Poet Rescues Song: Abducts Musician

I’m writing lyrics now for at least 5 of our new songs, and wasn’t quiet finished with 3 of them by last night. This is ONE fun thing about writing poetry (and one great thing about writing more often in April): As a poet, you get into the habit of seeing poetry everywhere…

Last night, I did something fun.  I played a small show, our first in Oakland, with new project “Fistful of Stars”.  We’ve played radio spots, making ready.  We go on tour next month to Europe- so it’s all coming together fast.

I’m writing lyrics now for at least 5 of our new songs, and wasn’t quiet finished with 3 of them by last night.  This is ONE fun thing about writing poetry (and one great thing about writing more often in April): As a poet, you get into the habit of seeing poetry everywhere; in couples drinking coffee, overheard conversation, positing scenarios from across the room, and just plain imagining things. And if you don’t have that gene for remembering lyrics (I don’t), or you haven’t quite finished the words-no worries: Poet-in-You will deliver, often taking you utterly over, hijacking your body, setting sail in your soul, borrowing  your lips to say things you never dreamed before ;). This is pure bliss, of course.

Last night, for one amazing song written by guitarist Rafael- that I didn’t quite finish lyrics to- I called it Mesa Song, and strung together all of the poem pieces for my one poem called “Unravel”. I read/talked the words as a single poem over the verses instead of singing. For the choruses, I sang (moaned) like the wind. Yes, Unravel– the poem pieces I haven’t yet posted all here, beyond the first because I didn’t think they were finished enough. 😉  Surprisingly, friends said that Mesa Song was their favorite of the night: it had a story they said, some mystery, and they got lost in the poem. Yay!  I promise to post another piece of Unravel for my next  poem post. Not tomorrow though- off to a Pow-wow.

So- I usually do a wrap-up post for NaPoWriMo.  I have to say, this year, I wasn’t as engaged in publicly participating as in past years. In fact, if there was one word to sum things up for me this year, it would be a verb:

 

REBEL-OaklandBethE

 This time, I was loathe to do anything on cue. And I didn’t want to follow anyone’s prompts. Hahaha!  But I still wrote lots. AND best of all, I don’t want to stop!! And so I won’t. Yet another good rule to break.

 

You held us last night-

soft woods, laughter,

warm arms that offered sweet

champagne and love.  We drank it all

down, and from across the room

 I gave you a poem 

like a kiss.

taralinda c.p. 2014

Dive

Ask me
she says, and just maybe
Clouds add a shadow, thunder punctuates

Evasion.

Curtains blow
over a window you never opened
now only you in this room and a flower
on the ground, hers from a tree on the
wrong side of pelagic, still blooming, an island.
Bare feet shuffle sand behind a door, she
quiets her breath, wind circling soft clays
just outside the door.    You

clear your throat, feel the barometric pressure
dive, a trickle of sweat meeting the sensation that she
is closer than her breath, nearer than

across the room. A gust of memory
begins a tango, spins her, down the long hall.

No you say. No questions.

take
your shoes, this
dust, your restless wind-
      Go.

TaraLinda c.p. 2014

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Offering

Awakening
is our first offering
praise…

Awakening
is our first offering
praise, an open eye taking in
first light, space, color ~
A stretch, body’s first gift of
movement, vibration, cells alighting,
muscles expand, remembering~ Gratitude.
Warm contentment, Freedom before thought
weightless presence, first breath,
Joy ~ our ultimate prayer.

TaraLinda c.p. 2014

flowerM5211

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Fishscale Stasis

I saw you tonight, just after sunset, plucking small scales from
sand, the Pacific rolled back as far as vast, timeless- your slate cleaned by
expanse, even the crabs withdrew in yearning, your tears glistened grey
breaching…

I saw you tonight, just after sunset, plucking small scales from
sand, the Pacific rolled back as far as vast, timeless- your slate cleaned by
expanse, even the crabs withdrew in yearning, your tears glistened grey
breaching a swell, a strait, the dunes of your cheeks, hope and fog swirling

cumulus above       hurt. These are the vistas you will forget by
morning, as you place each scale like a sequin on the bare skin of your
shoulders, filling in blanks, erasing vulnerable, to become or shed, a counterbalance mended in

dreamtime, where only the fish know, pelagic ones drinking down your tears each
night, swimming into bays, spits, coves, to shed more scales to help you
cover, mend, soothe that pale membrane, the cool damp of your exposed
back, where raven’s wings have stopped     just shy of          whole, full,
metamorphosis fettered, that stasis where truth
shivers itself warm.

    Tara Linda c. 2014

il_570xN.415703459_pmyoSource: Nicolas of MyAntarctica

Stasis:  A state of stability in which all forces are equal and opposing, therefore they cancel out each other.

:a state or period of stability during which little or no evolutionary change in a lineage occurs.

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Almost Inside

Wild turkey waiting
outside this downtown cafe
followed a small child…

Wild turkey waiting
outside this downtown cafe
followed a small child
almost inside, so we ask-
young tom- do you think us tame?

Tanka form 5-7-5-7-7

True but strange, of the wild turkeys in the park near our house, there is one that loves children. I mean Loves them; he lets them pet, feed, and HUG him (!!)

The child whom turkey is most attached too, a toddler, is pushed in one of those loud, bright yellow  wheeled plastic toys down the sidewalk. The parents swear that it is the loud wheely toy that draws the turkey.  And so, when they begin their walk to town some mornings, turkey appears from the brush, and lines up in tow behind them all, all the way to cafe. We’re talking- a half mile away. I didn’t want to name the cafe in my poem but it is one of those big tacky coffee chain places common in most large urban centers, making it even stranger of course. 😉

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Fixer Elixir

Breathe-
she says IN all these sparks
I scatter your way …

Here we are, 13 days into National Poetry Month, and I’ve posted far less poetry than usual. I’m writing lots; incubating, exploring characters, dreams, forms, rhythms- but not feeling like anything is finished enough to post.  What’s so different this time?

Breathe

she says   IN    all these sparks 

    I          scatter    your way             

just stop         thinking,           start

drinking  it all      down a little   

deeper, this juice, this                tincture,  salve

for the       soul.   You  want          the final fixer,    

Elixir, here I am-

Breathe. 

Actually, writing is feeling really good now- and I’m thrilled April is here, I’m making more time for poetry.  Lots of inspiration, joy when I write, hunger for it all… but I have too many balls in the air to court my Muses properly. (Anyone else feel like this?) Feels like I need to submerge with the  Muses for awhile, a day (at least an hour! 😉  and not just quickie exercises or posts.

But one good thing- I’m writing song lyrics all over the place. No problem there. Our new project- Fistful of Stars, has about 12 new songs, and we wrote another 2 last week.  I love it when I get to write the lyrics to fit the emotional, energetic, kinetic feel of a song.  Mine or anyone else’s- pure joy.

Funny, what I posted about this time 2 years ago is spot on for me now as well:  A feeling that Muses are impatient with m–, all while I book gigs, plan a Summer Europe tour, cater to the Lyric Muses, plant my garden, and try to finish taxes… Ha!

——————————————————————

Nothing kills Muses like taxes.

But there were so many great things about this week…. the Europe tour is coming together nicely; we’re working on videos. My garden is growing; and the hunter moon is lighting the skies.

“Jealous Muse 

Time for a million
& none for me- gives zero
to the bossa waiting patiently.
We could sip wine & light a fuse
taxes & death are no excuse.

Leaving~ 3 Short Forms

Strangers
leave everyday,
so why tears
when you hug me
goodbye—?

2 years ago, for NaPoWriMo, I was taken by the efje- a short poetry form of 5 lines said to have originated in the Netherlands.  Words- not syllables:  1.2.3.4.1

LEAVING

-Efje-

Strangers
leave everyday,
so why tears
when you hug me
goodbye—?

-5 Lines-

There he goes,
another friend
packing his truck, high
with all the things
we forgot to say.

– Random

Waving goodbye,
a slow motion blinks while
houses peel their paint in more ways
than we found Words
But all good wishes
all the same.
Suerte.

aaspring-0003

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