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Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Music

The absolute magic of extraordinary music
is always encapsulated inside or within
the creative arrangement of it notes
and words that allow it to touch the shadows
of the human heart. It can depress, or lighten
the spirit and mind, or capture a memory;

it can become a symbol, or a memorial
to those we have lost. Various musical
pieces recapture joy or hope; they enlighten
the mind feeding it vibrations to aid in
learning, or help to set a mood. Shades
of color may be attributed to the notes.

The color blue is probably the most notable
referencing a style made exceptionally memorable
by its innate capacity to reach into the shadowy
wasteland of our psyche and give birth, musically
speaking, to the deepest emotions found within.
Whether it’s wailing loudly, or whispering lightly,

it resonates with us. Sometimes, it’s like a lightning
strike stabbing the heart. You’d swear every word, every tone
was speaking directly to you, and was ripped from within
your secret heart, that unendingly painful well of memories
we keep inside a locked closet until the day a skilled musician
searches long enough, delves deep enough to unlock that shadowland

we hide away. Once the key is found and turned, the shades
of emotion escape through the door heading for the light
where they dance and twirl in tune with the syncopated music
while they reach outward with grasping fingers to catch the notes
that reverberate on the air. Almost corporeal, each memory
partners with a special song that strives to free the spirit within.

Some artists have a special capacity allowing them to reach inside
mankind, to become explorers charting that invisible land of shadows
that comprise our soul, or, what some call a universal genetic memory.
Whatever you may call it, music appeals to it, and shines a spotlight
into our lives, giving each of us a method by which to notate
special times, made even more special by the presence of music.

The music shaded in hues of blue reaches deep inside
the world and wraps its notes around our darkest shadows
shining its light upon mankind’s communal memories.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Poetry Challenge Day 11: an object

The Old Windmill

In the distance,
a sentinel slumps weary and forlorn,
a solitary watcher with nothing left to see.

Once,
its vanes reached outward, always seeking
the wind’s embrace, swiveling and swooping
like a hawk hunting thermals on which to soar.

Once,
its body sang with a joyous heartbeat,
pumping silver liquid, harvesting and gifting,
spilling out precious life essence across the land.

Once,
its eye beheld endless horizons,
rolling verdure, speckled by cattle,
hides gleaming like midnight sun.

Once,
it watched over countless children,
future’s inhabitants playing at its feet
in shimmering water.

Now,
its body bleeds rust, its melancholy vanes
hum intermittent notes, its dead eye wistfully watches
over spiky-brown fields desolate and deserted.

No offspring to keep,
no purpose to fulfill, proud sentry no longer,
a dusty relic. Just the old windmill listing in the wind.

© 2009 Lisa G. Beaudoin

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Poetry Challenge: Day 9

Requiem for Lucille

(for my grandmother, Lucille Bunch Davis)

A second mother
to her daughter’s daughter,
keeper of secrets, teller
of stories, builder of dreams
She loved greatly
and was greatly loved
Sunrise to sunset
and beyond, working
tirelessly
Jill-of-all-trades -
builder, baker,
seamstress, gardener,
farmer, cook,
and sage
like a hen with
a young chick
she sheltered me
beneath her wings
guided faltering
feet to solid ground
dried gushing tears
provided solace
defended sleep
from nightmare intrusions
she instilled learning
bestowed knowledge
built security
teacher, parent,
and friend
Foundation solid.
Paths diverged.
I discovered
new roads,
she lost
her way.
Insidiously arrived
senescence
nightmare universe
full of dementia traps
wormholes to time-loops
yesterday is now
and tomorrow
never comes
Foundation shattered.
Lost soul wandering
alone, remembrances vanished.
She’s now departed;
still, I keep her
memory burning
in my heart,
my eternal flame.

© 2009 (LisaB) Lisa G. Beaudoin

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Poetry Challenge 2009: Day 6 / Something Missing

Empty Room

Yesterday blurred
into day, is fading
into tomorrow

Go to work
every morning
Come home
each evening

Wash and fold
laundry done
Suds and rinse
dishes cleaned

Spritz and wipe
dusting complete
Rumbling journey
floors vacuumed

Keep busy
Don’t think

about the journey
down the hall

past that room
now empty

except for
the silent crib


© 2009 (LisaB) Lisa G. Beaudoin

Monday, April 13, 2009

Poem A Day Challenge - Day 11 - Object

there’s a small brass key

bound round her neck

by a delicate and knotted

ribbon of scarlet thread

she fingers it against

her pale ivory skin

a lost and faraway look

in eyes like summer grass

as a stranger I watch her

peering at her as though

through a window on the

outside looking back in

and I ask hypothetically if

my stranger self held the key

what secret thoughts could I

unlock with a twist of my wrist

what memories would come

spilling pell-mell from the box

of treasures and baubles

and trinkets that is her mind

what does she keep hidden

in her most secret place

locked away safely there

where she goes to find solace

the mirror window reflects

distant eyes back at me

and those slender fingers

still fluttering at the key

in my separate, alter, observing self

I hide that I know what I do

that the truths inside her box

of treasures are mine as well

I watch and wonder at the smile

that tugs at the edge of her face

will she risk all to whim and chance

and give over that tiny antique key

not daring to breathe a moment

I hope beyond hope for some sign

some flicker inside her emerald eyes

that she’s ready to live for today

while I watch, entranced by the

dance at her throat pale fingers

on antique brass and scarlet ribbon

I breathe softly and whisper ‘let go…’

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Quote for Today

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

~Sylvia Plath

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Missing you

Can this dream that I long for ever come true?
So many times I want to shout how I feel
But I hold it in only to find
That this love is real
Can the future hold our life together or is it just a fleeting pleasure?
Will you ever feel the same way I do
Or will I continually be pining away for you
Oh, God
Help me to let go
And trust though the road is tough
I know you have what is best for me in mind
And you will take me step by step
If only I can find my rest in You
and truly be satisfied in all that You do.
I want to shout about my love for You
but these thoughts keep drowning out the truth.
So I'll keep on praying and crying out to You
Cause you know what i'm going through
Hold me in your arms.
Never let me go.
I'll trust you despite the not knowing what the future holds
Whether death or life
Whether rich or poor
I'll follow you despite what lies in store

"Seek ye the kingdom of heaven and its righteousness and all these things shall be added unto you."
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