The less said about my singing (dancing, too, for that matter), the better.
There was a time when I could sing. I don't know how good it was, but I could carry a simple tune, and my grandparents ... my long-suffering grandparents ... never complained.
Then my voice changed.
I changed, too ... from a budding soloist, into one who would reluctantly join the singing when in a large group. I knew then that my off-key missteps would, perhaps, go unnoticed.
Even now, I hardly ever sing in the shower, as a matter of fact.
I have consoled myself ... as I say, in so many words in this poem ... with the thought that my real song "lives in my heart."
And here's the poem:
VOICE AND SONG
Mine is an untrained
voice, lacking polish,
but I believe my real
song lives in my heart,
and from there it must,
it will, take wing,
rising like that silent,
dark hawk tirelessly
riding the lifting
blue air, until it
finds a kindred heart
where it may dwell.
©
1999(originally published in Capper's)
***
Today's word:
kindredP.S. - Oh, what a day this has been! I stayed up all last night (well, not q-u-i-t-e all), working on "Squiggles and Giggles" ... started early today trying to get it posted ... finally, this evening, succeeded in getting it online ... but with a slightly different address now (sorry about that). Give this link a try, if you will ... I can almost guarantee that it will take you directly to S&G:
http://mypeoplepc.com/members/rbrimm/mywriting/id2.html
Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
I'm glad you like the photo, Hechan ... and the sentiment of the poem ... that song wafting off to "find a kindred heart."
Thank you, Featheredpines, for that comment ... especially your imagining that "the sweet scents on spring breezes are gentle whispers of our dreams and hopes."
2 comments:
For starters...this is a lovely, lovely photo, and part of what I miss from back home.
When I read your poem it's a theme that's in my heart. I love the thought of songs coming forth...silently...the birds catching the wind and gliding with it until they finally have to flap their wings. I watch them here...the most plentiful unless I go to the beach are the vultures in winter. I think if it weren't for their diet, I'd probably like to join them with a song in my heart.
"...tirelessly..." Sometimes that's what it takes.
We're never too old to imagine, right? I like to imagine the sweet scents on spring breezes are gentle whispers of our dreams and hopes. Sing, sing, sing :)
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