Are poems that come with a tune a song? Another post-yoga ‘song’. The first few lines came after last week’s yoga session, the rest after tonight’s. That might explain the mixed metaphors. That and children’s stories. And clowns. I hate clowns. But I have a soft spot for the Pied-Piper and Harlequin just muscled his way in. Yoga’s fault. Strange positions lead to strange thoughts it seems. 🙂

He once led the heart of she, trailed her through eternity

With words that never tumbled from his lips,

The tune he played said more than they,

No black and white upon the page

But notes so sweet that led her eager steps.

Pipes he played were soft and low, soothing to her very soul

As on she followed, she his Columbine,

Round and round to sweetest sound, he played, she danced,

The world spun round, mixed

Coat of many colours, both looked fine.

Mountains grew, they opened wide,

Like those children, stepped inside,

Disappeared from trace without a fight,

The tune plays on though song now gone,

Harlequin, pied-piper, played just right.

His the song that’s never sung,

Silent, voiceless, faceless one,

Words unneeded while his tune plays on,

Tune he calls from distant, far, beat of drums, an air guitar,

Enchantment in the notes all played so strong,

Whistled now or hummed in time, madrigals unsung at passing fair,

Rivers wide or mountainside, lovers’ notes are lost inside,

Pied- piper, Harlequin, played haunting air.

He once led the heart of she, trailed her through eternity,

Lost his voice before his tune was sung,

She hums in time, he’s lost inside, all forgotten but for pride

And pipes that play out all sad lovers’ songs.



Sung of Trusting Hearts

Who do you trust with your heartbeat,

Your friend, your husband, your wife,

The one by your side, do you let them inside 

To caress and keep beats of your life.

Is their touch the soft hand of an angel,

The firm but the gentle with heart,

Can you trust that their love will secure it

And keep it from stopping with start.

Do their fingers pulse to your heartstrings

And strum all your worries away,

Kept alive by the touch of another

With heart massag’d lovingly each day.

So who do you trust with your heartbeats,

Be it woman or man of your choice,

Be it child or a friend or a lover,

Let them play you with touch of their voice

For the touch of an angel is spoken

In the words that fall from their lips,

Their blessing sustains all hearts broken

But, more, they protect it from this.

This feels like a song, it sounds like a song to me. The music is optional. Your own tune fits just as well as mine.


Living Song

I seem to be in musical mode. This is the second ‘song’ I’ve written since after last night’s yoga class – and not for the first time after yoga. What’s that about? The other one’s a fair bit longer so I’ll save you from that – for the moment! I’m not even sure this one’s finished but I’m hitting publish anyway. While singing. 🙂

What picks me up

When I fall down,

What keeps me going on,

What urges me

In ailing days,

What keeps me fighting strong

Are all the ways

You look at me,

Your face, how it beguiles,

The hopes and dreams

I harbour dear,

Life in all its styles.

What brings me back

When life is tough,

What raises spirits high,

What pulls me through


Many answers why,

But, most of all,

It’s hope, my dear,

Hope and struggling on,

Hope in you

And love all true,

Hope’s my living song.

What fires my flame

In all but name,

What burns behind my smile

Is hope that lives


Keeps me going for miles.

What hope I have

All rests in you,

In love and give and take,

My living song,

The whole day long,

Is hope for its own sake.


May Music, Day 12 – ‘Teenagers scare the living shit out of me…..’

……Only they don’t.

Twindaddy at Stuphblog wants to know for day 12 of the 25 day music challenge what was the last song I heard.

Chemical Romance singing ‘Teenage’ was the last song playing in the car on the way home from work. One of the songs on a CD in the collection that my 16 year old daughter keeps there for her entertainment when she’s out with me or her dad.

We don’t get a choice. Well, except when it’s one I hate and I hit FF saying, ‘No way! That’s shite!’

I usually just press play and whatever she’s been listening to is what I end up listening to. I quite like this song. Even although the lyrics don’t speak for me.

Teenagers are pussycats. I’ve had enough of them to know. Plenty of them have passed through my house over the last umpteen years to know.

Some of them are a pain in the arse at times. But I know adults like that too. Lumping any group together and making a collective statement is never a great idea.

Our Song

It’s possibly true there are no answers, just questions that abound.

At least that’s how it seems, sometimes. I’ve questioned then I’ve found

That nothing makes a lot of sense and even when it does

Shit happens for no reason. I wonder then because,

If I can’t make the heads or tails of all that’s going on,

What chance is there I get to sing my own special song?

We all have one, I have no doubt, a song made just for one,

Born with us and grown with us; desperate to be sung.

A harmony, that only we, can hear within our soul,

Hummed in time to all we do, trying to make us whole.

Listen well. I’ll listen too and maybe we will hear

The lyrics and the melody, pitched to make us cheer

At all the ways we can express what lies way deep inside.

Then maybe, we may fine-tune life and sing our song with pride.


Video reading Our Song


Friday Fiction. http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/10/09/11-october-2013/




Ghosts of ancient days linger, harkening to words long ago spoken. Poets and philosophers shaped the world then and delivered truths in Epidaurian splendour, extolling creation’s wonders. Restorative treatment for unsupported hearts that questioned our same beginnings. Spirits weep silent tears, unheard by those whose hearts are cold to musings.

With healing touch, new words are formed and man’s ailments find an echo in undiminished souls from theatrical beginnings.

A hush descends and even spectres bow to the new. One voice begins and lyrics swell poetically. No dissonant chords to haunt. Phantoms silenced by poetry, personified in the singer.

The Sweetest Revenge


The Sweetest Revenge




And true?

One man

Loved a woman

This woman was you.

He wooed you

And won you

And called you his own.

He lay down beside you;

Your body, his throne.

Your fortress, his treasure.

Your lips,

His reward.

One facet elusive

One wonderful


His lines

He had spoken

His words were not true

Your heart he had broken

This woman was you.

The psyche that is sorrowed

When words are two-faced

Mourns tears of regret

And weeps for disgrace.

A mire of destruction

Wades woefully near.

Risking new fate

Fills the wound with true fear.

A soul in the night

Reaches out for new love

The cry of the anguished

Is heard on above.

A new spirit travels

On destiny bound

Seeks out his true lover

In you, he is found.

Healing ensues

With ecstasy won.

The sweetest revenge

Is a happiness song.