When from the heart we say:
Sometimes
when the waking bird does sing
immortal hymns fiercely tender
yearning yet unsatisfying
sweet in the mouth
but bitter in the belly
the dramas of life
express themselves
in endless words
Sometimes
I hear the hot thrill
of hopes mysterious
wild thoughts
that quicken within me
like rosy fingers of Dawn
melting into broad day
Sometimes
even as I rise
and move to the window
I grasp a hint of plot
know the thread of my story
every word of it in open air
outside for all to see.
Somewhere
I wake before the bird
in the gloaming
wait expectantly
with careless wonder
gladly then, might I remember
immortal hymns of deathless fame
that make the waking bird sing
in the silent, stirless, windless night
Somewhere
the vision softly fades
as I return to slumber
listening to the scraping drone
of a snowplow
sick abed I dream of a bird
waking to sing with words
Somewhere
as the waking bird does sing
I hear soft murmurs
of daily conversation
when the cock crows
in the imagination of my heart
and the universe falls silent.
Someplace
my blood is young
and red again
running through
misty fields
of romance languages
unspoken and unlearned
yet sung in light of day
by bird from forest edge
Someplace
I would know the hot thrill
of hopes mysterious
and feel rosy fingers
of rapturous Dawn
its dulcet refrain
of sunlight behind them
Someplace
I will know a joke
the little boy never understood
but I will only be sleeping
to dreams of a waking bird singing
immortal hymns fiercely tender
Sometime
perhaps the waking bird will sing
my yearning satisfied
the taste in my mouth
easy on the ear
my belly satiated
by sanguine farewell glimpse of eternity
as I slumber in a windowseat of dreams
Sometime
when all is quiet
I hear my father's voice
and squeal with delight
as he throws me up ashoulder
holding on tightly we climb uphill
Sometime
I will carry my grandchild
as my father before
and pass on after a kind
good things gathered
from shores of memory
Someday
like beehives covered in snow
I will sit motionless and pray
consciously waiting for spring
to the sound of a waking bird
singing of
I shall see the land clearly
so well it comes alive
in the minds eye of my future
Someday
endless words must be abandoned
when they fall like rain over snow
turning to ice encrusted, gleaming
while the bird flies back
to sing of waking
in the present
Someday
my prayers answered
I will raise my voice to God
"when morning gilds the sky"
then I like waking bird will sing
the canticle divine
when night becomes today.
obeedúid~
13/Feb/08
The original was much longer and melodic in nature. The act of editing, cropping and tightening up unfortunately removed some of its flavor. This happens sometimes. I am not yet satisfied with it as a finished piece. I see it being paired down at a later date using only the most successful verses. A sequel may even be a possibility when I actually go to Killaloo.
Mark.
13/feb/08
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