Saturday, January 3, 2015

The River awaits the footsteps of the Messiah

Sunday, November 30, 2014

Friday, November 28, 2014

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

In case the few of you who visit this occasionally haven't noticed things are under renovation. Right now I'm trying out soundcloud, but looking for something similar to hipcast, to post individual MP3 players on the blog. Any Ideas? Besides I'm past the point where I think anyone really cares about my magic. So I'll be around on my blogs sometimes.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Inch Time Foot Gem (1972)

"Not twice this day
Inch time foot gem,
This day will not come again
Each minute is worth a priceless gem"
For David Mahler

House of Glass

A song from a few years back. I still like it.  [5'05]

From The Book of Job ("The Pee Song")- 2007

Always attempting to bring fresh music into Church.

Anji: From Where I Am To Love

I promised Anji I would write again. I just wish she had lived long enough to hear it.[timing;6'30]

"Five Singles": 1.)" Black Dog Whirlwind"

2.) "Two Dying Irishmen"

For my buddies, Michael Flannagan and Barney Friar...

3,) "The Joy You Bring"

4,) "lift up"

for Todd Pierce.
Roughly based on words of Jim Harrison.

5.) "testament" (2007)

Text: BAHAI daily Prayer

Winter Came Softly/Said She Was Leaving

Kathy and Gwen
Two sections from a crazy long piece called "Living Without Women in Winter"


He speaks of the park in the present tense.
In his mind Ramona is still there,
Just as in his dreams it's always afternoon,
Just as baseball games are played in his head.
No wonder he finds it hard to get it up:
How can you do it when it's the bottom of the ninth,
the bases loaded, and nobody out?
The boat is going round the lake,
Screams from the rollercoaster, laughter from the arcade.
The train goes by the merry-go-round.
Is that his father that he sees?
He has no use for things that have changed,
(the girl on the train who asked if he had the time.)
And still nobody seems to get the point:
It's not nostalgia at all.
It's just that something was there and now it's not,
and yet it is.
Just as in his dreams it's always afternoon.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Oh, Wonderland! and Oh, The Lake!!
A river flows, but a lake is a space and a time and a place!
Oh, the children! and Oh, the Amazement!
To be wonderful! and amused!
* * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
( I. and III. performed by students of Calvin College, Grand Rapids, Mi.
Dr. John Worst, Director - April,29,1981
"Balloon Man" performed by Gwen Faasen, Kathy Proulx and Ric Troll, Nov.28,1982.)
Music Blogs - Blog Top Sites

The Truth of Other Times

“The Truth of Other Times”
(to Richard Brautigan)

The night falls and we take the blame,
Guilty as we are of things we never did.
The truth follows the highway out of town.
To no one’s surprise, the heart is left behind.
The sky is lit by a hunter’s moon.
The moon is lit by a drifter’s song.

Here is to the god who started this in motion,
‘hope you got ma big bang out of this,
‘glad someone did.

Here is to the seed that started this in motion,
swam upon some ocean on a jag.

In those days of laughter, In those days of singing,
there were always new frontiers:
worlds beyond words.
Now they go unnoticed, questions go unanswered;
Life can be a lot like that.

Here is to the word that started this in motion,
One should choose one’s words more carefully,
Shouldn’t one?

Here is to the love that was my heart’s devotion,
started this in motion ---Sorry, Babe.
Life has often found me out
on a jag.

Our prayers go unanswered:
buried underneath the truth of other times.

TPM, 1990
Soprano: Diane Penning

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Anjelina's Sonatina (2014) ---[4'10]

Anjelina sat next to me at the piano while I  played parts of this.
In its own strange way, it's a sonata- form, A-B-A  if using a foreign alphabet.
I  whipped it into shape one very sad afternoon, with thunderstorms outside.

For the Heron Blue

For the Heron, Blue

In a quieter time, with simpler pleasures, before we loved,
Before the sky was the color of rainbows, shattered like ice,
Back when the sky was the color of herons, graceful and blue;
Just like the way I remember your eyes.
We didn’t know then, nor do we know now,
The changes the heron would bring.

In a quieter time, with simpler pleasures, before the storm,
Gathering clouds, not quite to the main shore ,not quite to the heart.
There was a road, but not at all like a highway,
More like a song, open to the heart.
There was a stream, but not at all like a river,
No consciousness known;
More like the ways I remember your eyes.
We didn’t know then, nor do we know now,
The changes the heron would bring.

The night was filled with the crying of eagles as the storm moved on shore.
And I watched your eyes shatter like ice while the heron his vigil kept.

Now the heron remains alone. It doesn’t remember the color of your eyes;
only quieter times.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thom P. Miller,
Sung by a young, but already stunning (in a heron-like manner) Gwen Faasen

Two Songs for Ellen Fitzgerald

1.) "Irish Lace" (1983)

2.)"Sat. Morning, Six' o'clock"( 1999)
(Yeah, I know!)

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Indigent Night (1984)

It’s an indigent night with a delinquent moon.
Stick with me, baby, and you’ll see the stars
(they only come out at night.)
And an indigent scream that’s just passing through
(nice to see you.)

A long dark night in the city of the soul,
the run-down section of the heart.
Feelings with addresses unknown
belly up to the bar where they water down
the vermouth and the truth.

Sweet delinquency! Sweet delinquency’s the thing!
It darts about like sparks through the stubble of the night,
lights up the truth with neon joy.
(God is in neon and neon is a gas.)
Transient gals, won’t you come out tonight,
Juke box eyes a’flashing?

Vagrancy! It darts about like sparks through the
Stubble of my beard
(God is in neon and neon is a gas.)
lights up the night with radical snow.
Sweet Delinquency!
(Streetlight Madonnas, come out tonight,
shed those juke-box tears!)

It’s an invalid night with a malpractice moon,
(a long, dark night in the city of the soul)
Obstacle illusions that fill up the night,
(the run-down section of the heart)
Foul up the air like the dog days of emotion
(The sidewalk of the stars! The sidewalk of the stars!)
and all their monkey-fart dreams.

Desperation shoots through the veins on its way to the heart.

The death-squads of desire, the kamikazi’s of lust,
play under the lights a friendly game of search-and-destroy.
Sirens wail, cut through the night
with a searchlight fist in anger or salute
to the malignancy of dreams, the delinquency of starlight,
the indignity of shadows.

The air is conditioned to the moaning of angels,
kneeling in the half-light, begging for indulgence.
The night is accustomed to the customs of strangers,
the habits of drifters, filets of the soul!
Vacant lot vigils of flop-house truths!
Vigilante vespers by choirs of the lost!
Stations of the double-cross!

The air is scented with a summer of lilacs,
Nostalgic transfusions of a whole different sort;
On the outskirts of memory: a girl dressed in white.

The hour before dawn, with its muscatel sweetness…
The stillness of shadows…
The silence of the mind as the heart strikes out.

Thom P. Miller, 1984
Soprano: Gwen Faasen
Alto: Kathy Proulx
Tenor: R. D. Swets (RIP, Bob.)
Percussion: Ric Troll

I Walk The World (1996)

I walk the world as if in a dream, where things come out of nowhere
to remind me of you:
I turn a corner and go from day to night,
a fragrant night of gardenias as soft as your skin.

I walk the world as if in a trance, where i see everything as if through your eyes:
I walk by the river, where fireworks light the sky
with many colors of shattered glass that cut through the night.

I see the world as if in a room where all the walls are mirrors that reflect endlessly,
A prism of voices that echo days gone by,
like facets of a diamond with your face in every one.

The world is formless, draped in shadows, silent but for the sound of my footsteps.

I can't recall where I have been, and where I'm going I cannot say.
I walk the world one day at a time. Never lost, just not caring to where I am.

I walk the world with only one hope: to hear you say my name just one last time.

Nocturne (1993)

The night speaks to me amazing words:
Dangerous thoughts of things that are new to me.
Inside me herons of blue in a white stream
Vanish in a flight of fancy freedom,
to where they came from.
Leaving who I was is nothing when compared to hearing what the night birds sing,
of where they come from.

Inside me rivers, unchartered and unseen,
Suddenly they flow with new-found fury.
Memories tighten as dreams take their toll.
And with what little strength I have left,
I lift my head defiantly
And sing my song for absolutely no one

(Sung by Diane Penning).

Life Story (1991)

Based on a quote by Martha Graham.

Shallow Graves Singing (1995)

They’re standing in a room,
A room of memories,
A looking glass, a loving cup, pictures in need of frames;
The things they saved for their importance.

She sees him as he is,
He sees her as she was,
While in a room they’ve yet to see, tomorrow dances all alone,
To music, mute, but in their dreaming.

Like lovers everywhere,
Lost in hyperbole,
They think that they are all alone, that they’re the only ones
To whom this moment is occurring.

We see them in that room;
We think it all in vain.
She cannot help but see, he cannot turn away. They sacrifice
The things they saved for their protection.

Don’t worry they can’t hear you.
They are what we were once, and what we someday are to be:
Timeless souls in shallow graves, never once knowing.

Someday what we now see,
Will cry out to be framed.
Around some vague, enormous room together we will dance,
To music, mute, but in our sighing.

Don’t worry they can’t harm you.
They are what you have hid,
Buried in shallow graves.

They’re standing in a room.
The room is very still.
The light begins to fade.
The dance has just begun.
The room is spinning.

“Nothing meant to be can ever be denied,
Though in our hearts we’ve often tried.
Somewhere out beyond the fear our hearts contain
Motionless bits of dreams remain.”

“Good Night, my love, with whom I rest in all my dreams.
A vague, enormous room appears, and from all time,
And for all time,
We’re free.”

/ Thom P.Miller
Soprano: Diane Penning
Alto: Kathy Proulx

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

The Changing Sky (1990)

The Changing Sky
For Ann Powell

There is a movement underway, underfoot,
Under where you thought you’d never find it:
Under your lover’s breath.
What was it he said?
What was he meant by understanding?
“You’d better sit down,” that’s what he told you.
And then you knew
There was a movement underway,
There was to be a movement in your future.
What did you tell yourself?
What were you thinking of?
Something to do with someone else long ago?
Someone who taught you all you know about love?

As you were, As I was saying when the sky began to change;
As it was, as you were sensing what was over and above
And underneath it all.
And now you know
You should have known:

It was a very moving time, moving up,
Moving out, from underneath the overcast sky.
What will you tell your friends?
“There’s no excuse, no one to blame.
Pardon me, I’m just a little off my game,
And the sky’s the limit for love.”

Pretty girl, you shouldn’t stop and stare,
He’ll probably take your breath away.
Yes, He will.
Then where would you be?
Trying to grow flowers upon the moon;
If you really loved him you would.
Your lover is like a silhouette,
A silhouette against the sky.
The sky’s the limit for love.

The sky above, beyond the clouds, the flowering moon.
The choices made, the changing sky, your lover’s words.

Thom P. Miller, 1990
Performed by Diane Penning, 1997

Dance with Helene (2007) [3;00]

 Helene Cowan was born on Jan. 29,1880 in Belleville, Ontario. She married Del Lockwood in 1907, and on her birthday in 1917 she gave birth to a boy, Robert----my father. She passed away two weeks later. Del died just about  year later.

Monday, August 11, 2014


Kathy Proulx:Flute, Gwen Faasen: Soprano, Ric Troll: Drum
Thom P. Miller: Vocals and Reed Organ

"May it come, May it come,
The time we will fall in love with." ----A. Rimbaud

I carried Rimbaud's words in my head for a couple years, trying out different melodies and settings. This piece came together in one afternoon, while already rehearsing for the 1989 concert. I wanted to "frame" the words, and it came out pretty fine.

Friday, August 8, 2014

Maker of All There is (My "Our Father")------------[3'30]

Maker of all there is,
Your name is mystery.
I want what you want, but I fear what you want is me.
Give me what I need to live with love and charity,
Not hurting others---even those who would hurt me
Keep me moving toward you,
With humor, grace and love
Until I reach your dwelling place above.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010


A short piano piece: April 21, 2010