A NAME
. . . Surprise is a name of God.
~Brother David Steindl-Rast
Who else would bring a pair of owls
to circle my head on New Year’s night?
Or a fox to the front step
just at sunset yesterday? Who
could have handed us a little child
with round cheeks, his mother’s mouth,
his daddy’s smiling eyes?
In the gray and icy drizzle of winter,
who else would have sent a foot of snow,
north wind to slice through our dismay?
Or gathered us together
and crowned us with roses,
taught us how to sing?
April prompt #26
An adult who affected you strongly as a child
Janice’s #1
MRS. FARRINGTON KILLING THEORY
Tonic. Sub-dominant. Every Good Boy
Does Fine. The ruler across the knuckles.
The yellow notebook. Erasers balanced
on the hands. It is forbidden to play
by ear. I can read music in my sleep.
My hand position is old-style perfect.
I cannot improvise to save my life.
Playing Mozart, I always forget to breathe.
April prompt #9
KEEP STRANGE COMPANY
Ray’s #1
We prefer tunes in the Crixian mode.
We turn our cranks backwards.
Our shoes have pointed heels.
We knit socks from dental floss.
No wonder we have so few friends.
We give our neighbors pies of greens
we stole from their gardens in the night.
Five roosters roost on our roof.
Every single morning, no matter what
the weather, we greet the dawn
with Morris dancing on the lawn.
MAGIC CARPET
ENCANTO
~for the singers
When we sing, we sing. We become
the song. Notes have ceased to matter.
Our heart beats the pattern, the shape
of the time, the space of the spiral
where we stand. We drink harmony
from the fountain; we’re held
in the great mystery’s form. Farewell
to self-entanglement. We’re bending
like willows. The valley rejoices.
Unlonely, we journey through the night.
As each stone adds its voice
to the singing of the stream,
even our troubles flow like love.
We are beautiful and good.
All our mouth is filled with music.
BERNIE’S ALL-STAR KAZOO BAND
~July 4, 2015
Ask anyone who knows me–
I am not famous for waving the flag.
But this year, on the Fourth,
marching down Main St., USA
with a band of friends,
reflecting many cheers,
deflecting some silences,
absorbing a single obscenity,
passing under the big Old Glory
hanging above the street
as we played “This Land is Your Land”—
well, for once I thought,
maybe,
just maybe it is.
BEING ALTO
(with apologies to my soprano friends)
You read music. Good. Sing alto.
~My junior high chorus teacher
My flute, silver bell,
white-throated sparrow
ready to soar–
grounded.
But what do sopranos
know of harmonies
needed and given,
composer’s confidence?
Striding around the repertory
I’ve learned to hold the form,
tune to the root,
listen hard for the inner voice.
