Do Not Touch My Dignity

We have known each other now for years,
there is an understanding and closeness there
that I have come to enjoy and appreciate.

We both have seen good days and bad, have had to make amends
with the tricks destiny can play, with currents running the other way,
with life's ups and downs, and its questions to which it often refuses a reply.

There are times we both confide and get to the other side of challenges and trials,
we can laugh and we can cry, family of a different kind, where blood is not
a requirement to be part of each other's clan and each other's heart.

But, my dear friend, you must know, there are places even you cannot go,
there are hidden places in my soul that even you must leave alone.
Do not , do not touch my dignity, I ask of you with all sincerity.

Do not touch that garment I stitched together so carefully
with threads of coarse sorrow and silken joy, with colours
both dark and bright, to get me through the darkest of nights.

So, do not, do not , do not touch my dignity, I ask of you.
It is my sacred robe that allows me to go on when even you
do not understand my anger or my doubt, my fears and my hurts.

My dignity is mine, there are days it seems that cloak is all I have
to keep warm my soul and to keep on keeping on down that path
of life that I have been walking on both with hope and resolve.

Do not touch my dignity, leave be the nakedness that at times is me
and have mercy on my pride as I cover up what you want to understand
but not even I can name or explain without contest or doubt.

Just be my friend as you have always been, and I will share what I can
and maybe some day I will share a part of that robe I wear as my disguise,
but in the meantime, please, do not touch my hard earned, hard worn dignity.


Trudi Ralston.
April 28th, 2016.

N ' Importe

N ' importe les chagrins sur ton chemin,
n'importe les douleurs que faut battre ton destin,
il ne faut jamais se subjuger au desespoir,
ou arreter de croire a un nouveau jour plein de lumiere et courage.

N' importe que souvent il fait noir, ou que tu n' as pas de voix
dans une vie qui exige le silence,
n'importe que tes larmes coulent sans temoin,
ou que tu te sens pousse comme dans un coin.

Leve ta tete avec dignite, souris quand meme et chante,
tu as le soleil comme ta guide et des milliers d'etoiles
qui esperent tes desirs, n'oublie jamais que tu es aime,
et que tes prieres sont des chansons qu'ecoutent les anges.

N'importe que tes amis sont les oiseaux et les fleurs,
eux aussi connaissent le mystere de la douleur,
tu n'es jamais seul, il y un univers qui danse avec toi,
qui espere ton bonheur et ta joie.

Chante et crie, sois heureux,
mange le ciel et ses couleurs, la tristesse n'est qu'une ombre
et pas ton ame ou ton esprit, tu as des ailes, tu verras,
n'importe ce qu'on pense de toi, tu es libre, tu es beau,
prends ta valise et ton violon, et laisse tes chansons
chasser ces nuages sombres loin de ces belles peintures qui
entourent tes reves et tes amours.  

Trudi Ralston.
April 26th, 2016.

  

Addicted To The Machine : Moving From Yesterday To Tomorrow, An Introspective.

Part Two, or Disk O2, of Lord Baldwin's 2011 double album " Addicted To The Machine ", starts with a high energy song about the sad reality of corruption and greed in politics and economics. It is a quintessential Lord Baldwin ballad giving voice to the frustration of the common man dealing with the unfairness in our democracy that these days is stretching thin its definition of  " for the people by the people."... The song features a great harmonica paired with an unlikely yet highly effective saxophone.
The second song , " Tonight, Believe " talks about the importance of hanging on to our dreams. "Time Won't Keep " is a gentle song about the bittersweet reality of  time passing irrevocably as our children grow up and leave the preciousness of childhood behind.
  " To Know " is a haunting song that deals with the mystery of destiny as seen through the eyes of a child trying to come to terms with its randomness." The Strength Of  My Life " is a prayer of praise that is both heartfelt and disarming.
 The sadness and anxiety of growing up with abuse and the chaos it causes time and again in adults and children alike who try to get away from their tormentor, is sung in a heart wrenching way in " Here We Go ". The instrumental "Round The Round " is reminiscent of some of Alan Parsons Project's music, a welcome lyrical pause in the deeply soul searching colours of this second disc. " "Maybe This Time " reiterates the theme of abuse and the scars it leaves in the psyche, and the difficulty of  generating the energy for hope for a change of heart on the part of the abuser. It speaks very effectively of the legacy of sorrow abuse leaves in the hearts of children. It is a profound song that leaves its imprint.
 " Eva " is a moving song dedicated to the bard's mother after she passed away,it is both a coming to terms with what happened to her during her difficult life, as well as a song of acceptance and spiritual transcendence. " Something Must Be Wrong " is a Bob Dylan like ballad about a young person questioning their abusive parent's state of mind. It is a very positive song in that in it the child rejects the idea that abuse is something you should just get used to.
" Pink Boots, Green Laces" is a delightfully whimsical song about the joy of being a free spirit.
The last song on Disk 02 is a resolute stance in the face of the hardships as a result of a turn down in the economy since the frightening recession of 2008.This way the last song loops perfectly back to the first ballad, adding that signature of altruism to the strong spirit of introspection in this second part of  " Addicted To The Machine ". A powerful double album that looks both to a personal past and a collective future, with a keen insight and a strong sense of hope and purpose. Impressive instrumentation in this last song, a definite signature of Lord Baldwin's heart and soul that refuse to take "no" for an answer when it comes to life's challenges.

Addicted To The Machine : A Lyrical Journey

A good friend of mine is a local bard of impressive caliber, his name is Chester Baldwin, and he goes by the artist name of Lord Baldwin. A double album of 2011, "Addicted To The Machine", caught me by surprise. I thought I could never like an album better than his double delight, " A Flash Of Brilliance". I was proven wrong. I make tapestries in metallic threads of brilliant colours and they often impress upon me their complexity. This is how this double album is, very rich in emotions and lyrical complexity, both personally and intellectually. " Addicted To The Machine "is a deeply introspective achievement, through which runs a noticeable vein of concern and melancholy, in the tradition of the best bards this country has  produced, like Bob Dylan and Neil Young, to just name  two bright stars that come to mind when listening to Chester Baldwin's music. This 2011 gift is so rich in mood and the way the artist is able to canvas these moods to the colours of his voice and instruments, from the piano to the harmonica to the guitar, the tambourine, the drum. His music becomes this way a visual experience as well, as were it a painting unfolding in our minds, one we can see with our inner eye and heart. The colours he creates are warm and varied, and reveal a wise and seasoned soul, that knows the challenges and conundrums life brings us along the way, amid the mystery of personal destiny tied to the larger dimensions of power and its often dubious role in our lives as they are marked by political and societal patterns and edicts.
The opening song of  Disk 01, as Lord Baldwin numbered them, the title song, "Addicted To The Machine" has a light hearted tune that masks and at the same time emphasizes the dire situation of our addiction to technology and the hypnotic control the media has over our psyches , politically as well as socially as a result of its permeating every fibre of our existence and daily habits.
" Fool That You Are " is a candid song about getting older and realizing our limitations and the concern of staying relevant. " The Taken " is a highly insightful and very effective song about the eternal conflict between the meek and the aggressive, putting a clever spin on the wisdom of dignity in the face of  greed and selfishness. " Get Up, And Do It Again ", is a resolute take on being a working man providing for his family, and enduring the drudgery of unsatisfying jobs for their sake. It is a song of great energy and determination , with a wink to Neil Young in the clever instrumentation.
" The Angel By My Side" is a beautifully polished song dedicated to his wife Diane, a deeply wise and humble person  and the profound presence her love is to the bard's heart and soul.
" World Of  To - Morro " is a stunning instrumental piece. It is rare to hear an instrumental song so strong it seems to speak its own language, beyond the need for words. Powerful !
" I Am There For You " is the story of a concerned father giving encouragement to one of his adult children, it is warm and sincere in its message.
" Escape " is a very effective song encouraging someone who is trapped in a dead end life to get away and follow their dreams while they still can.
The last song on the first disc,  " The Doomsday Prophet " is a surprisingly upbeat song with a tambourine and a drum mixed in with the already varied instruments,  about the uncertainty of our stressful times.
" Addicted To The Machine " is - and this is just the first part -  an album that requires multiple listening, that inspires both introspection and resolve, in a masterful blend that is a delight for the heart, mind and ear. Chester reveals himself more fully in this work, more candidly and completely, on a personal level and  as a concerned artist , bringing a voice that expresses both hope and concern for humanity at this crucial bend in the road of our collective destinies. 

The Other Side

It seems simple enough, standing on the other side
to cross to where you think I should be going right now.
The street is wide, the traffic slow, there is plenty of light,
no fast cars in sight, no snow or ice, or blinding rain.

I see you walking there, so steady and reassured, straight ahead of me
only on the other side of where I happen to be.
You move faster with each stride, yet somehow you lag behind my shadow
and my pride, as you try to walk upstream from where I run down my fear.

Like canoes on a fast moving stream, ahead, behind, altered at the current's whim,
I move forward no matter how like molasses feels the pavement by my feet.
Your back straight and strong, you keep keeping on, as I long to see instead your eyes.
The wind blows your hair as it blows my resolve up high into the static silver sky.

Perhaps some day, you can meet me side by side, before I find that 
 you have turned a corner that has no bend or measure that can comply
with your fury step and my aching breath that is almost there, almost free,
to feel my wings touch above the fresh green of the tallest tree.


Trudi Ralston.
April 13th, 2016.
" Do not ask for an easy life,
ask for the strength to endure in a
difficult life " : Bruce Lee.  

Le Musee

Il ya plein de petites choses amusantes et interesantes,
plein de photos avec leurs histoires,
il ya plein de livres qui ont voyages le monde
dans ce musee ou je vis maintenant.

Il ya des heures de visite, evidemment, cela ce fait comme ca,
il ya des objets un peu droles et bizarres, des jouets d'il ya longtemps
qui eux aussi ont leur chagrins et sourires, quoique je sais c'est tout un peu trop.
Dans ce musee, il ya des etoiles et des fees qui dansent la nuit quand je dors.

Il y a mon art, mes tapisseries et mes mysteres, il ya le jardin avec ses belles fleurs,
ses papillons et ses abeilles, il ya le chat Tigger, la chienne Yara,
les amis et les voisins y passent parfois, tous tranquils et gentils de ma solitude
de qui je suis a la fois hote et prisonniere depuis que j'ai perdu mon chemin.

Le chemin de retour, le chemin vers ma famille perdu dans la tempete des mensonges
ou presque tous se sont mourus. Il ya des voyages dont le trajet se perd dans le brouillard
des nuages et ses soupires criants. C'est ainsi que j'ai ce musee maintenant ou les jours s'achevent
hors des heures et ses saisons.

Il y a plein de petites choses amusantes et interesantes,
plein de photos avec leurs histoires,
il y a les livres et les voyages,
dans ce musee ou je passe le temps.


Trudi Ralston.
April 6th, 2016. 
 " Few choose to sleep with their goblins".
This is what the Texas artist John Carlisle Moore
said about my story. To be seen through his eyes
in that instant somehow added an element of pride
instead of pity. Nuances matter. Always. 

The Waterfall

Rushing its thunderous waters across a deep gorge
the waterfall surges its white foam across rainbows and stars.

Unafraid of the deep fall its descent requires,
it delights in birds dancing along its alluring songs.

Boulders smooth their rough edges to please its travel
and the sun's light adds sparkle to its searing path.

Standing at the waterfall's edge, my soul spreads its wings
losing all fear in its hurling speed down to where I can take flight.

There is no time, there is no past, no future to behold,
there's only the waterfall and me holding on to my dreams
that crash like laughter into the river below, strong and free.

It does not matter it will take such effort to walk
up to the waterfall again, stumbling, bleeding along the way.

Just to be up there with the clouds again, and the cooling waterspray
erasing all doubt and pain, where I can roar with Neptune's kin.

The waterfall is where I long to be, even though I know it is a construct
of my mind, a way to get from here to where I can be me,
standing on my own with everywhere to reach and go.


Trudi Ralston.
April 5th, 2016.  

Bruised Fruit

In the heat of summer the shade feels good
and the cool of orchard trees adds its soothing delight
with the sky above a porcelain blue as bees visit
flowers dreaming of honeycombs and nighttime rest.

Each summer turns to fall, and the apple blosssoms
turn to sweet smelling fruit, red and golden, round and ready.
The fruit that gets picked in time is crisp and full, and quenches
both hunger and thirst, adding a measure of hope before winter's frost.

It is hard not to notice the fruit that was ignored, that fell to the ground
already past its time, its falling sounds muffled by its bruises and cuts.
Broken and forgotten, it is not the bee it gets as a visitor, but the wasp
and fly, and perhaps a tired possum or raccoon, as the fruit becomes ugly and worn.

So it is with the wounded heart, that is so full of love, it bursts off its branch
and drops to the ground where its hopes and dreams end up sprained and bruised
no longer appealing in form, its wisdom ignored and forgotten, the shadow
of contempt and carelessness now a path for broken dreams and damaged songs.

The mirror shows what I do not wish to see, the bruises of my heart colouring
my footsteps in the journey that is my life, the wounds inside trying to make
their way onto my form and my skin. It is a stranger I see, an orphan at sea
living on a distant shore, sending paper birds across the waters, reaching
up to the paper skies where no wounds or bruises can reach its paper glitter stars.


Trudi Ralston.
March 31st, 2016.