he didn’t look up
he was afraid
the tenacious unspoken
in a thousand fragments
would crash down on him.
he was amazed the trees
were not bowed from the weight
of that thing they couldn’t say
and he remembered that song…
he looked up at the changing of the colours to paradox –
now weightless
it would be the paper cuts
Every way she listened, there were endings.
This weight of pretense had to be shifted.
It was time to chord change them out of the cliché, and even though his music always made her dance, his shadows were not hers.
So she did what he didn’t expect. She brought the pig’s heart.
And they drank the wine…
This cellular leaking
in no particular order
is so kindly clogging arteries
and/or
maybe veins.
She heard them! The chords of cogency. Crescendoing. Pulsating with hermeneutical harmonies that filled her with a sensation she hadn’t felt in years. The clarity descending in notes that burst her heart.
Her heart. That’s what she could feel.
(Thanks to one of Stephen’s stories he is re-working, which is nothing like this, I was reminded of this, and how much I adore this performance. It’s extraordinary. And, musically, my favourite part of this ballet).
~*~
crocheting continuity
in the weaving waves
of sound sublimity,
It was the first time she had come back to his space. They walked into the room where he didn’t do much living and he showed her the place. On the wall. Where he strung up the different shades of pathos.
In the right order, of course.
he wore his strobe light
to precise his own sight
incising surreal
into a savoury byte
So while I was pondering what exercise I could do to work off the crazy amount of food I have eaten today (I blame the weather. It suddenly turned cold like autumn, after unseasonably warm weather, like autumn. But now it’s cold, like autumn), I found this.
he had heard it all before.
all those longing rhymes. with door
revolving the cool.
It was completely true. She could not believe it. She twisted the foregone conclusion the way she had been shown, and the colour appeared. Bleeding from under her fingernails.
Continue reading
How would they find it? She couldn’t remember the rules and every step she ran, she jumped two steps back in clarity. She hated that he got to the formula before she had, and now she was paying for it.
Continue reading
I never noticed that before, that ceiling, she thought to herself. All this time, she hadn’t noticed the fabric of her security. But she had never floated like this before. The current had always looked uncomfortable.
I was so sure it was spelt with an “i”
and the more I look at it,
the more I want it to be.
she started to write it
again like a song
and the notes were prolific
but the _______ was wrong
and every second bounced now
Thanks Melissa. This is beautiful.
Have you ever listened to a piece of music that was so perfect that it gave you chills every time you heard it? The song “Bring Him Home” by The Piano Guys is one of those pieces of music. (Link below.) I could listen to it a thousand times over and never fail to hear the yearning and passion in every note.
Did you also know that this kind of music has the power to change even the most stressful moments into an atmosphere of peace? Let me share an example.
The other day, I was taking the bus to run an errand. As I got on, there was a mother and her teenage daughter just in front of me. One of the passes didn’t work and an argument started up between the driver and the mother. I could hear them talking loudly, tempers rising, as I climbed up the…
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When my husband and I met in ’93 (what a great time for music, right?) I definitely had monsters under my bed. tsunami
He did not. We came from very different worlds (er, picture organic hippy heart idealist meeting Monsanto…) But underneath it all we had similar souls. He is quite the poet. A profound thinker used to clowning around to deal with certain aspects of his life as well.
I vented to him about a lot of things, I guess you could say. Or, you could say, I was like a Continue reading
do that thing
where you walk to me
in the syncopated slow motioned
urgency
that throws off chains
to my mind’s
caverns
dark stifled blooms
dancing towards your light
