Monday, September 1, 2014

The Voices in the Night

Chihuly's Garden and Glass in Seattle 2014

 I stepped out into the deck
                                 at night
                            the stars were sprinkled
across that black sheet
        above my head                                            
      in familiar patterns,
                                  small lights bright,
       friendly faces beaming down. . .
so close                                                  
                                 I felt I could rearrange them
with a flick of my fingers . . . 
 The crickets were singing                            
      each voice a member of the choir
                      one in particular, an alto,
crying out over and over. . . . "poor Pete,
poor Pete. . . "
          their cheeky voices
                           thick with hope
some little ones          
                    pausing for the cause
like bits of percussion weaving in and out
                                                              with an occasional fanfare. . . 
A breeze raked her cool fingers
                         through the branches of the
trees -                  
                         bright at their tips
                     where they caught the rays
of the moon - 
                                                                   or the streetlamps . . .
       In the distances all around
                                                          were multitudes of voices,
               people laughing,
              music playing on some
                                                       odd radios,
like memories . . .
                                                              my yard echoes
                        the night
with the sounds of the city                        
          like a basin
catching raindrops
                        . . . . . . . or tears
and reminding me
                                                         with a whisper
that I am not
                                         alone. . .
                                                    . . . . no
                       . . . not ever!             

(Written last night)

(I found this little poem tucked away . . . without knowing its history
. . . I can only vaguely remember the feeling . . . the stars have always
amazed me . .. they give me wings, strength and a strange sense of being
one of them . .  immense . .  yet small - )
I gazed with open mouth
at the night sky
the stars are thick and bright . .
there is an endlessness
an eternal peace
in looking though time
trying to find the middle . ..

they told me that being alone in the night
not sleeping
not flying into the dreams of the restful places

will make me tired in the day
and I will fall
down the mountain . ..

but instead I floated away . .  

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