A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.
Wallace Stevens
It could be a thread of music, woven
over, under the fabric of night
a single golden strand that wakes me –
lyrics of an old song rewritten
upon immaterial lines of my mind
a starling’s yellow beak that pecks
my sleeping eye awake and I know
yours is the voice singing to me somewhere
from an empty room on the edge of existence –
to waken me with thoughts of home.
Day 3 ~ MUSIC
Sanaa is our host in The Imaginary Garden today, inviting us to have late night conversations with the muse.
"and I know
ReplyDeleteyours is the voice singing to me somewhere
from an empty room on the edge of existence"
I feel such deep peace in my belly as I read this poem. I find it to be so very comforting.
I am happy to know that there is comfort in the lonely hour described.
DeleteThis poem as a whole is so soothing, so tranquil in its depiction of the voice singing to us, its words melding with those of our own. I particularly loved the image of the "starling's yellow beak that pecks my sleeping eye awake,".. such a gorgeous image. Thank you so much for writing to the prompt, Kerry!❤️
ReplyDeleteAnother poem which simply evolved one line after the other. it felt kind of short, and maybe incomplete, but I let it rest.
DeleteAh, your words are balm for an aching soul — the way you capture this music through the plains of existence is heart-touching.
ReplyDelete"under the fabric of night/a single golden strand that wakes me" and "yours is the voice singing to me somewhere/from an empty room on the edge of existence": Wonderful, wonderful.
I am always gratified to know I have touched a heart. thank you, Anmol.
DeleteThis has such resonance of hope!! Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteMusic is my comforter when pain tries to seep into every pore, every thought, every dream. I feel this poem.
ReplyDeleteYea, very beautiful and somehow soothing. Such a deep connection to your Muse, so wholly accepted – as, ideally, it should be.
ReplyDeleteAn interesting way of looking at it and your interpretation makes me read the poem again from a different viewpoint. thank you.
Deletefrom an empty room on the edge of existence –
ReplyDeleteto waken me with thoughts of home...puts me in mind of a quote from Truman Capote's Other Voices, Other Rooms..."we go screaming round the world, dying in our rented rooms, nightmare hotels, eternal homes of the transient heart.” The whole poem puts me in mind of his book. But so soothing somehow
Thank you for sharing this quote. i love Truman Capote.
Deletethere is a delicious play of the dark and light, the ache and the satiated ...
ReplyDeleteyour images are just wonderful Kerry, and my mind keeps dancing, as if holding a thread, golden perhaps, weaving in and out, under, over .... which keeps me happily, contentedly, soothed and here, in this bewitched, bewitching and dazzling hour
Thank you, Pat. As one who endures midnight insomnia, I have learnt to listen or look for the golden thread that binds all things.
DeleteA dismal end makes us think, why?
ReplyDelete"yours is the voice singing to me somewhere
from an empty room on the edge of existence."
I think there is nothing good for these to salvage. Split?
..
lonely and soothing... the images are wonderful
ReplyDeletebeak that pecks my sleeping eye awake... what an image.. here it is the bulbul.. tiny little bird...don't think it has any parts other than a voice box...
ReplyDeleteWe, too, have a bulbul with a sweet song. I know you love the birds, Rajani, as do I.
DeleteYou’re playing beautifully with words, Kerry, and you’ve created a tapestry of them:
ReplyDelete‘a single golden strand that wakes me –
lyrics of an old song rewritten
upon immaterial lines of my mind’.
The starling’s yellow beak is startling.
Thank you for that lovely compliment, Kim.
DeleteSo beautiful. "yours is the voice singing to me somewhere." I love that. How often just on the edge of awaking do I cling to that voice as it fades and waits for my return.
ReplyDeleteGorgeous, Kerry! “An empty room on the edge of existence”
ReplyDeletethat beak ~
ReplyDelete