Hunting The Lions is a soundpoem, with electronica, bird, guitar, voice by Matthew Chenoweth Wright (ASCAP)

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Hunting The Lions

I. Summer

Needles into the precipice
Volcano mighty and wide bellied
Swallows the cataclysm's future
We cast spears into each other's agonies

The ballet spirals over canyon rustic red sun whirls

Action weighs actors the hours are long
Unreal light sound the viewers catch fire

Hollow basements and high offices
Images lay siege
The terrors of the unfortuned
Become the terrors of entranced
Free men who sit and wait

Tonight the lions hunt anywhere be here we are washed

The leap in faith
Is the walk with the spear down
The foot sure the friends true
Balance amid wide open roaring wheatless fields
The prowl is dancing might
Asserting much destroying more
The task is a footstep away
And another, another the broiling sun

II. Autumn

Dreams fall on sleeping war-weary soldiers

The hush of the night impales the stillness
With memories of dust and the day's hard warring
The breeze is colder now

The sky freezes the drama pauses the old men look up

Asking for a fair week extra the hunt drags
The feet drag the snow flurries camoflages

Gathering night and silence as a cloak
The daggers march wild through silent houses
Finding only sleeping men and women
Barren fields cradling hushed
Dwellings napping

In the shelter of the storm the awakening

Weapons find the storage shelves
Dusty and wait for the felentless
Snows the ceaseless howling
Sit in the darkness sharpening
Their fantasies outside of time
Clutter of half-felt dreams
Spiral away in a whimsey
A flight of forcast startled blackbirds

III. Winter

Wiretap the sucess
Alter bending circles of influence
Corrupt the flow of thought
Our public massed in search

Of butterflies resiliant and deadly

With science with a fine net
Of explanation of words

Deafened to the crackle of
Fine leaves and blacked
To the angry scent often hanging
Shroud over winter white
Eternal fields

Gaps in sight in the knowing's incredible aeons

Where chimeras dandy and entreat
Us to the suffocation of chaos
The cameras go up the stairs
Massed in search for the center
Which eludes the tightrope
Cantors in circle in darkness
Just out of grasp
Spears fly into the night

IV. Spring

Etched in crystal
Quanta all these timeless pathways
Stand poised to change us
Each second we move

They multiply us

Each look glance thought presence
Each pass flash emotion sensation

An army of futures
The trees grow before our eyes
The circles are joined departed rejoined
Guns ready slogans armed flags and premanance
Waving in a frozen wind

We give sex to the sexless we feel the time

Sharp cold glass crystal arching arcing illuminated
Not blue not black etching sillouette flikker
Endless fractal forever green but not green
A pause of boundary's edges a look across
To see the turtles stacked each with
Fine flowers and jasmine incense the
Taste of tangerine accompanying them
As they pause in passing through the fields

© Matthew Wright