In Endless Song

"Through all the tumult and the strife i hear that music ringing, It sounds an echo in my soul, how can i keep from singing." -from "How Can I Keep From Singing", a quaker hymn


Our lives are filled with music:the beating of hearts,the honking of horns,fax machines, toilet bowl flushes, boiling water, hammering nails. check books ripping, debit cards swiping, keyboards tapping, ran plopping, 16 wheelers driving on busted tires,ca clunk ca clunk, grocery bag crinkles, the thump of the gas hose telling you your fill up has finished, the buzz of news on the television, the static of the radio. Church hymns, dance clubs, birthday parties, commercial kitchens, funeral parlors, late saturday pickins. work radio, elevator radio, commercial jingles, kwanza festivals, bar mitzvahs, weddings, the clank of silverware against soap against brillo pads and china.
All around us music.
Touches everyone.
Touches every heart.
Touches every tongue.

In our time of birth and carrying us into death: music guides, renews, transforms, and refreshes our spirits. Like a stranger said to me once," you not singin' you not livin'. "

I started this article around Christmas thinking of how much Christmas music affects us as individuals. I asked around to different individuals what their favorite Christmas time songs were. It was great to watch as people searched their memories and hearts to find what epitimized that season for them and no doubt, everyone had at least a few to name even if they could not nail down a definitive 'favorite'.

The time for Christmas is long past, but the time for music is ever present. It is strange how so many of us begin to loose the sense for the need of music as we get older and how much we do not realize how deficient we have become when we have gone a while without it.

I read a book that documented a walkabout with a tribe of aborigines in the bush of Australia. Some of my favorite recollections were of the end of their days where the the family would sit down together and gather whatever nature provided,(sticks reeds rocks and shells) to make music together and celebrate living the beautiful life the creator had given them for that day.


As a musician seeing live music is particularly challenging in a spurring kind of way. I have made a commitment to see as much live music as possible while i am living in such a musical town making steady income and gathering days off. It is a worthy investment for me because there really is nothing like seeing live music. It grows something inside all of us, something full of life and color that enriches us into our days adding moments of true breath to our life. I will fill you in on different acts I come upon on this blog. Stay tuned for some critique of local mountain music.

Until then, I encourage you to find a moment to fill your day with music or piece it out in the sounds you hear today. and let us all bind our hearts together to live our lives more fully through this universal being.

"In my heart's sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poets' gloss
Words alone are vain and vacant, and my heart is mute
In response to aching silence, memory summons half-heard voices
And my soul finds primal eloquence, and wraps me in song

If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby
If you would win my heart, sing me a love song
If you would mourn me and bring me to God,
sing me a requiem, sing me to Heaven

Touch in me all love and passion, pain and pleasure
Touch in me grief and comfort, love and passion, pain and pleasure
Sing me a lullaby, a love song, a requiem
Love me, comfort me, bring me to God

Sing me a love song, sing me to Heaven "

- from Sing Me To Heaven, a song written by Daniel E. Gawthrop

Your Mountain Muse,
Leigh Worrell-Lupton

A Poets Musings

A Writer Writes





Sunday, December 12, 2010 Poets Musings
I worked at a museum for two years upon arrival to Asheville town. I was intrigued at how magically the enviroment changed everyone who entered the building. I saw a spark go off, an electric waking in their eyes that shone wide in wonder like a child. I tried to remember that idea of experiencing everything new for the first time. This sense of awe, of wonder is breathetaking and so under used in our culture of speed and merits. I firmly believe that we all are poets. Do not skip the everyday beauty that reflection of our enviroment brings. We live in a world of color, of miracles, and hardships. Do them justice and experience reality with full breadth, sensitivity, and wonder.

Here is a couple of poems I have written over the recent past. More to come.
Enjoy. Critic. Question. and Discuss at will.

....................................................................................................................................................
Sunshine Living

Splattered paint on clothes from creative ventures, "the sound of sunshine coming down," kids dance in the park in water, a great growing arch of their youth stretching, stretching their legs, the slow moving spill of time as we all slowly wither to our original state; mother's hearts joy and endure endearing sorrow, hearts grow large, a glow of yellow warmth meets skin and radiates into palms-kindness grows from them and meets shoulders-are kissed, faces glow, carrying a bag of veg, a brisk walk full of tattered embroidered mute colored clothes on multi-colored peoples. Beautiful Sunshine Living.


-"Sound for Sunshine", Michael Franti 2010


the nameless holy
my deepest thoughts,
my deepest heart,
yellow gold, silver trust,
through the depths
and seeping forward
my Love, my Love
how have we gotten here?
your hand, your hand has
guided me through the darkness
and shone me stars
i am now blooming
yellow, a glow of light, and purfume
of orchids
i am sunshine,
i am a butterfly flower,
My heart is bound by experience
that has taught me restraint
to my wild whimsy heart
and tenderly embraced a new statue of reason to my reality
you have guided me here
with hope
and though i was afraid
I have entered in through heavy velvet curtains,
and my feet touched again to sacred mossy earth,
the ground is strong, and I stand tall in it
without shame
a whisper, a cape shrouded my song a voice to the faces I greet,
the ones only i can touch, only eye
in the one world we meet,
i sink beneath this weight
but it is no burden
again my feet are grounded
i am strong
a whisper of joy
of ecstasy
from my center flows
and i dance beneathe its waves
and i dance
and i stand
and i move toward
the nameless holy
where you are taking me
my arm lifted to yours,
my lips kissed with your sweetness
all is gold
all is truth in your hands
in your bosom
on into the light
all is yellow


our lady ocean

Our lady ocean
thank you for your tender kisses
and rush of Love
it has stained and changed
my skin and clothes, making room for
new skin to grow-as if giving me a chance for a new life-
a new look at life,
a new day,
you give me treasures if i sneak below your dress-
but you're a fickle lover whom I respect
and you rush me back
if i become too greedy

your colors are lovely
and they change with your moody nature
you listen only to the call of the moon,
as she hears the echo of the stars and moves to be heard
thank you for uncovering your secrets
that i could take these peaceful wonders
home to marvel at your greatness,
thank you for letting me stare you in the face
even as you undress.

A Writer Writes

There was a moment in which I realized that I was a writer. I was listening to one of my favorite storyteller's in an auditorium in my small college town of Shelby, NC. He spoke of everyone having stories and I welled in my heart to meet this truth: I was a storyteller. Pen to page has always been the most intimate contact for me from the time I began to learn letters. I gather stories in woods during my days and played them out in my living room by night. Saturdays were spent writing, always writing, filling page after page of journals I still keep safe on a shelf in my home. I got in a terrible fit when I was six at my mother who was too busy at the moment to tell me how to spell turkey which became a catalyst for the large graffiti I donned my bedroom wall with trying to sound out the letters.

I'm still not a great speller and I haven't read half the books I know that are "must read's" but my heart is a writer. I will always be a writer and as a writer I must write. I have taken my days with words attached and know that without them my life cannot be full, my God cannot be fully reached, my heart will never be fully satisfied.

And so I begin this long belated blog I have started today to share my heart with those who are interested to hear the mountain musings of this Appalachian songbird. I wish to share people's stories and bring to light the truth of the reality I see in the world.

My name is Leigh Worrell-Lupton and I hope that you will follow in the days to come on this journey into the everyday life we all share and the poetry that springs forth from that breath.
Sincerely and ever yours,
L.W.L