This is an unusual feeling for a bibliophile Usually piles of them make me smile But now it feels like I’m drowning in books Astray in a quagmire, kept on tethering hooks
Discombobulated, bewildered and confused Trying to expound and elucidate ancient literature Learning to unravel the ineffable mystery To fathom allegories and tropes of poetry
Oh, the surprises awaiting those following the path of civilizations sunrises Oh, the sorrow when advised to disavow love like Trumbull’s sparrow Oh, the disgust when you feel words and language are nothing to trust Oh, the fear when you imagine raping Zeus or avenging Furies are near Oh, the joy to dream yourself on Lesbos or in Troy
Such is the power of thoughtfully chosen words and rhythmic rhymes To be read and remembered for all of time
The last two years I’ve gotten the hang of writing flash fiction. Short short stories in no more then say 100 words. It has helped me let go of my propensity for long rambling sentences. It has made me realise which words really are essential for telling a story. But it hasn’t taught me how to write longer prose stories.
Today I’ve been struggling with the first writing exercise for my writing classes. Finding that my first few drafts is way too short. And right now I’m at a loss for how to make it longer without filling it with unnecessary rambling.
I’m always very proud and a bit embarrassed whenever someone comments that one of my poems reminds them of a song. Proud because it feels like I’ve made it. Embarrassed because it feels like I’m not worthy of such comparisons. I’m working hard to do something about that last part.
Listening to it, my pride and embarrassment got replaced by amazement. It is such a beautiful song. And here I want to use a Swedish word without a direct English translation. Finstämdwhich means sweet, touching, moving the heart and soul. (Finely attuned, finely-tuned, delicate and sensitive according to my dictionary.)
I teared up as I sat listening. Touched by the song and by being able to write something that reminded Dwight of it.
I relate very much to the refrain. Yes, sometimes foreknowledge would have made it possible to avoid heartache and pain, but inevitably it would have meant missing moments that will forever shine like stars in our memory. And I for one prefer having the memories, having lived and loved.
Listen and enjoy!
Click here to read about and listen to other Saturday Songs.
The Dance – Lyrics
Looking back on the memory of The dance we shared ‘neath the stars above For a moment all the world was right How could I have known that you’d ever say goodbye
And now I’m glad I didn’t know The way it all would end, the way it all would go Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain But I’d have had to miss the dance
Holding you, I held everything For a moment wasn’t I the king If I’d only known how the king would fall Hey, who’s to say, you know I might have changed it all
And now I’m glad I didn’t know The way it all would end, the way it all would go Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain But I’d have had to miss the dance
If our lives are better left to chance Oh, our lives are better left to chance Oh, our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain But I’d have had to miss the dance
The cafe began to feel like her only real home. A place that with or without known people made her feel less alone. A place where no one objected if her curious, quirky, whip-smart personality shone. She spent whole days sitting at a table. For the first time feeling she might be able to have friendships and camaraderie. At night she dreamt she’d stumble into a fable.
So what did the story teach? That her agile, perspicacious mind made her prone to the Jante law breach. That her fiery passion would make her for the unconventional way reach. She spent her days in her home away from home. Writing stories with elfs, fairies, unicorns and gnomes. Composing poetry that made her heart and soul the universe roam.
Wanted to write but lacked inspiration, so went on an internet trawl. Found this prompt to inspire me. The line given in this week’s First Line Friday at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.
The line being:
The cafe began to feel like her only real home.
Including I word I learned today, perspicacity /ˌpəːspɪˈkasɪti/ meaning the quality of having a ready insight into things; shrewdness.
Wednesday and time to wander the archives. This is the second most read post from GloPoWriMo 2020. It’s both a story and about me as a child. Books and pets where my only true companions.
Enjoy!
What did you think would happen to a child left on my doorstep? Free to roam the the shelves. Delve into the dusty archives. A whole childhood to read whatever took her fancy.
She learned everything she knows from me. I always accepted, comforted and nurtured her. When no one else did. She felt safe spending hours. Within my booked lined walls.
Of course she’d find. Fantastic stories to immerse in. Hilarious verses to laugh with. Poetry as steamy as any video. More facts than you know. Opposing ideas and new wisdom. Philosophy and all the religions. Mystical traditions founded in ancient history.
Curious children do that you see. They search for and soak up stories and facts.
Of course all that. Paper and ink. Facts and fictions. Millions of words.
Put her under my spell. Made her seek my sanctuary. Endeavour to write stories of her own.
Wondrous worlds of strange beauty. The nature seen through loving eyes. Sensual stanzas that arouses desire. Horrifying tales of death and suffering.
Yes! I confess! That bright discarded child. I made her mine by love. Of knowledge and words.
Now she lives in the apartment of the head librarian. Spending days and nights with words. I think she’s happy!
The note said, find the white baby bella Don’t be tempted to eat the magic shrooms, they’ll trip up you head Avoid the white toadstools, they’ll poison you dead
The button maze, can you find your way Deeper and deeper, Into mycel space Be ready to both fear and wonder face
The fairy ring, at last Join the pixies, dance and sing Connection to nature’s wisdom, blessings bring
As you wake, out of a dream dream state Remember the connections fungi make Their call to action take
Written for Tuesday Poetics – Let’s have fun, guys! at dVerse. We’re to take fungi as our starting point for poetry. I haven’t read the book referenced in the prompt. But I’ve long been fascinated with fungi. Their abilities. To communicate. To have geographically vast networks. To both nourish and kill humans. Ability to give profound trips or maybe wake bloodlust as in the perception of viking eating fly agaric.
Baby bella, magic shrooms, toadstool, fairy ring are all names assosiated with different mushrooms.
A terzetto is a composition for three voices. I would love to know if this serpentine formatting makes that clearly heard or if it just confuses the whole thing.
The world according to RedCat 
