Ricki has asked that I write something inspired by one of his paintings. This is my feeble attempt to create something based on what he created. Don't laugh at me, 'kay?
It's not a poem... I'm not sure what the hell to call it.
The Ailing Child
Sing, sing the feathered ones home,
her singing bringing
the flying beasties one by one
two by two
to aid the ailing child.
Midnight crows, umber hawks,
cobalt doves with sterling wings
and even a noble rock eagle
came to hear her sing,
offering up their own cries of grief
and hope
to aid the ailing child.
But it was the strangeling beast
one unique and allone
that carried the secret born
in forgotten dreams
that would aid the ailing child.
The outcome matters not,
it said,
irridescent fur shining
with the fire
of a thousand thousand suns.
It's the journey, only the journey
that matters
for there are no endings - not really
not ever, not never -
only beginnings, middles and beginning again.
And it held the ailing child
as the woman sang,
all of them
watching
as a new beginning was begun.
Sing, sing the feathered ones home,
her singing bringing
the flying beasties one by one
two by two
to aid the ailing child.
Midnight crows, umber hawks,
cobalt doves with sterling wings
and even a noble rock eagle
came to hear her sing,
offering up their own cries of grief
and hope
to aid the ailing child.
But it was the strangeling beast
one unique and allone
that carried the secret born
in forgotten dreams
that would aid the ailing child.
The outcome matters not,
it said,
irridescent fur shining
with the fire
of a thousand thousand suns.
It's the journey, only the journey
that matters
for there are no endings - not really
not ever, not never -
only beginnings, middles and beginning again.
And it held the ailing child
as the woman sang,
all of them
watching
as a new beginning was begun.
12 comments:
QUITE a lovely accompaniment to the painting. Brava!
Ahhh... I don't know what it is, either, but it made me weep (men's heads are full of water. And I hope you'll do more of them. Whatever they are. Sweet.
No, no - poor offering Cat, but i promised so I finally coughed it up on the screen. I THOUGHT I was writing something about a rock eagle and a city of stone but noooooooo.... this came out instead.
I sorry Rikki - didn't mean to make you weepy. I always wanna slap people who make me weepy.
No rhyme nor reason to this "thing" - it just iz. But your painting called it out of me so there you have it.
I would, without hesitation, call it a poem.
without a doubt
definitely poetry,, and i feel a hint of folklore has creeped in as well... very nicely done...
Well if that's your POOR offering, I can't wait to see the RICH one!
A poem, almost incantation or spell......it captures the mythical feel of the painting.......and that second stanza is lovely, lovely. When are you going to play again?
I hate pushing buttons too fast, sorry that's me,
Doesn't follow any poetic rules though Ozy.
Thanks Paisley and welcome. Had a folklorey feel to me as well.
Aww - I lurvs you too Cat.
Oh, i like that Jo! An incantation! That works with the concept behind the poem too....
When am I going to play what again? ~waggling eyebrows~
hell, I seldom follow any rules
My admiration for you has reached a new level.
~blushing~
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