She was driving to this song. Her CD player was broken, and kept playing it over. Or maybe she was just controlling that with her mind. Who knew? She didn’t care. She had spent the morning reading and listening and watching and drinking and barely eating, she realised for a moment. She pulled over to get a healthy sandwich or salad, it didn’t matter really because she was only tasting the words of her day, which were stretchy like bland. So the chocolate muffin was perfect.
She laughed to herself when she saw the naked, silhouetted tree. Fact is stranger than fiction, after all.
Her head was full of clever people’s recycled words. And she, silent more often than not, confused the clever people. Why did this tree have no leaves?
Full of memories of echoing words, in canyons, on lonely family holidays, she got back into the car. On one of those trips, she had stopped yelling into the canyon, and had started throwing leaves instead. It was autumn, the tree was beautiful like everything you never had, and well, she wasn’t sure why. Or, she just couldn’t remember.
Tears were falling now, as the harvest moon was rising in front of her. She started driving faster, because darn it, she was going to drive through it this time.
WP synchronicities…I was feeling an overwhelming desire to play the piano, which I haven’t done in a very long time, then this was one of the first posts I saw just a little while ago when I got onto WordPress. What a beautiful song, thank you for sharing it Stephen! And it sounds just as out of tune as our piano. Perfect.
(and this, not my own photo, is also kinda perfect)
He studied her blanks, his heart a magnifying glass as he carefully copied out each jot that filled the lens. He often sat back, in surprise and wonder, sometimes awe, sometimes astonishment. Sometimes, sadness, that could not be expressed in any current language, he mourned.
He didn’t have enough colours. But the poetry, brought him to his knees.
When my husband and I married all those years ago, cough…my mind wasn’t prepared for how well acquainted we would become with death, he especially. So much church and ministry life happens quietly, behind the scenes, as it should, and there are these extraordinary, jewelled moments, of being with people before, and as they die. These privileged moments of intimacy, I would not normally have had, and for the most part, I am very grateful for them.
He wanted to insert the right words, but they were deftly eluding him, and he was weary of the chase. So he started tracing the outline of the knots of his depletion. They were particularly prominent this time.
He knew he was full of them and it would take time and effort to untie them, or rather, to hydrate them again to loosening. He wondered long and hard about it, as he tried instead, to un-knot your words.
So Nigel, has done a lovely thing of reading a few poems, including a couple of mine, to honour the contribution to the poetry world by women poets. I love how he does his readings, and feel moved to be a part of this beautiful post (with a dignified giggle at the end 🙂 )
My dear friends, I have today for your delectation something rather special. It struck me how many wonderful, famous and celebrated poets are women compared to say artists in the world of painting.
This is something I’ve also noticed within our own circle, and so I feel both honoured & privileged to have been given permission by the following poets to recite their work. Below is just a small sample of the amazing art to be found and enjoyed.
If you’ve a favourite piece you’d like read I’m always looking to expand my ‘Alchemists of word’ section. Don’t be shy or humble for I’m not a critic or academic, just someone who loves the written word.
I fell into what I thought was one of my clichéd dreams, filled with doors.
But there was a door that stood out. It stood out because it was familiar.
Still on its hinges despite the relentless wind coming through, I tried to close it.
My neck ached, being in the same position every mourning.
Eons before/maybe last week, I had opened it because I had seen your music through the window of it – blushing colours and adverbs on a stave of missing meaning.
But that was then.
Now it was time to change my glasses. They were tinted, it turned out.
And the door closed.
*trigger warning: there are short edits and flashing lights/strobe effects in this video
"Can we just lie here for a moment? She knows what
to do and it's so much easier to make out the words
if you press your ear against the stone." He hated this place. But she promised it would
be the last time. And it had started to snow.
It would hopefully slow the others down. They needed to leave. He was too scared to look
at his watch and now he was struck by how beautiful
she looked in this light. That pink light, reflecting
from the tears frozen on her face. He pulled her gently up from her mother's grave.
mother they are coming again
they come to shoot what we already lost
mother they are coming again
our silver covered by their rust
father they are coming again
they come to jail the things that i have seen
father they are coming again
burning minds to keep the ruin clean
no one is around
„little girl there’s safer ground
follow the sea and you will find that place
little girl there’s safer ground
come take your years and put them in their hands“
She didn't say anything. Why wasn't she saying anything?But she had.She just couldn't hear her. She had always
heard her through her heart, and now it was frozen
to her cheeks.He lifted her up as her chest was caving in.He sang
instead. The words she had taught him when they met,
The ones she had heard from her mother's friend. Before
they never saw him again."Little girl, there's safer ground..." That ground. Rising up out of the sea of him.
Rushing to the coat check, she was trying hard not to obsess over him not believing something she had said in the car. He had said it was absurd.
It was making the skin on her arm itch.
Irony did that. Well, in particular contexts. She wasn’t sure what this was.
She had felt so warm while they were driving and had wondered if she were overdressed. But then, he was the one who was filling the car with decorated axioms, making sure to remind her how insightful he was. She had cringed wearily, then chuckled at the awful jokes forming in her mind – she started thinking she didn’t need her wisdom teeth when she digested his words, only her incisors. She could try to be environmentally friendly, she supposed, and recycle all of this packaging, but it wasn’t even pretty.
And now he appeared with two effervescent glasses, as her arm started to bleed.
She was allergic to champagne, she had told him in the car
Her breath pliable, she crouched down in that corner, the one that didn’t fit like a glove.
Her movements were whispers, soft and borrowed from someone she couldn’t remember, but they had told her to use them in times such as these. The movements abandoned her though, as she started crying the music her mother used to sing to her.
(Edit, the video on there has since been removed).
Very interesting to say the least. I think it is a bit of a must read/watch. Also because ignorant me would love the input of anyone who knows a lot more about this than I do. On the video: “facebook recently shut down chat bots after they started speaking their own language”. What does that even mean?
And no, I don’t plan on getting a self driving car any time soon. I just bought a second hand car that’s manual for crying out loud. It’s been a long time, and gosh darn it if I don’t love the heck out of it. Manual cars are super fun. And as my elderly friend in Colorado has always said, “I like to drive my cars, not have them drive me”. If she only knew where that was really heading…
My brother and I were discussing the Beatles, and I reminded him that in an interview, Paul McCartney was asked what it was like to be the best song writer in the world. He said something like, “I don’t know, ask Neil Finn!” Thus began another CH listening spree.
This song was, firstly, a Split Enz song, (1984) appropriately recorded at the end of their life as a band. Then CH re recorded it at the beginning of its life. It was a big deal (the dissolving of Split Enz) for Australia and New Zealand.
This Easter has been a time of new beginnings for my brother and me. Can you hear me smiling? And, as much as many talk about walking away from toxic relationships, or people we just don’t like, or maybe, we are just spoilt and things aren’t going the way we think they should, for me, this is about walking away from the terrible thought patterns I had developed over the years. I honestly can’t think of anyone I want to walk away from. I would much rather walk away from the bad way I have handled some things. Here’s to new beginnings. And to wiser loving. Of others, and myself.
Microscopic particles of time
rain upon our lives.
Paper promises grow brittle,
mapped forgiveness folds, unfolds,
frays and tears along the creases.
Our memories refract through prisms
until the brightest day is lost
in anesthetic runes.
I heard a motor revving in the carport,
and from my gate,
I watched my Kia Starfish drive away,
with the spindly legged carport
beyond the reckoning,
of fractured eyes
and thwarted whys,
bursting up through the belies,
the linguistic instant
of heartfelt cries
(I remember seeing this on television when it was first performed. and the music wrecked me (no pun intended). I am not Catholic, but this small section was my favourite part. For those of you who practice it, God bless your Easter meditations.)
Originally posted: April 15th, 2017
(Just discovered this video no longer plays here, and likely other places. I found this one but the quality is not nearly as good, unfortunately. The snippet I loved is between 6:50 and 7:35.)