Tag Archives: word

#320 ~ Abimaro & The Free


Very rarely does one hear a piece of music that isn’t just a beautiful concoction of perfectly placed chords, mellifluous vocals with just enough air to make the notes sigh through your speakers, and a subtle but groovy bass line to make you smile, that, on top of all that, also has exquisitely worded and humorously constructed lyrics as Abimaro & the Free. Using conceits such as tea making, in the refreshingly honest and sincerely poignant track Ginger Tea, the three-piece band manage to take the Christian faith and present it in an accessible and stripped down recounting of the heart. The mundane is the simple basis of their lyrics. Tear drenched eyes are described as being like earl grey tea, the process of being refined and purified synonymous to frying lemon till it’s just the right gold to add a zesty flavour to the ultimate brewing of the human spirit. Abimaro & the Free have a solemnity in their compilation of four tracks, Books, which echoes within one’s heart long after the haunting trill of Matthew’s ‘Jerusalem’ hook has faded. The temptations of life are uncompromisingly placed as idols which decorate our rooms reflecting our faces, a reality which most of us can attest to, but can’t quite express. Words don’t quite capture the essence of their music which deserves to be aired on the air waves, or played in cafe’s. There is an intimacy in their music which the pop charts have reduced to sexual antics, and which religious music hasn’t quite been able to express. Instead of lifting lines from the Word, Abimaro & the Free have delicately reinterpreted and represented the Word as a living, breathing and evocative presence in the lives of very real, very normal humans and how they relate to the mystery of God in today’s world. Whether you believe in a benign creator, or just want to hear something fresh, humorous and which makes the grey tinge of the world, if only for a second, flicker into Technicolor, listen to Abimaro & the Free (check out the video below and follow the link to band camp for a free download of their album Books) and remind yourself that honesty and vulnerability can be beautifully captured in today’s music, and wait for the echo of the music speaking back to you.

Abimaro and the Free: Website


Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

#315 ~ Psalm Series. No. 19

It sticks to every pore

it filters into every inhalation

it claws at every crevice

and lines every follicle that dares to sleep against the exfoliated skin of my arms and legs

the dust that coats me

as I lie, sunken before the sneering world, clawing onto your word.


Psalm 119 vs 25 – I am laid low in the dust; preserve my life according to your word. 

Tagged , , ,

#294 ~ Psalm Series. 8

Do you remember, when I used to hide under the bed?

The slats were like prison bars, but I thought I was hidden from view

Cramped up against the dirty laundry and lost toys – hello Mr. Bear

But they always found me, pulling back the mattress and glaring down through my wooden bars.

Yet…yet in you, there are no holes, there’s no cover that can be stripped back

In your Word which isn’t permeable but rather impregnable

I can hide, and find a refuge…you kept me so safe…

and I know you’d do it again, out of grace.

Psalm 119 vs 114: You are my hiding place and my shield, I hope in your word. 

Tagged , , , , ,

#137 ~ Speak the Word

I sit alone in the vicinities of my mind

typing long words.

they strive to describe what i am not feeling inside

because that’s the heart of it –

the task of explanation

Who cares, or rather, as my Daddy taught me to say, who minds

what you are feeling, whether you are filled with pride or humility

an embarrassing rage that speaks of simplistic stupidity?

there is no talent, in speaking to me about those pronounceable words

there is no skill in presenting me with a myriad of thesaurus sourced euphemisms that explore your definable explanation of a long word.

Stop wasting my time presenting me with anaphoric rhymes

to illuminate this caged mind, literate in the arts of basic signs

not hemmed in by the metaphysics of a sacredly rhetorical design.

You clack away at the keyboard, chiming out a discordant harmony

that some pretentious [insert long word only found in the OED which isn’t concise but spliced into sections of archaic symbols which people can’t even be bothered to define] –

decided to call minimalist, or surrealist music, but to my ears it is just that: discordant chords with neither rhyme nor reason, in both the wrong time signature and season

trying to create a melody out of grating bones that evoke a macabre remedy to the deprived eyes that glare at these very long words.

Let me give you some advice.

Say it



just as it appears in the tangled thoughts that think they are special for resembling chaos

Say it.



just as you feel before you try to re-write it for a better rapport with the PhD lecturer who lives on your polished floor

Just say it.

that struggle is the sound of exactly what you are feeling inside

as the clacking keyboard falls gently to the floor, sprinkling into broken glass

which sings, like the lark beckoning the distant dawn.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

#109 ~ One Hundred Words and a Photo : 9

I spent my days drifting between pools of dappled lighting, tentatively stepping between a mellifluous twilight and a stagnant, opaque darkness. I began to fuse, with arched pain, into my surroundings. It was an enforced union, my body raped and violated, my freedom squashed until it expired. I dared not dream, let alone encourage the word ‘____‘ to crawl through my mind. But one day I got bold. I’d seen that obscure orb float across the snatches of light blue for years. Yesterday I bent my neck and stuck out my head. It hurt. But I’d found the ‘space’…to grow.


Victoria O, Copyrighted

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

#108 ~ One Hundred Words and a Photo : 8

If you only stopped, stooped down low and took a look. Took a real good look.You’d see their broken bodies, like snapped twigs – except they had a bend. They had become malleable to better mould themselves to the overbearing winds that shoved them apart creating miniature wind tunnels that whipped through their obscure communities. Too often they were trampled over, without any regard. But remember, we’re looking closer. Noticing the vibrancy of their colour. A rich green. Green of life. They were still alive, bursting with chlorophyll bloodstreams. If you just looked down, looked down real good, you would see.


Victoria O, Copyrighted

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

#107 ~ One Hundred Words and A Photo : 7

From her window, if she left one ear on the sagging pillow, slightly raising her left shoulder, she could just about peep over the ledge before the squeal of the burnt tyres fled like a stamped out fire. Refracted and misdirected in the sweat lined window pane, the light appeared dis-coloured and vague in shape. She sighed, letting her head sink back again. It reminded her of the obscure vision that played in her brain, danced through the rain of pervasive thoughts that told her perhaps but in short, she would have to work, wait, before her great escape.


Victoria O, Copyrighted

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,