Chills emerged from someplace near
And someplace far, with half-known fear,
Quick bringing forth the naked cold
Of mind with dust blown off, so old
Times – so old they were youth –
Return to current, waves uncouth.
Freeing things unknown but hid,
Their never-before key melded,
To open strong the heavy door
That had been only walls before.
So that the wind blows without things
To block it, muffle how it sings,
How it sings songs raw and heard
And deep-wailed from this earth-wide bird –
Its strong but subtle power freed,
To move the air, release the seed.
Chills emerged from someplace near
The stage and crowd moved with the sound,
The music pulsing through the ground –
The voice, the guitar, drums and base,
Mixing subtly, interlaced
With all the feeling of the song,
And all behind it – all nights long
Of finding true its notes and chords
And melody, all soaring towards
The goal, in all its mystery,
Joined through by lyrics’ poetry.
And layers more that lay behind
The music – set free as it binds –
These layers from times long before,
With surface lost and inside pure,
With pain and ache and joy and hope,
All intertwined in the same rope,
To push and pull, climb and repel,
Maneuvering the ancient bell,
So maybe a slight sound would toll
Barely heard and fully whole.
And all of this was covered slight
In mirrored, striving, aural light,
For all of it was in the beat
Of stage, crowd, heart – as pulses meet.
“Let’s skip this one,” said Clara.
“Well, it might be nice to see. Rhinos are pretty cool,” answered Paul with an unexpected, quiet confidence that poked through his nerves.
After a moment Clara slowly began to follow him up the path that led to the rhinoceros, her lips pursed and slightly frowning. As they walked, Paul thought of all the times he had yearned to make those lips smile and laugh, and he scolded himself for upsetting them, for taking away their shape.
“He’s pretty ugly,” Clara exclaimed when they reached the animal.
“You know, some people think unicorns were actually rhinos,” said Paul tentatively.
Clara let out a short laugh. “Huh?”
“Because of the one horn. And Rhinos seem like nice creatures. I mean, they fight each other with their horns sometimes, but they eat plants, go to watering holes, don’t hunt for food.”
Clara looked at him and then at the rhino. “Why do you know this stuff?” Her face remained disinterested.
“Guess I just think it’s cool. Plus the rhino probably appreciates us knowing he’s not some armored monster.” Paul tried to chuckle.
Clara shrugged. “He’s still pretty ugly though. Let’s go see the monkeys.”
Paul gazed at the rhino then, at his weak but sure eyes that looked like two chinks in armor, and he had the sensation the rhino was looking back at him. So Paul looked down sadly and turned to follow Clara, reaching for her hand as he began to walk. It felt dryer and rougher than it had a few minutes before, he noticed, and for a moment he found himself imagining he was grasping a rhinoceros paw. It made him feel a little better.
A single ember, single spark,
Single wave of light through dark,
Pushing nighttime far away,
This close-held nature, newfound day –
How wonder-filled they must have stared
At how it lit the sticks that ere
Had only seen light from the sky,
Never before running so nigh.
And perhaps too they wondered awed
At how they – how these creatures flawed –
Could find miracles hid inside
Of them, things grander that confide,
And why the world cared for them so,
That there were things deep they could know.
Perhaps their minds new-flowered too,
To paths that no one ever knew –
To paths of mystery, paths of awe,
Paths of length to walk not crawl,
Paths that showed them clear their name,
Lit by the gifted twofold flame.
A collection of puns tweeted during the past week.
Fun election fact – it wasn’t until 2000 that the connection between blue states and Democrats and between red states and Republicans became common. I found that pretty surprising – it sort of blue me away when I red it.
Did you hear about the really intelligent volcano scientist. He graduated magma cum laude.
Happy belated 2*Pi Day (6.28). If you multiply this day by r, you can find the circumference of any circle, or so the legend goes (note – not sure if this one is technically a pun, but I think it shares the same spirit of wordplay, or number-play).
The keyboard clacking makes its sounds,
Its subtle tones, its dexterous rounds –
Piano of another form,
Its own played melodies new-born
With every sentence, every word,
Every letter, read so heard,
And these together bringing thoughts
That fly through air, untie its knots –
Some stinging sharp in quiet tones,
Some staccato, some deep-yearned moans,
But all forming as one their score
Of prose or poem, fact or lore –
Making the piece that is the whole,
That is the storied-music soul.
A couple simple lines sewn through,
Brought forth together to signs new,
And placed beside their other shapes
To make their pattern – as though drapes
With lace are they, fluttering strong,
Reflecting breezes like a song,
And when pulled back revealing day
And night and scenes where each would lay,
And through these views revealing both
The revealed and revealer’s oath,
In all their ancient lace-line forms –
These simple, complex letters sworn
Through things intrinsic, things beyond,
To show the world, to keep its bond.