Month: October 2023

when the day job calls

Product for the day job

I spend half an hour in the thrall of the Muse, but then promises made in exchange for a coin start to creep in on the edges of my consciousness — yes, I must write up the news and go through the photos and put in my time — “put in my time” like a felon paying for his crime, trying not to be surly because the real crime was wasting the time that could have lifted me from the prison long ago.

And is it really a punishment to spend a sunny autumn day seeking out beauty to share with the world? The “prison” was completely unlike the jailers’ gray locked room; I will be compensated for walking and driving through the forest in search of lovely images.

Yes, I will also be compensated for sitting in a room taking notes while long conversations take place that few will remember or value in years to come — but even that room was not a prison — in fact, what is a prison but a figment of imagination?

No prison can hold a free human. Though the body may be confined, the mind is still free, confounding the jailers.

when the poetry bursts

Photo by Carol Jean Townsend

When the poetry bursts, 

why then the poetry bursts 

and the rhythm takes over and the words start to flow 

and the words have no commas or pauses at all 

they just come they just come like inevitable fall 

and never mind winter and never mind spring 

just mind the words’ rhythm and start you to sing

new dance

Photo by Carol Jean Townsend

  There is a moment when you cease to moping and say, “Enough of this, let the dance begin,”
  and you lift up your pipes or your guitar or your tambourine or clap your hands and raise your arms and just let out the energy in your soul,
  a precious melody a joyous shout a harmonic convergence of all the love you ever felt and all the want and all the give
  and oh what a dance you dance and oh what a song you sing and where have you been, all my love of life, it’s good to feel you again.

It is a dance with a bit of an ache for what’s lost, 
but a dance with a hint of a smile of remembrance, 
for the dance will never be the same again, 
but the new dance will have it own sparkle, 
and the new dance will find its own way, 
and the new dance will soak up the best of the old 
and find its own moment in time.

And when the melody’s spent and the lyrics are spoken, 
the magic is fading and the spells have been broken, 
the happiness gained with the new dance’s rhythms 
will settle like fine wine on grateful old souls. 
No melancholy can last against a dance such as this, 
and the sobs over loss turn to sobs of relief 
with a smile through the tears that can’t be denied 
and life goes on — life resumes — 
built on a foundation more solid than we knew at the time.

What are these tears, then? What is the point?
The sun shines on memories and present moment alike —
the memories feed the moment and make it more rich
than it ever could be without them —
the moment more precious for what came before
and the future shines waiting —
let’s go explore