the omniscient sound
July 15, 2014 § 1 Comment
it’s the song for the wandering man
lost somewhere south of France
for the one who believes in madness
and lives in a starlit trance
it’s the song for those who can’t decide
if time is worth the wait
it’s for those who live in the valley
to hide from mountains of hate
it’s the song for those who chase
but can never reach the edge
the song about that forgotten match
flicked from the 8th story ledge
it’s the song that was sung by odysseus
as he sailed the immortal sea
the one that was sung by the crowds
as they lifted the gates and ran free
be it heroes or dreamers, those who fly
and the ones who have simply joined hands
it’s a song for those who can see eternity
in carvings in the sand
it’s the song that reminds us that even though
we stand dispersed beneath our sun
there’s a force that tethers us all to its words
and has turned our souls into one
the man on 7th street
June 3, 2014 § 2 Comments
a mournful saxophone,
just one. its noise like a sermon
echoing above drunken yells
and tires treading. over the constant hum
of street lights and broken voices,
night after night, he plays. making loneliness
cry out into a crowded street of half-hearted
listeners, who sometimes toss him a smile
or a dollar, or two and then shuffle heels
across the concrete walk to catch their friends,
yelling about the a taxi. bar food. a lost wallet. what time it is.
and the man remains, alone and still,
sans his dancing fingers and heaving chest
loyally blowing lonely life into his instrument
filling the crowded air with ups and downs,
a mournful jazz hymn, showering
notes onto an unsuspecting crowd.
they yell about life,
but they may never actually stop to listen to it.
the blithely biker
May 25, 2014 § 2 Comments
when he pedals past my house every Sunday,
with Bob Marley strumming
from his portable jerry-rigged boom-box,
I can’t decide who’s happier:
he, in all his melodic cycling glory,
or the birds, who cheerfully and loyally chirp along to his song.
Song Bird
March 7, 2014 § Leave a comment
the sweetest
song of a single bird
was heard one day in passing
a distant toon cascading softly
a melody pouring into the ear
of a wanderer, who heard
the ups and downs
of a familiar hymn
a soul, perhaps lost, but still
walking, who caught the song
as it passed through the air
and smiled
as he sang
along
Lullaby
February 10, 2014 § Leave a comment
brush your teeth when you hear the wind
comb your hair when you hear the patter
wash your face with the splashes nearing
dip into your covers as the roar comes closer
rest your head on the pillow as water pounds
close your eyes with thunder’s shake
embrace perfection, cold sheets and nature’s orchestra
lulling you to sleep
Kitchen Dance
February 9, 2014 § Leave a comment
hot air spirals upward
toward haligen lights
a spinning, circling
steam of buttery garlic
and charred tomatoes
shines heavenly, a spotlight
framing four popping pans
of grease and glitter
that sing a bubble melody
of syncopated sizzle
circling and bouncing
across the very atmosphere
of that silvery room
then a punctuated ring
ends the glistening dance
a stir, a pinch, a lick, a whisk
three, two, one
and dinner is served
Song
January 24, 2014 § 2 Comments
A melody singing
again and again
a sweet, faint tune
that rings between ears
but sounds different
each time it plays, perhaps
the very same notes
but melancholy
at times
or gloriously ecstatic
perhaps
red with anger
at moments
and painful sadness
in others
and then blind passion
flooding emotion
or just
perfect peace,
all fantastically interesting,
though.
A melody that speaks
everything
you cannot say,
a tune that plays
between your ears
day-in, day-out
a hymn that sings a prayer
when words don’t suffice,
the melody of a spirit
that wonders
how life is any different
than a song.
The Bridge
January 23, 2014 § Leave a comment
I was walking across a bridge
today, and thought of you,
because eight years ago,
perhaps on this very day,
our footsteps aimlessly traced
the same path to this lonely bridge
in the woods.
Although the arch underfoot
carrying me over the creek below
is the same as it was
on that day eight years ago,
everything else is different.
It’s strange how eight years
can double a tree in size
or overgrow a foot-worn path
be the lifetime of a blue bird
and completely dull emotions
that seemed so all-consuming
eight short years ago.
I wonder if you walked the same path
would our conversation on that day
replay in your mind?
Or would you simply hear a whispered song
of a bluebird landing on the bridge’s edge.
rosepoems 