There are moments when a song gathers everyone in the room into one breath.Watching “Spirit Bird” live in Brussels, I felt that pull — a reminder that we’ve walked this path before, laughed and cried before, stood on this same wounded ground before. And still, the spirit rises.
Morning’s silent wings keep tracing the same old stories.
“Spirit Bird”
Yes, we’ve seen it all before “Give it time, and we wonder why, do what we can, laugh, and we cry And we sleep in your dust because we’ve seen this all before.” … The finale lyrics from Xavier Rudd’s emotional song “Spirit Bird.”
At our Dome group meeting, Jen — our chairperson — said, “I’m not here next meeting, so we need to choose a theme for next month.” A few of us laughed, and someone replied, “Well, I’m Not Here sounds like a theme in itself.” And just like that, the idea settled over us, light as a wink.
The Geelong Library and Heritage Centre … affectionately known as The Dome.
This image shows someone holding three cups and the cups are made in the image of a woman’s face. The expression on the three cups are slightly different from each other.
I’m Not Here
I’m not here — I’m in limbo, behind a solitary glass window, there on the north side of the Dome; it stands out like a fairy’s magical home.
I’m not here, but I am somewhere high above the Gingko in the fresh air, where I hear the fairy Godmother’s vacant chair whisper haunting poetic quotes by Voltaire.
“Life is a shipwreck, but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats.” ~ Voltaire “The right to free speech is more important than the content of the speech.” ~ Voltaire “Many are destined to reason wrongly; others, not to reason at all; and others, to persecute those who do reason.” ~ Voltaire
And still, from that quiet window in the Dome, I’m not here — yet somehow feeling at home.
Somewhere between presence and absence, the music carries what words can’t quite hold.
Featured Image Above: Black-and-white photo of a street art mural depicting a tug-of-war between a Russian and Ukrainian soldier on a war memorial in Izyum, Ukraine. (Getty Images photo)
Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “Restore Rapport”is in this week’s edition. Written in the quiet hours of early morning, Restore Rapport is a poetic protest against the machinery of war and the silence that surrounds it. Inspired by the ongoing conflicts in Ukraine and the Middle East, this piece asks: Where is the understanding? What are innocent lives being sacrificed for?
“Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding.” — Einstein
“In nature, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect. Trees can be contorted, bent in weird ways, and they’re still beautiful.” – Alice Walker
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word; Watch … to visit their fabulous click on >> Here My poem below was prompted by Watching the tree’s different shaped trunks and roots
Not Perfect, But Valuable
My roots are splayed and distorted But I am not disabled My trunk is grey and twisted But I am alive and growing
My branches are soft and frail But I am mentally and physically Strong enough to reach for the sky And propagate my life-giving leaves
“The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit” … Nelson Henderson
A poem I wrote in April 2021, about waiting for the Publisher to do the edit corrections and have my “new” book (Tullawalla) printed and look the way I wanted it to be!
Patiently, I Am Waiting
Patience drifts around the clock Patience floats in dry-dock Patience hovers in transit Patience belies my spirit
Patiently I walk Patiently I talk Patiently I listen Patiently I have forgiven
Patience is the essence Patience is my sentence Patience is my burden Patience is my warden
Patiently I wait Patiently I update Patiently I sleep And alone I weep
Patiently I Compromise Patiently I will arise Patiently I reactivate Patiently I will gravitate Patience commands my time Patience is my crime
I wandered outside the evening air was damp and cold and the moon was sharing the dappled midnight sky with dark satiny clouds
forlornly I looked up and quizzically asked the moon “I have failed my words were drowned in the hail I’m poor and unbound all I have is muddy ground who listens anyhow? where do I go now?”
do not fret my friend “as Confucius said, It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop and that old Japanese Proverb Fall down seven times, stand up eight “
I wandered back inside the desk lantern was still burning I reopened my torn notebook and begun writing again
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 