the other side of barbed
holds new horizons
but tangled undergrowth
and fenceposts bar the way
stout boots, stout hearts,
no fucker’s gonna block us
come what may
Written for Mindlovemiserysmenagerie Photo Challenge #94
…and in all dreams
alien to life
be there, do this,
must do better,
in different hands
gentler hands than mine own
big and soft and strong enough
to hold my all
fledgling am I
not yet born to living
and never fall
Reading a poem by Paul this morning and immediately agreeing with its sense of other worldness. I recall a lot of dreams. Not sure why. But I love them. It’s a whole other world where I’m almost a different me. The essence of self perhaps rather than the shell-encased. Or not. But most enjoyable.
It’s beginning to look like I’ve given up writing poetry but, hey, what are lyrics but poetry set to music?
That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it as I’m thoroughly enjoying this foray into writing and singing the lyrics to accompany Johnny’s fabulous music.
He and his lovely wife, Lisa, both put an incredible amount of work into compiling the video.
Where you go I’ll never know,
it’s a dream,
cast alone as a stone
into a stream.
I am void when you’re gone,
just a shell of myself,
you leave me there,
I don’t know where,
when or if I’ll be reborn,
recover soon, without you, my other self.
Why you leave I can’t conceive,
where you go I’ll never know,
into night you have flown
while I lie here all alone,
tie me to you,
take me on the voyage,
where you fly
as I lay here to die,
Where you go I’ll never know,
it’s a dream,
left alone while you roam
in the realms of a world
that is your home
from waking days,
each night I pray
you will return to me,
I’ll never see what you’ve seen
as I lie here lost to dreams,
beyond the night you have flown
as I die a death alone,
tie me to you,
take me on your voyage,
into night, where you fly,
do not leave me here to die
bring life back to my dreams,
take me with you when you go,
where you fly,
I cannot bear to die alone
on my own, just a shell of myself.
You leave me bare,
I don’t know where, when or if
I’ll be reborn, recover soon,
my death to self.
dust of seemed swallow secured on grey slate
risen dessication its fate
forever entranced, disabled by time
flightless now ever in state
dust of arced angel arrested alone
ached by stillness in stone
nary the one nor other may move
struck in time, brief and long gone
impressions imprinted, immobilised
impossible gifts to new eyes
cast by creation then clefted to wait
separated from life ‘mid soft sighs
Sheltered in shadows till light disappeared,
Urged into night with a screech,
Hung by my feet till wings found release,
Shackled by lack of sight, leeched
Into the gloaming, soft darknes held dear,
Strident but silent my speech,
Seeking an echo to steer my path clear,
All vision just out of my reach.
Flitted and flirted with posturing objects,
Clamoured in darkness with sound,
Wilderness wild in every aspect,
Not a whisper of you to be found,
Back to my haven, my roost for the day,
Hoisted by end to my flight,
Each night that encroaches I have my say,
Hidden but hellbent on fight.
Bats in the belfry, bats in the barn,
Bats that seek out your source,
Pipistrelles, vampires, creatures with fangs,
Bloodthirsty for want of discourse.
I’ve tasted your scent and it soars my desire,
Nothing but you will suffice,
Starved I will be till I find you again,
Ambition cannot think twice.
Waiting in wings, in towers, your roof,
Scratching till day turns to night,
Champing at bit till one found aloof,
Neck raised to the stars, what a sight!
Bounty is mine when wings find their tips,
When fangs in my face thirst, it’s true,
Seeping through blackness, I’m whetting my lips
Lusting for sacrifice. You.
It’s a wide sky to fly out on your own here,
Kinda lonesome in a lovely sort of languid, lithesome way,
Like distance is no object on a clear day
And wings are happy just to flap away.
It’s a long time I’ve travelled on this journey,
Kinda ages since I roosted for a rest,
Like someone’s moved the landmarks without warning
But I’m happy doing what I do the best.
It’s the flight, you see, that really is the main part,
Kinda shooting breeze and riding currents fair,
Like flying without falling is my skill set
And nothing in this world can quite compare.
It’s the way I am, you know, I’m off the wire,
Kinda restless when I have to stay too still,
Like motion is my purpose and my meaning,
It’s a gift of wings and head for heights that thrill.
Freedom’s just another word for floating on the breeze,
A flightless bird that’s found its song and wings,
A carousel suspended in current’s twirling ease,
Carousing, fulsome-throated as it sings.
Flight, another fantasy, for rising in the air,
Above the noise and fracking far below,
Penchant of the pensive and all dreamers everywhere,
New direction for a world that spins too slow.
Upwards is a preference as onwards to the wind,
Uninhibited, unleashed, euphoric verve,
Harmonious high in helium’d mind,
Flight of visions distant, sought by nerve.
I soared there
for a second
in the millenia
to the words
glided on an updraft,
invisible to view,
felt in the breeze,
spiralled to gravity’s
before the crash
I flew then
for a while,
lost to reason’s
bathed in light
to acute contrast,
A blink in time,
a truth eternal,
OK. NOT he who shall be obeyed, but the pussycat with ‘the helmet that scares the bejaysus out of me’ is asking, for question 9 of the 25 day music challenge, which song I associate with hope. Oops, hold on. Need to insert a little image here. Every other bugger has it.
I thought about this all day.
Back and forth. In between other bits of things like work and weans.
And, at first, I thought of ‘I Will Survive’, because most hope is a wish for something in the face of adversity. And that particular song is a kind of ‘get-it-up-you’, sort of finger to the north wind type of song. Well, it is if you live where the north wind raises your kilt and blows round your nethers, irking every part of you that should be warm and cosy.
Then I came home from work and had a rethink.
And do you know what? I changed my mind. Woman. Prerogative.
Now, I’ve posted here before about my wish that if I could be any sort of creature I wanted (apart from a woman which, obviously, would be everyone’s choice) I’d want to be an eagle. Mainly because it can fly. And it’s gorgeous. And it is master/mistress in its own world. Why would anyone not want that?
Then. I had another thought. I’m not really worthy of being an eagle. Eagles are powerful, magnificent wing-beaters of immense proportions in their world. They are majestic. They demand and command the skies. They are the pinnacle of birds. And answer to no one.
I do. I answer to life. To responsibilities. To commitments. To so much. An eagle is therefore my metaphor for escape when I can’t cope. It’s my mercy bird. Please don’t eat me. Save me.
Then I got to thinking that I don’t want majesty. I want mercy. For all the times I’ve been a shit. An unhopeful, desperate, fall to my knees, gawd-somebody-help-me sort of shit.
Then I thought I’d have a wee nap cos I was up to all hours last night planning a lottery win with TD. (They’re on, btw, TD! Two nights worth!)
Then my brain went, ‘Aye! You think so?!’ Give me all this gear to work on then think you’ll wake up to a wee poem, ready made? No sleep for you, china. Have it now or not at all.’
This came to be.
shale shifts beneath my tread,
i flail and stumble,
a rumble from beneath, within,
this mountain that i scale
pours forth its scarlet
and bleeds its heat through soles.
I fall. I kneel.
raising eyes, i spy a distant image,
nearing, circling, searching for its prey,
its majesty knows mercy
and i mumble, then cry unto its
eye to make its way
to where i’ve risen, on this journey upwards,
on shaky legs, with stoic heart and hope,
and, just when all seems lost to fear and reason,
it dives and lifts,
i’m airborne and i cope.
the wings beneath my essence
are much stronger
than the wind beneath my own
when all seems bleak,
heavenwards i raise my heart
and mind and spirit.
Inner core is known. No need to speak.
So, ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ it is. Only, most days, I fly without wings. Depending instead on the wings of others, in whatever form, to raise me up.
And, on a slight aside here, TD. One of your other contributors commented in a post that it was becoming more difficult.
I know where she’s coming from. Unlike my self-imposed A-Z mythology challenge, music permeates everything.
It’s in every part of our lives, from the first arse-rocking rhythm that a babe sways along to, to every piece ever heard in the course of our lives that ever meant anything to us. That’s a lot of music. Tons of the stuff to try and filter to something that encapsulates your questions.
But, do you know what? It rocks.
From the moment of thinking, ‘This is the one’ to the realisation that, ‘No. This speaks better for me.’ Quite a feat.
And I do so like a challenge that seeks to condense.
How many days left? Apologies to all the bloggers I’m not reading as frequently as I would. Blame the guy in the mask. And my own need to rise to a challenge. Aspirations. Got to have them. 😉
through time and space
scented bubbled bliss
Decided to dance a little deeper in life, and wow can spirit dance!
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