Songs of a Soul Journey: 03/01/2017

Sunday, March 19, 2017

Ode: Owing to Knowing Owen

for Owen Orser on the occasion of his
80^th Birthday - March 19, 2017

Owing to Owen, what say we?
occupying a strand of paisley tapestry,
you’ve traversed the human condition;
each day is a trip across the boards,
be it filled with joys or woeful travesty-
but the play is all, a daily mission,
a practice born of keen observation,
a way toward, an attempt at perfection.

Flying on your golden thread
through the fabric of our gathered
storms and strays, camera at the ready
to find and stay moments rather
lovely, to store them in mind’s eye
for that future chance to set steady
a stage where magic might make
an appearance, for art’s sake.

The eyes of Owen,
the beauty of birds flown,
all the subtle bon mots, placed and sewn
into our shared space, loved and known,
a sheaf of programmes, artfully strown,
the screen, the drape, column and bench on loan,
for today’s lesson
on the question
of expression:
‘Tis not about the big impression,
but rather the interior exploration
coming to collation
in concentration
revealed by measured ration,
drawing into one
every eye and ear,
when all is said and done.
That is why we gather here,
Friends, what we lovingly cheer!
To proclaim our heartfelt renown
for that by which we are bound,

Owing to knowing Owen.

Post Post-Modern Dance

Mu-sick in phrases
            out of phase,
                        emergent from fog or haze;
Non-facing dances,
            gyrating prances,
                        flying glances;

Rapping, not rolling,
            less controlled, controlling,
                        some phone-strolling;
Grooving hive-mind,
            yet seemingly blind,
                        to others plying the grind;
Dysfunction junction,
            though yet to malfunction,
                        exhibiting sejunction;
Just looks like jerking,
            some call it twerking,
                        but they’re all just hurking.

Hurking is a made-up word I found in the Urban Dictionary. The assigned meaning for this neologism: “The act of doing, or participating in an event or activity, in which you have to participate to discover what it is.”

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

All About Making Waves

MYSTERY CYCLE
V. Making Waves

for Emily and Ian and their Dad – 20 October 2000

It’s your turn,
a heavenly voice said,
then a tremendous tickle ran out through the clouds,
followed by jiggling rolls escaping into snickers,
and pealing positively gales on gales of giggles
until, finally, there wasn’t anything for it,
and the clouds burst into laughter,
what you call rain.

Drop upon drop,
from small to large, both young and old,
they all fell down akimbo,
tumbling from the sky,
collecting, drunkenly you might say,
in puddles to pools to rivulets to streams,
finally running like great silver ribbons to the sea.

I can’t remember,
One asked an-Other, still giggling the tickle,
I say, what was the joke?
but Any-one would have been too wet to answer,
though really No-one heard clearly enough to say,
and Every-one was wondering what would happen next,
so, if there was a reply, who could say if it was made,
and whether by Which-one,
or not?

But Some-one was able to hold the thought long enough
and, floating up through the lovely bubbles to the surface,
called out to friend Sky for the answer.

A, Darling, did they not tell you long ago?
It’s your turn to have fun!

They gather you all up into their arms,
lulling you with sweetest windsongs
from all the Four Corners of existence,
and when it is your time,
they shake you loose
to join the great throng,
so you can be free.

But what shall we do?
asked the littlest drop.

Moon shimmered a silken answer:
Dearest, anything you do will make me smile,
but why don’t you make me some waves?

So, laughing and shoving all the more,
fumbling and recklessly tumbling,
all heels over heads toward the shores
and to the utter delight of all,
they did.

It has been a rainy year, and so, on this anniversary of the birth of my twins, Emily and Ian, I bring you the message that life is wild, wet, wooly, weird and wonderful. Punctuated by hard times, yes; but even so, still the best game in town.

I, who declared at the age of 12 or so that I would never have children, gave birth to twins on this day, 17 years ago -- which is to say that one can make all the bold pronouncements one likes, but the cosmos has other ideas...

From wombmates to roommates to housemates, they have shared so much with us and each other…

So, to Emily and Ian, (and to all of you) I say:

Keep jiggling the rolls and giggling the tickles,

because it’s your turn to have fun;

it's all about making waves!

~ love,

Mom