i did not Know until that night
when my body opened for the first time
feeling the depths of Your eyes taking Me whole
as if I’d been burning but never known.
your tongue like the ice that salved
easing some mysterious missing
though we’d never met before.

i read the Words of fairy tales and longed for my prince to come
conditioned without my permission
that child cried out in the night for knights to bring dragons to light
and keep me warm
the charm takes hold each time some bold lover asks me to dance and sing
i lie and promise and lay down my sword, only to find i’m still lost in the story.

i found You
Me, at last the Queen untethered, unmanned
writing the bloody battle bit by bit inscribed with the lines of passion
lashed then lassoed beaten to submission
then You then King
took one look and smiled and I was undone.
open Hearted in the gaze of my Beloved my Muse my Ship
sailed freely with no destination
nothing to wait for, nothing to Be done, nothing but This
formless, boundless, timeless, true.
nothing
but
Love.

~Mira Black

by Mira Black
Dec 15th 4:54 pm

The dawn rising to taunt me with the notion that you might join it’s antics,
come dancing down the stairs, still the romantic, and laugh at how I’d lost this turn of hide and seek.
But this game is not for children, only warriors have a chance to catch hold of such things without shattering.

My love neglected and battered out of believing the fairytale.
The cacoethes cauterized as he disappears.
We split apart to begin the journey anew.
I beg the Gods on every moon and leave what alms I have with the same wish of home
Let me go home.
Let me wake from this punishing slumber and take the lesson to my marrow, blissful of the narrow miss that took your life.

The sound of this heart breaking could feed the need and carry me
through the stars and away to find you
if only for a moment so that I might tell you
how much I wished I’d told you
all those things I never did.

The way I grew in the adoration of your smile.
The tender place where you laid your fear at my feet.
The precious wrapping of myself around your dreams forgetting my own in the making.
The power of the same fire from which you swore we were both created.
The hands that danced through my world holding tightly to it’s treasures knowing them better than I, showing the beggar what lies beyond the veils of suffering.
The eyes which guarded over my sleep, defending like a starving tiger over the cub of it’s prey, watching in fascination while he falls ever more deeply in love;
confounding the masses with the coupling.

All these things and more would run from my naked soul
brought to it’s knees by the reemergence of it’s mate,
making true all the tales of truest love made manifest.
Let me arrive through the battle, landed again, the very second our eyes met
so that I might kiss you again and let you live.

Dec 4th 2012
Mira Black

I used to think I was a warrior. I thought I had the power to change the world! Sing to them and they will open their hearts. Love them and they will know love and in that knowing, love others. Speak the truths of your experience so that none of us need be alone.

Truth is, I’m lost. I’m tired. My drive to strive and speak to the world replaced and distracted by the need to survive. The dream of adding my voice to the millions of artists who have accepted the honor of their ancestry and honed their gifts to witness and speak the truths that others can’t, don’t or care too little to speak has faded to black.

I broke. Bottom line. I’ve tried to “make it” in this music world of big business, high fashion, ageism, size ism, and million dollar marketing campaigns. I just didn’t have enough flash and schtick to compete. My soundbites needed soundbites. I may fade away as if to the island of misfit toys labeled “unsolicited submissions”. It seems true that being good at what you do doesn’t get your calls or emails answered by the powers that be.

It’s a snake eating it’s tale. To be supported by my industry now, I must sell enough units of merchandise to be noteworthy. To sell enough units of merchandise to be noteworthy I must compete with those out there who are supported by the industry because they’ve sold enough units to be noteworthy. To get the gigs that will expose me to enough people to sell enough units to be noteworthy, I have to have sold enough units to be noteworthy. To get the likes of Netwerk, Bluenote, Jazzland and several dozen other places that don’t have the time to listen to my music….I have to, well you get the idea.

And no..Madonna hasn’t called yet

So there it is. The short (ish) version of the latest chapter. She jumped. She fell. She landed and broke her crown. All the Kings horses and men have no fuckn clue she’s been laid out cold.

What’s next? How will our intrepid heroine regain her power and run back to the front lines again? I don’t know. My hometown debut performance was the last of my super powers and I now lay naked with kryptonite, pondering my purpose.

To the fates I leave my destiny unfold.

Have I given up this calling I’ve loved harder than even myself? Maybe the question is, how much do I love myself? Can I give more? Can I stay present in my experience? Can I give to this calling of art and music more than I have left to give? Do I water it down somehow and allow myself to ‘fit in’ to an easier box? Do I risk my utter demise for this like so many of my beloved mentors? What did Hunter say before his suicide? “Anything that gets your blood racing is probably worth doing.”

For tonight, tonight I rest and heal and wait to fight another day. That’s all I can do isn’t it? One day at a time.

Send love and xo’s…I’ll pay you back, promise.

Find me wrapped around your waist
slumbering at last a lifetime of moonless nights
the heavy task of beauty masked and cracking this facade
until my chest
nestled in your palm
bursts and blisters in the wake of some expectation
fearing failure.

Take in my breath as if it were your own
and exhale the very darkest desire knowing I can carry the weight of it,
the need in it
feeding this muse who recognizes each jagged tear

Be afraid.
In someways that’s the smell that drew us together
and the fire that keeps us longing for that kiss
that kiss that unlocks the passion
shamed a lifetime ago.
I know.
I know.

Believe?
Can you believe enough for us both
as I tread lightly upon the frozen pyre
watching my every step crack the foundation between us?
If not then who can catch me if I fall? The distance terrifies my wanting
leaving me mute.

Look at me again
see the part of you hidden inside my furrowed brow,
curious where the other half of passion lays waiting
wishing to unearth imposing lungs
and cry out to a brilliant bountiful sky
Love me.

~Mira Black
June 3rd midnight in the full moon

“LYRICS:
Do you wonder what I want
take you under with my taunt
holding your gaze
counting the ways
you make me crazy

Makes me shudder from the thought
taking chances we get caught
dream of the touch
wanting too much
makes you crazy

Be my fantasy
holding back nothing
are we agreed
what’s this is for?

Be my fantasy
be my everything
we don’t need
anything more.

See me smiling hear me croon
wont you take me to your room
watching my tongue
much too young
he makes me crazy

Asking me to break you’re heart
Might be easy at the start
try to conceal
this wont heal
makes you crazy

Be my fantasy
holding back nothing
are we agreed
what’s this is for

Be my fantasy
be my everything
we don’t need
anything more

Forget the rule forgive the pain
Time will tell what can remain
inside your mind
nothing to find
let’s be crazy”

Mira Black

At first I was afraid..I was petrified – sorry, bad 80′s reference. But I did feel some worry that someone, somewhere thought the original tune Josh and I wrote was stolen from Madonna. I called Vince….

“Oh, ya. Right. I licensed it for a Madonna press kit. She’s releasing a perfume” he casually commented and I knew it had probably been one of hundreds of efforts he’d made to get this amazing music heard. “I told you that, didn’t I”.”

Uh. No. I would have remembered.

“Well, i guess they’re using it.”

Upon further investigation I found this..

Yes. It’s Madonna in all her sexy glory moving to my song.

There’s isn’t an emoticon invented to express my emotions.

Do you think Madonna’s heard my tune? They say she’s the creative director of her career. She might have heard it, right? Better yet…do you think she’s had SEX to my tune?

omg!

TO THEM TO HIM TO YOU
~by Mira Black

I watched you walk apart
after minutes of colour,
and a lifetime of music.
It allowed a weeping it’s sound from the nether of my heart,
awakened with the love that I projected
like a mother to it’s cub
a sister to her shooting star
a lost lover calling out to the Beloved.

This beating began born from the casualties of sand in my eyes -
the days when I pretended I understood the lives of others.
Wanting to be a muse again.
The need in this dark organ,
remembering the tithes I gave for freedom,
shakes off the unlikely reunion
and took comfort in your understanding my pain
or my understanding of yours.

I wanted to know what you knew
needed to find the rope you threw,
pleading to see this crazy thing we do to it’s ultimate demise:
my reflection in a lovers eyes longs to bond like we were the same tear falling down the face of God.
My mind makes it a problem to walk this path alone as if the connection
to each pair of eyes
and every breath mingled with mine
were not with me on this journey.

Still, it was the parting.
The solitary dance you chosen while yet fueling the sacred fire with bare hands
that gave me comfort.
To know my prize pending purposeful rendering of what I can see through these boxes on my face and speak from the openings in aging grace
might find it’s way
to them,
to him,
to you.

Wrapped in my love,
feeding the vision of my intention,
renewed and tested by that which at last can be left unmentioned,
I walk on.

Back to our regularly scheduled program, we find the tenacious heart of our intrepid hero Mira Black blocked from any access to her own teen dreams. After months of calls and elegant messages requesting contact and guidance to the attainment of meeting with someone at Nettwerk Music Group in British Columbia Canada, she finally send an email with all her new music, video and press information and then followed through with call after call. Nothing. Finally, a charming secretary agreed to take her call and very skillfully explained that the same thing heard repeatedly from agents, artistic directors and A & R representative…we don’t accept unsolicited material. Some have even regaled how amazing the work then sadly explain that they can do nothing until the project make some sort of showing the sales department.

Mira, Mira, Mira…foolish daydreamer.

To sell you need money to market. To market properly you need a PR company and management which also cost money. To make money you need to tour. To tour you need a booking agent. To get a booking agent you need fans to buy tickets so that the booking agent knows he will make money. To get fans you need to market. To sell you need fans. To get fans you need to get some gigs, to get gigs you need fans. I’m getting dizzy, aren’t you?

No one is going to give money to an unknown so the idea is to tour until you become known but to get a gig the artistic directors want to know who the hell you are and why they should bother with you.

And really, who the hell am I?

So what’s a Diva to do? Sell her house, liquidate her life’s assets, take out her mutual funds and retirement savings and borrow money, time or skills from every one who loves and believes in her to start her own music company. Next, throw all her eggs and dreams into one glorious basket and hold a concert.

It looks like it will be her first – launching the child she has been carrying for two years and giving this overdue breached baby it’s time in the light. May 25th 2012 the dream comes home where it started years ago in Winnipeg Manitoba to unfold it’s wings and fly this circus at The West End Cultural Centre, a dear old friend. Will this be the first or the last? It truly doesn’t matter. This song will be sung and that was the point of starting this journey in the first place wasn’t it? Well, wasn’t it?