Tag Archives: Inspiration

Thoughts on epiphany

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I have decided that music
bears witness to the scenery around us.

A woman wearing a bunny eared winter cap
can listen to “Wild Thing” and “Always a Woman”
and still be focused on serious world issues.

The sounds of Professor Longhair and Dr. John
refresh a winter day of Epiphany just as well as Kings College
at Christmastide.

A conversation with a beautiful soul
can ignite a fire – for warming a dulled
and calloused heart.

Walking on salted sidewalks
leaves a rhythmic pulse in your brain
with bodhran and guiro contributions.

The sparkle of lights in the darkness
of early morning never grows old. The silence
makes them shine.

The end of the day lingers when you drag out
the last light from inside.

A question, in advance

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It sings itself, doesn’t it?
the song about love and hope-
the one about couples, and snowfall and candles
familiar lyrics and trope.

Each verse is a longing
request for addition
with vocalese twinges
that wear down, by detrition,
the crag and stone hindrances
built by decision.

Until, yes, the endgame –
the paramount question
asked with charm and sorcery
with little regard for others
just you and me –

Will you dance inside the phrases
and read my poetry?
Hold my hand firmly
as you focus and you breathe?

Can you imagine, here, set free?

*******
The song “What are you doing New Year’s Eve” was running through my mind this morning, and I wrote this as an accompaniment to the song. A tribute to the muse and love in general, I suppose. Wishing you all the best in 2017.

Is she

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It is hollow sounding
once struck-
then resonant, tones
that lean and carry
into the next.

Suppressed by pedal
at breathing points,
only to fly in phrasing
and surround-
taking us in.

Suppose we were
to stay, encompassed by
the echo, inside the billow
of the melody
improvised.

How would we know?
After the first note
we breathe its air-
sway in a joined jive
inside the song.

Even led among
the staves, turning
and taking our time
for crescendos
and kisses.

flashback

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just because
a spark burst
in sun-ly ways-
an excimer flare-
a dazzle- beware
the aftermath
of this exclaimated
instant-
when the airs
are gone – vaporizing
and in the moment,
extemporizing-
a crumbly proclivity
appears and departs
in a fluted nigh,
and we are left with
a notion-
nary embers or sighs.

*************
I do enjoy the sounds of words. Also, I enjoy the freedom, as a poet, to create a “word” where none exists -if it suits my purpose for conveying a mood or contributing to a sound collage. This poem, I think, does both. Thanks for reading.

lift

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in the hollows
and meadows
you call me with the thrushing
of pine needles to inspire

to climb
and place my steps
on familiar ground
pulsating with desire.

bring me closer
to a shared ascent-
where your words, once nestled
in the horizon, peek out
among the clover and the briar.

and we hold each other in the glow
of sunset’s flushed attire.

and so will you, soon

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see the world
while walking there, alone;
the sky will open or the wind might blow
and send you forth along
with words and pictures,
clever rhymes and songs.

And the words might fill your soul,
(or send you down a rabbit hole);
or cast your sail into the wind
(then pause in stills, to wait…again)

the song might fill your empty heart
or send you in a deep’ning dark.
a rhyme could tickle, opening up your eyes
(then raise a laugh, with tears not improvised)

While ruminating thoughts echo between
the cascade sounds and tranquil scenes,
this symptomatic curse draws me to a close
and so it will to you,
soon, I suppose.

on a table

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Laying my head aside
on the table,
I made the sun rise faster.
While closing,
then opening one eye
(and encouraged to applaud)
it hops up and down.

Inspiration can be difficult
without a strong wall
to bounce a ball.
I seek them
and they crumble upon impact.

Tiles in this table
are neatly placed end-to-end
and side-to-side.
(My poems are less organized,
but still fit nicely in my frame.)
The grout in between
holds them tightly together.

After a pedestrian moment,
a single bell tolls
and calls me to fill
or to empty my head.

I choose the latter
while the sun bounces.

*****
a poem from July 2007, slightly reworked and refocused.