I haven’t posted a sonnet in a while. I was going to post one about hot flashes (seeing as I’ve been enjoying to the extent that I need to start laughing about it) but Andrew Eales’ post this morning reminded me about this sonnet:
It’s in man’s heart, because it’s in his head
to merge both words and music into song.
There’re places in our brains they both belong
together – feelings more than just what’s said.
But too, we wonder how that seed was sown
that made us lilt our words into a tune.
Was it the wolves a-howling at the moon
or cat’s meow, or buck’s loud rutting groan?
It’s much more likely that the sound above
that we sometimes call angels, were the trills
inspiring us to develop singing skills
to tell our stories, feelings, sadness, love.
Whatever was that singing that we heard
outside our souls? It was a little bird.
This morning I got an email from one of the art websites I work with – storiestoart.com. This is a little different that most art websites – although they do offer artwork, they actively promote commissions both of artwork, poetry and songs. And the staff have been wonderful people to work with!
“When the Morning Comes”. Refractured watercolor on wraparound panel. 24″x30″. $1260
Today my cd player went the way of all things mechanical and my wonderfully adept neighbor, George, rescued a cd from the clutches of its half-open jaws for what I swear will be the last time. It is now a one-cd player without a front cover, rather than a three-cd player. iPod purchase, here I come. I actually ‘inherited’ the cd player about seven years ago when my then boyfriend got a job on the east coast and when he packed, we both forgot he left it at my house – so I sure got value for money out of it…
When I went to pick up my new trash item, George and Christina (his girlfriend) and I sat chatting for a while and somehow the conversation got round to death sentences. Christina said she wouldn’t like to get a state funeral – you don’t get to choose your song. We also bemoaned the difficulties of health care and dental expenses, and the joys of aging. Gums receding like the tide, hairlines disappearing into the sunset and joints sticking with every change in the weather, like cds sticking in a player, or songs sticking in your head.
Fortunately the cd player’s last song before it croaked was one of my favorites – by a band called Bliss – for whom I sadly can find only the one cd. The last couple of lines of the song are ‘When the morning comes, Will you remember my name?’. The song is so stuck in my head, I’m going to name the painting I completed today ‘When the morning comes…’