him. he is starving.
is that all there is?

we are a society completely obsessed with making trash.
while others seem condemned to pick through theirs.
what trash are you processing?

ours is a fundamental guilt, unburdened
recycled, remodeled, and resold.
marketed to our comforts
highlighting our fears
and eroding our morals.
what is your guilt?

'don't believe what you read.'
yet we are taught we must read.
'question authority.'
yet we have expert after expert
talking heads
telling us what to question and how things are.
teachers and school bus drivers are arrested
and mothers are thrown out of the senate.
what do you believe, question, understand?

and what will you do about all this?



The papermaker's legacy


A friend brought me to this shop in the countryside in Japan, where the papermaker lived and worked. I saw her workshop inside and out, and the devotees who lingered lovingly over paper of all shapes, sizes, colors, textures. All hand-made.

The papermaker's legacy

there is an old lady in japan
who makes paper as heavy as lace
and as delicate as fine wood.

she steeps and rolls and presses
and slurries and drys and stirs and sleeps.
i wonder what her secrets are, as she teaches the few.

who will make the paper, the colorful paper, the beautiful paper
when the old master is gone?


On memory

I wrote this in Japan after spending a few years in Korea. We visited a monkey sanctuary in Kyushu and I took a shot of this monkey looking pensive. Besides the header, this is my only photograph on this page.

On memory

I will see the plum trees blooming
and wonder at monkey's habits.

I will make love quietly murmuring
yet be bold enough to talk of dreams.

I will watch a film in solitude
and drink coffee in cacaphonous cafes.

I walk scented, herbal gardens
which beckon healing recompense.

And so I wile the hours away
in between work and relaxation,
or is time only a jester, displaying captured moments spent?

I might decide to surf or shoot
the web so wide, or take my camera.

These lines are deep with all remembering
of sweet moments passed.