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Posts Tagged ‘Sound’

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EASTERTIDE

Morning sun.
Lambs and ewes.

In the shadows
Where frost dissolves:
Cool moved airs,
A glistening reflection.

A movement,
A stillness:

The space where thought
Had been.

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PERCEPT

Moving towards silence
A step of attenuation
A lessening and an expansion
As when
Rain begins
At the edges of woodland:
A green cooling,
A descent of,
A coalescence.

The slowing breath
An evaporation of thought,
Of need,
A taste of solicitous solitude,
Space to merge
Within and without.

A new flame lit,
Passing from, out of,
Into, transparency,
Veils parted, reformed.
Lands laid out
Slowly travelled,
A shadow of sunlight
And cloud.
The sound of a small stream
Hidden amongst grassesPERCEPT

Moving towards silence
A step of attenuation
A lessening and an expansion
As when
Rain begins
At the edges of woodland:
A green cooling,
A descent of,
A coalescence.

The slowing breath
An evaporation of thought,
Of need,
A taste of solicitous solitude,
Space to merge
Within and without.

A new flame lit,
Passing from, out of,
Into, transparency,
Veils parted, reformed.
Lands laid out
Slowly travelled,
A shadow of sunlight
And cloud.
The sound of a small stream
Hidden amongst grasses.

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WEIGHTLESS

The whales weightless
In their heaven.
The spice islands of the night.

Drowned in
Midsummer blue
Scattered, sprinkled.

They sing across half a world:
These whales weightless
Rippled in starlight.

The golden moon is a song.
They shall sing the song
Of one line,
Of one world,
Of one note,
Endlessly satisfied.

The dark with its peacock eyes,
The bruised lips of the rose,
The scented fingers of night.

Wordless on the wings of fluid song
The curves they leap,
The sideways slide of their dream:
The stars that weave the hours.

Ryokan says:
Months pass, days pile up
Like one intoxicating dream-
An old man’s sighs.

One bowl
Is the moon.
One robe
Is the sky.

He says:
Dreaming about this dream world again
Old memories return.
Ten thousand mountain paths.

And they are weightless
In their blue heaven,
Stars, mountains,
Whales.
The spice of moonlight
Scented of roses.

Wordless they turn,
Sighing they turn,
Weightless, wordless:
These days piling up,
Endless paths, winged,
Sliding, drifting,
Weightless.

came across some old scribblings, upon which this piece was constructed

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DAWN CHORUS AND MOMENTS OF FROST

As if this feather, slow-turning, falls,
One breath of ice, branching blades
Arcing ghosts of fern, arced ghost of forests.
Pinioned cold, eager, aware, edge fractured.
Fingertips feeling for pattern, the familiar
Stretched pale, translucent.

As the scattered, sprinkled pierce of sound,
Woven between moonlit pale dawn wind,
Tumbling, cascades and choirs,
A flurry of beak and breast-soft down.

As all life joined up by song,
No less, no more meaning than this.
Small hearts full and pouring,
The vessel, vehicle, of the world.

No more and no less than this:
The opening of small mouths,
The fast tremble of accepting hearts.
Light now, and slow revolutions through space.

This place, placement, placid, pellucid.
Transcendent fingers frosting fine feathers,
Growing, though not grasping,
Water flowers framed in ice.

Small time, halted, crystalline.
Slow arcs of how things are,
How they happen.
Seen, unseen, diverted, amalgamated.
Dawn chorus and the moments of frost.
Suspended breath, then
Light and song.
No more, nor no less
Than this.

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In the library of the night
Seconds flick as pages scanned.
A gilded, bound and chained world
Reading, exploring, explaining itself.
An Alexandria, an akashic island,
Self-muttured, self-revealing,
A transliteration through dream.

And somehow
( there always seeming to be
No causes, always just strings of effect),
A simple phrase gongs and peals,
Bursting, a match in tinder,
A moment drawn dancing out,
A simmer of vocables,
A play of chord-thoughts.

One word becoming
A thousand languages,
A mandala, a point,
A pebble rippled
Surface
Where a glowing moon
Slides and steadies.

One word, one sky.
The view
From where you are,
Accidental muse.

—-

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The way music moves us,
(And from where those fiery winds?)
Meaning hidden, meaning most.
A call of lover, mother, home,
A lost path, a landscape,
Dreamed, so familiar, nameless.

The way it moves.
(And what is it?)
A picture of worlds made in mind,
Mind made real, mind talking.
A giving out, a giving of form.
Sounding depths, shallows rippled.

A language of moments
Escaped from time.
Shaped nothing,
Coming, going, resounding,

And music is how we make,
How we shape, our souls.
For all that lives, sings,
(Does it not?).

We find what we may be
By holding, turning, curving air.
Moving, it moves us,
Moving, it moulds us.

Sound exists only
When it is going out
Of existence.
Music moves us
By the accumulated memory
Of notes no longer heard.

(Chords are the thunder
Of one instant.
A tune: a patter of drops,
A blackbird, after storm has passed.)

Wrapped up in it
We find our skin and nerves.
Tingled, a breeze, a whisper.
Edges, but edges that cannot be measured.
Scales, large, small, up, down,
In meets out and melts.

Note, notation, sound
And space timed.

Thought free from subject
And object.
Thought, wordless,
Exultant.

Ripples in the ether,
String theory,
Sound in a jar.
Movements,
First to last.
Scriabin on a mountain
Scribbling Siva.
Drawing colours
From the tenuous darkness.
Chladni smiles.
Shri shri shri.
(Sings itself).

—-

This is in response to a comment, whose whereabouts i just can’t find at the moment, but the first line here is what it was. Apologies and thanks for the inspiration, whomsoever it was….

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LONG LIFE PRAYER

Cradled in sound.
Cradled amongst the ins
And outs of breath, of heart.
Cradled, covered, rocked.

This certain skin touched, warm.
Cradled with word,
Cradled with song.
Cradled in longing,
Cradled in dream.

Swathed,
This long voice,
This sunlit unfolding,
This silken morning air,
These slow, precise moments.

Voice is not
The only voice
(Says the world).
Heart has not
The only song
(Says the slow dusk).

Peace is not
Outside
(Says the river,
Says the floating trees,
Says the flight of wings above,
Says the silence of their passing).

The living sleep, the sleeping dream,
The breathing pauses, the song resumes,
We melt and merge, swathed and cradled.
Delicate is the rainbow,
Impossible to catch.
Delicate the dance:
The balance of remaining.

Cherish and sustain
Uphold and move on.
So little, so few,
A heart to hold all,
A mind of whispers.
Gently, gently,
No lamp flickers.
Scent of evening.

—-

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