Saturday, August 30, 2008

BardBliss: Noise

A snapdragon showing persistence
(on our back patio area).


Listening to: He sings so easily...

Today's Bliss: Special attention to the gardens today. The mums are starting to do their thing. The baby kiwis and the apple continue to grow. (Yes, I said "apple," not appleS -- it's the first year this dwarf tree is producing so one is plenty!) There's a lot out there asking to be taken down, but not quite yet, I say. The birdbaths and feeders need to be paid attention to, as it is getting to be time for migratory friends to stop by for sustenance on their way to far off places.

Noise

I am drowning
in the commotion
of this small-city life.
I thirst for a deep dark
silence,
and the sea,
where life began
in quiet black,
beckons me.

Like a free diver,
with no tank, I would
grab hold of the cable
and pull myself under,
head first,
hand over hand.
The blackening waters,
resisting my penetration,
would push against
my skin, encasing me
in their liquid grip.

Life around me
would fade,
its boundaries
melting
while
my lungs
shrank
and
my heart
slowed.
Suspended,
separate,
flying,
floating.
Alone.

My name said
with love,
an imagined laugh
echoing, pounding from
inside my skull,
and I would pull the rope,
waiting (a second floating
into an eternity) for the balloon
to fill, carrying my
starved cells toward
a moving, dappled
surface of light
through which I would
break

blinded, gasping,
glad of the air, glad
of the sun,
glad of the touch,
glad even
of the sound,
the noise that is
our togetherness,
the very noise
that drives me to desire
the deep --
the noise of living,
of being,
of rejoicing in our
expanding.

--christine c. reed

2 comments:

ecoyogi said...

What a profound poem. It reminds me of the scene in The Piano, where the silent woman played by Holly Hunter plunges into the sea, tethered to her beloved piano. For me it was a metaphor for that going within ourselves, and our creative processes. Into the deep silence that we crave and that fuels, and reaffirms, our ability to live in the cacophony of "civilization".

Connie said...

That has got to be my favorite of yours...well...I can add it to the rest of my favorites.

I find myself holding my breath sometimes when I read your poems--as if I'm being pulled somewhere deeper...then at the end, there is a soft spot, where I take a breath again.

Peace & Love.