Catching the Stars

The moon shines through my window,
After sifting through the shadows of the night.
Reforming shapes once hidden,
In the corners of the darkness, by its light.
I lay here on the covers,
Searching hard to find myself here.
And I lay here in the moonlight,
Thinking those familiar thoughts again

And I ask, “Will you find me here?
And can I find myself here?”

The stars light up the heavens
And dance with planets spinning overhead.
But I feel so far from heaven
And I’m left alone here with the earth instead.
I’m a pocket full of holes;
I’m a novel full of pages never read;
I’m a song that no ones written;
I’m a day whose light is coming to an end.

And I ask, “Will you find me here?
And will I find myself here?”

Cause I just want to know life turns out ok
And that I can make it another day
Without losing what I’ve come to find.
I want to learn to love, learn to dance,
I wanna, laugh and cry and be given a chance
To stand, when the world has fallen down.

The hour and the minute
Clap their hands as they enter midnight’s gaze.
Silence fills the air
As I think, and hope, and dream of better days

“Will you find me here?
Can I find myself here?”

I climb out of the window
Sit on the eaves and stare into the sky
And there so vast and endless
Is the universe unveiled before my eyes.
To think that here I matter
And through it all you find me where I am.

And I ask, “Will you find me here?
And can I find myself here?”

Cause I wanna catch the stars; I wanna hold her hand
I wanna sing of hope; wanna understand
How I can be a better man.
I want the joy and I want the pain
I want my heart to melt and my heart to break
So I can discover who I am.

I want to learn to love, learn to dance,
I wanna, laugh and cry and be given a chance
To stand, when the world has fallen down.
I want the joy and I want the pain
I want my heart to melt and my heart to break
So I can discover who I am.

I wrote this song two weeks ago, and wanted to post it up here for you to listen two… however xanga is giving me trouble so feel free to check it out on my facebook music page at:!/pages/Jeremiah-Dowling/46591752182?ref=ts


How does one hold on to that which is moving away? 

Sometimes it is clear: these moments are fragile and fleeting. Everything fits so perfectly into places that seemed so empty and alone, but everything seems fearful of transitions. It begins to ask questions: “Should I hold on? What if I cannot take this feeling with me? What if I am left here and this goes there? What if I go there and this is left here? Will my desire for loyalty and sacrifice be understood? Should I give up everything to express this desire? Can this even work?” 

I feel like a man stuck between a boat and a dock: longing for both settlements and adventures. The dock holds firm, and will continue to hold, as the boat drifts further out. How do I hold on? Can I keep the boat at the dock a bit longer? Should I let the boat go and cling to what I’ve had? Should I jump into the boat and offer my services for the coming adventures? The choice seems like such a mystery. What if I choose wrong? What if my boldness for adventure is misguided and I am not wanted on the boat? What if I cling to land and strip my loyalty from that which desperately needs it? What if I’m supposed to hold on to both longer and fail to? 

The end is never clear in the present moment and despite how perfect things might seem in a moment, moving on takes sacrifice. And I want to learn to offer my life as such a sacrifice; to lose all for such an unthinkable beauty. 

Our Day the Runaway

Swiftly the freeway
Bends, and twists and breaks
Against the backside of country lanes;
Weaving through the evening
– Like the clock hand in hand.
It runs down to the city
Where the snow clouds fill
The gaps of condescending
Bookends poking at the heavens
Keeping all the authors thoughts
And intentions between themselves.

When we were meant to be
We were meant to be free.

And days will pass us by
Like they pass before the sparrows
Seated on the wires that house
A million conversations:
Although they listen closely
They’ll never hear a word.

So passes what we’ve held so dear
So passes time, our hopes and fears
So passes the sun, and the skyline fades.

When we were meant to be
We were meant to be free.

Beneath the darkest skies we follow
Our man-made lights
Through the darkest streets we travel
We’ve lost our way again,
With heavy hearts and broken hands,
In the darkest corner of the world.

In the darkest corner of the world
A light dawns. The morning will come.

© Jeremiah Dowling 2010

*This song is a little over two years old, but I finally got a good recording of it… so feel free to enjoy this… I really really love how it came out.*

the easel

“The Easel”
Winds of change and memories
Will often meet us here,
On Autumn days,
Where time displays
How years have shed their tears:

The Remnant clings to the easel
Implanted in the ground
– With the Artist gone
The wind has come
And flipped it upside-down.

Black adorns the landscape,
And darkness steals the sky,
As lightning slashes
Through clouds of ashes
Who’ll bleed until they die.

Strokes of vibrant colors, once,
Relived a summer’s day,
But now beneath
This Autumn wreath
The sun is washed away.

Like streams in springtime flowing
Paint drops pour into the grass.
All colors drown
In a mingling brown;
Where all, but memories, pass.

© Jeremiah Dowling 2010

* A couple of years ago I wrote this poem with the thought of turning it into a painting. So above is the painting version of the poem. I hope you enjoy them both.*

Lands Unexplored

I’m under my sheets
I’m tucked in my bed
Please read me a story
One you’ve not read,
Of heroes and goblins
And monsters and kings;
Of damsels and treasures
And dragons with wings.

Read from the pages
Of lands unexplored;
Of planets and islands
And oceans and shores.

Tell of the dreamers,
Magicians, and Knights;
Speak of the magic,
the battles and flights.

Paint me a world
As I fall asleep
Lost in my covers
And dreaming deep.
* Today I was greatly encouraged and inspired by Dr. Seuss’ “Oh the Places You’ll Go” … really wanted to write a poem that captured how I used to feel when my dad read me a story in my bed. *

Words drip from their home onto the foreign plains of a world that, before this moment, was barren. They wander the fields for miles before the turning of the world. Everything comes out – bleeds dry – until there is nothing left to say, and only hope remains. Will my words come home again? Will my thoughts inspire? Will my heart be understood?

There is so much for me to say, but I am afraid. I am afraid that hope will die. I am afraid that all my words will not describe; that all my dreams will cease to fly. There is so much to say, but I am scared. Scared of all that is to come – or all that may never come; scared of the gain and scared of the loss. Fearful that my heart will not be met.

All I write, I write in hope. In hope of love, of joy, of beauty. I may not be bold enough, I may not be strong enough, I may not be wise enough, to really say all that I long to say, but I am hopeful that one day all my frails attempts will return home from their journey fulfilled.

Splinters and Thorns

There’s a man upon my back
His blood begins dripping down,
I can feel its warmth, as
His heart beat presses against
Me like the violence of the riot
As they push through the crowd
And to think I held him
There as he died

I am wooden, but I was once alive
What killed me held him there
Until his final breath
Burst forth from his lungs
To save the dying still alive

There was a man upon my back
The whispers say that he’s alive
I can hear them crying out
Through the crowd, through the riot
Through the riot, through the crowd
And to think I heard
Them say he is alive.
* These are the lyrics to a song I wrote a couple of years ago. The concept is that of the Crucifixion from the perspective of the cross, and I figured it would be a good time to post it.

To hope, breathe, think, dream, love, or live is to hope, breathe, think, dream, love, or live with a risk. To say, from the deepest of all rational thought, that it is therefore absurd to risk such an act is in itself absurd. For to cease such actions brings about such risks as well. (To hold one’s breath means death; to cease to dream means the loss of future aspirations; to cease to love means the loss of such a great loyalty and depth of relationship). True, to hope could disappoint; to breathe or live could result in pain; to think could bring about such sad conclusions; to dream could mean a lack of fulfillment; and to love could mean a broken heart and lonely days, but to risk one’s ability to obtain such things seems the greatest of losses to me.

So I will hope, breathe, think, dream, love, and live even if all I seek after is in vain. For I have learned that no matter the risk – no matter the result – there is such a great beauty in the pursuit.