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.

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

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