I like a life of hushed notes and electric crackle.
I like buzzing neural circuits and a quiet shimmering blue sea
I hold my life in shaking hands
Not knowing a moment from the next
That is till I put my babies to sleep
And then I'm still
A lake of calm with willow trees reflecting in my soul.
A ripple of love quivers gently through my limbs.
My babies
My daughter
My dog
Petting one and stroking the others soft smooth hair
And then they sleep. Dead to the world. One with folded skin and long ears.
The other with the face of an angel.
And then I stay awake in silence.
Lights off.
My children can't be disturbed.
The light of day is harsh enough.
I lie, in those hushed notes
Reading and reading into the AM.
My kindle glow is warm
The words comforting
I travel then with Hobsbawm the historian
From medieval spain to renaissance Italy. I go further east to the Ottoman turks in their robes and then further to Moscow
Under the dazzle of the Kremlin
And the harsh ruthlesness of the Tsars.
Back west, this bed is a travel chamber
England, industrialising
Smoke billowing from factories
Train tracks being laid
Like criss cross stitches across the heart of the island
Further, further, further
The gigantic endless eternity of the plains
In the American midwest
And then for a while like an eagle
My soul drops down on Vienna
Where music plays
Music, divine music!
On carpets under chandeliers
Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Bruckner, Schubert.
Their symphonies buzz in my ears.
Oh world! Oh endless journey
Oh life! Oh eternal variations
Beating a drum roll on the themes of lives long gone
And then
Between pages
Before my finger taps
For the next marvel to hang
Like a portrait in my mind
Between page and page
I glance at my sweethearts
And the neural crackle
Synapses of wonder
Pause
And shut down
And there is quiet
And there is love
And there are my children
And there is my stillness
Until I turn the next page.
1 comment:
There is poignancy in stillness. And while you travel from Italy to the Tsars...i wonder is it just wanderlust or are you searching for something you think you lost buy in reality you never had.
And as the silence of the Lakes and willow reach a crescendo, do your babies stir, does the portrait fall, do the synapses lose their nerve to take that leap of faith.....and Faith. Where is faith? Did you leave her behind, somewhere in the labyrinths of your symphonies. Does the flicker kindle the winter of the heart? Or has the morning come too fast
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