Wednesday, June 22, 2011

The Meaning of Life . . .


Intro:
I collect little rabid bits of paper . .
believing that every thing has a  voice . .
and a song . ..
and if I collect enough and collate them correctly . .
put the pieces together . . . then
I will have the complete song . .  the one
which tells the story
of the world . .
I know it is there.  . I
often feel that story and suspect that it
has merely been misplaced . . .

I hear the voices of the crowd
and identify each as my love . .
I hear you clearly . . .
your hearts resonate
with mine . . .

in the old world
I looked and saw a flame
and as it consumed the
face of the land
it sang of the  spirits to come . .


A Play in Three Parts . . 


Part I


"Why do dogs stick their noses
out of car windows?" She asked .  . .
He answered, "because their scent receptors are
capturing all the latest news."
She looks pensive for a moment . .  even shocked, and
then glanced at him sharply . .
"And you know this how?"
he blushes . .  and she continues,
"I think they are feeling the ancient winds on
their cheeks and on their ear drums . .
and remembering
when they were wolves . . . "

Part II


She walks slowly with her hands
behind her back, held loosely,
fingers curling, uncurling  . .
she is looking down at the small child
skipping along besides her . .
his face turning as he looks at the things
around him . .
The woman is speaking so softly,
as to be indiscernible to the child . .
"I remember when you weren't . . . but even then I knew you . .
you were an angel in my dreams . . .
you were the rose leaning over my deck, watching me . . .
you were the laughter in the air
when the geese would gather . . .
you were the sound of the wind chimes . .
as a tender breeze stroked their dusty sides . .
you were the moonlight trapped on the ocean . . .
rolling with its tempers .  .
you were the song in my heart . .
about to fly . .. .

Part III


the students are lining up obediently
as the teacher directs them . . .
her arm pointed forward . . . she narrows her eyes . .
fluttering her other hand until the children are in
a very straight line . ..
they smile with anticipation . .
She advises in a firm but warm voice,
"Stay in a straight line .. .. very straight."
She looks at them sternly . ..  with a glint in her eye .. .
she sees their suppressed laughter . . . . 
and she is prepared for the ritual,
She turns her back to them and guides them down
the empty hallways . . .
the children behind her silently,
begin to dance about . . .
weaving in and out . .  hopping, skipping . .
arms waving wildly . ..  hair flying,

and with utter silence, they all participate
in this impulsive choreography  . . .
they dance to their inner song . . ..
each one knows where a foot is placed,
and that all is safe . . . as the floor will not collapse

neither will the ceiling fall upon their heads. . .

She turns suddenly and they all freeze . . .
her face attempts to look sternly
at these small characters . .. their faces red,

their chests rising and falling quickly
their eyes glow and
her heart melts
with love at their silliness . .  her eyes glitter
with an un-shed tear . .
arm out, she again lines them up
and again advises . .. 
"Walk in a straight line . . . " but these
are children who dance outside the lines

they are the ones who beat the drums
and dance around the fire
beneath a dark and evil sky . . .
these are the images of her heart .. ..
and the face of the earth . ..
reflections of a dream and
she recognizes in each and every one of them

a piece of herself . . . and she knows that she has taught 
them well . . .





Hidden Songs
by Noise Dream

 



No review . . . Just Enjoy!

2 comments:

CŒDES Pierre-Marie said...

I love the story of the teacher and the children, very lovely. Thanks

Wolfsong said...

I love it too, because it is a true story . . . I was the teacher . .