That rains down from above,
While under the surface, spaces fill
Like a heart fills holes with love.
And after the drizzle has ended,
But before the impending winter chill,
The trees drink up the liquid,
Enriched before their world goes still.
My poems tend to find inspiration in nature, in music, and in trying to discover and understand our place in the universe. It's my hope that these words and ideas might have meaning for others. Perhaps, the creative process that flows through me may help to articulate fragments of a vision for how we might live in greater harmony with the world and with one another.
Where are you going tonight?
The woods are dark and obscure your sight.
The evening sprites, you say,
Tell stories that bite, too hard for day,
But worth being heard.
In the midnight glades, life’s shades of gray
Abound with every word,
But knowing you’re not alone will light your way.
Similar to last week, this poem was inspired by something musical - in this case, an entire musical instead of a single piece. I recently watched a recording of Stephen Sondheim's Into the Woods with the original Broadway cast, which I really enjoyed. When I was part of this musical in middle school, I enjoyed its humor, but I don't think that I fully appreciated its complex narrative themes and structure.
Gracefully, a swan goes sailing,
Stately, with her head held high,
Gliding like on liquid glass,
Lakeside forests passing by.
Glancing back, she wonders why
Watchers wait on shoreline grass,
Following her floating trail. She
Slowly spreads her wings to fly.
This poem's inspired by the classic cello piece "The Swan," which is part of Camille Saint-Saens' suite The Carnival of the Animals. Last year, I wrote an arrangement of the piece for four cellos (with one playing the melody and the other three providing an accompaniment that's a bit different from the normal piano accompaniment that Saint-Saens wrote). Once I'm back in the states, I'm hoping to start making and sharing some recordings of this and other musical stuff I've been working on.
Upon the starry pond, a lily pad
Shivers as the ripples travel by,
Created from the falling of the leaves
Floating now like flecks in liquid eye.
As tears well up within my windowed soul,
Silver waves enfold my weary feet,
Awaiting you beyond what dreams I meet
Beneath the stories falling from the sky.
Occasionally, I'll write a poem without a clear theme in mind. I'll just start with a line or a phrase, and let each line come out of the previous one. This poem was definitely like that, and I have to say that I'm still not sure of how exactly to interpret the final product. My thought, at this point, is that the second set of four lines relates to the first set - I correspond to the lily pad, being affected by the stories (leaves) falling from above, which inspire dreams of those close to me (ripples)...maybe.
Some say, when creation came, the days were dry,
As creatures from the sea first crawled to land.
The sun beat down and stung each squinting eye,
While vapor rose from trails of wetted sand.
Many were not yet ready to there abide,
Taken by dehydration, life threads waning.
So the sky cried for those who died,
Not knowing its tears would save the ones remaining.
This poem is sort of a made-up myth about how rain first came to be. Like most myths, I tried to have it speak to some universal truth or lesson. In this case, the idea is that hope can come out of failure and sadness, and what we learn can help us move forward.