This Mallard stink of home,
this scent of three in one,
the river banks to left.
The Willow trails up scum
. A gramophone relents, its melody the oars,
the river bends, the stones,
the fissures in the boat
. A hand trumpets
the mud, the underside of love,
the pleasures of the reeds,
the hubbub of the spawn.
Raol Izzard
~ ~ music reaches in your soul, it makes you do things without control. It moves your body this way and that,with the rhyhmn how about that,the sound of music is in the air,you can’t see it but its there. ~ It floats along with the sound,to a place which can be found,music can heal the body,it moves you to be jolly,you float along the rhythm tide,music takes you on a ride.music is a sound you feel,its moves your body an be still. ~ Music is all around its a feeling so profound,music of rhythm is everywhere,on the ground and in the air. The rhythm of music present and past,you make up the words for it to last. ~ patricia bourne ~
What line do we then choose to walk in life
as we settle back and glance on needs rife.
In our comfort zone we love energy,
response that suggests true humanity.
Are we the kind soul living compassion
or agenda driven by reaction?
Once I began to seek my true forte,
safety from harm’s way for all would outstay
limits of love in our world’s natural
measures. Align ourselves in cultural
manner, we are surely made of conscious
choice to protect our soul from that vicious
spite, attitude, incessant disconnect;
wreaks havoc, rather than simply protect!
~
© Thom Amundsen 2014
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