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Posts Tagged ‘song’

 

 

            for Merry

 

 

Though she could barely carry

a conversation, she could still sing,

so I would sit by her nursing home bed

and sing Moon River and her eyes

might not even open, but

her lips would start to move,

wider than a mile, I’m crossing

you in style someday.

Her voice was wobbly, perhaps,

but her notes were true,

and she’d smile as she sang.

Old dream maker, you

heart breaker, wherever you’re goin’,

I’m goin’ your way.

She’d been nowhere but

this bed for years,

but I could see behind her eyes

she was aiming toward some

imperceptible future,

a drifter, off to see the world

beyond this one.

And I would hold her hand

and she would squeeze it.

If she could hear the tears

in my voice, she didn’t say so.

We’d sung together since I was a girl,

show tunes in her kitchen

and hymns from the choir loft in the church.

Her soprano, a beacon of my childhood.

Now, in a room far from her,

I light a candle as she drifts away,

and sing as if she could hear me,

there’s such a lot of world to see,

my voice cloudy, as if any moment

it might start to rain and that

rainbow’s end might appear,

and for a moment, we could

look at it together before

she goes around the bend, alone.

 

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for Heartbeat

 

 

Though the clock

implies nothing

with its tick

ineluctable,

the body clicks in

to the beat

and begins

to make music

because, though

clearly there’s

so much to do,

what isn’t

an invitation

to sing?

 

*Thursdays at noon is the present time scheduled for Heartbeat to practice, a seven-woman a cappella choir singing together since 1994. Our next concert, Live as One, features diversity and harmony–songs from all over the world. We’re performing in Telluride at Ah Haa at 7 p.m. on March 15 and in Ridgway at the Sherbino Theater on March 18 at 4 p.m.

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Invitation

 

I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.

            —The New Seekers

 

 

The earth, say the scientists,

is more bell than we thought,

imperceptibly ringing beneath

 

our feet. Just because we can’t

hear it doesn’t mean it’s not

being played ceaselessly,

 

an ultralow hum thousands

of times below what the human ear

can hear. And the hum, they say,

 

is everywhere, uniting the globe

in a common tone. Perhaps,

they say, it’s ocean waves

 

that bang on the sea floor

or waves that crash into each other.

Perhaps, they say, the sound

 

goes all the way to the core.

Just because we don’t know why it rings

doesn’t mean we can’t sing along.

 

 

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/speaking-of-science/wp/2017/12/08/scientists-are-slowly-unlocking-the-secrets-of-the-earths-mysterious-hum/?utm_term=.93f97c1ef02f&wpisrc=nl_rainbow&wpmm=1

 

 

 

 

 

 

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astonished how much light

can fill a note so dark—

singing it again, again

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One Relearning

but I forgot the words

I said, and the tree said

sing without them

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Four from Chicago

 

 

 

One When My Grandfather was Still Alive

 

 

in the subway tunnel

the arching notes of Danny Boy

on a violin—

I walk slower to meet the train

I arrive twelve years ago

 

One Courage

 

 

hearing the moan on the other side

or is it a low laugh—

still choosing to open the door

 

 

One Near Totality

 

 

eclipse behind the clouds

so much beauty we never see—

sunflower blooming in a distant field

 

 

 

 

One New Time Signature

 

my father a song

I used to think I knew—

this morning, I hear

the same song with new ears,

or is it that the tune has changed—

all day I hum it,

all day I feel lucky

to hear him humming back

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One Soundtrack

 

 

 

writing you a love song

with no measures—

it will take a lifetime to sing

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            for all the busy people

 

 

that’s when I hope you remember

the skylark, not so much the bird,

though that, too—how it sings

even while being chased by hunters,

though it increases its chances

of being caught.

 

But more, I hope you will think

of Johnny Mercer who struggled

a year to write the words

to the tune by Hoagy Carmichael.

By the time he finished Skylark,

Carmichael had forgotten

all about the song.

Sometimes, it takes a long,

long time before the words

come out right. Sometimes,

the moment just isn’t ripe. Sometimes

there’s just too much to do.

 

But perhaps amidst the meetings

and the plans, a snatch of song

will come to you, something

that won’t be ignored.

Perhaps between the papers

and the rush, you will feel it,

winging. Perhaps, as you fly off

toward the always what’s next,

you won’t stop yourself

from singing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A piano is just

some wood and strings

until it’s touched—

and then it sings.

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Odd Joy in Paradox Valley

 

 

 

Driving through Bedrock,

population 14, I remember

sitting on the stoop of the general store

and asking Rose to come out from behind the counter

and sing me a song about sorrow.

Crazy how a sad song could make me

so happy. Crazy how every time I drive by

I still smile to think of her voice,

soaring as the red rock cliffs,

haunting as the windows shuttered and dark.

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