"Pausing At The Meadow's Edge..."

“Come hear the music play…” and I did.*

 

“Pausing At The Meadow’s Edge…”

 

Walking in the sunlight.

Step-by-heavy-step.  Walking,

heavier …step…

Feeling the green

surrounding …breathing.

Tightening - pausing …breathing again.

 

Is it me or the trees?

My breath …step…

Me or the leaves floating then flowing

then floating again -

…step…

teasing with silken soft whispers…

…step…

My mind - listens.

Each breath echoes

…Listening…

…step…

Hear them?

…Like soul’s tears…

…step…

Hear their rustling within the midsummer day’s breath…

My breath -

Here …all the ghosts -

Here …all of the moments -

their moments, our moments

my …moments…

 a’swirlin’

a’twirlin’ round and around

and round.

 

Gathering close, closer, tight

and tighter…

tighter still …squeeeeezing…

Grasping

Holding

…pausing mid …step…

Mid breath

Mid heartbeat…

Mid - pause -

 

Sitting on the sea wall -

walking the battlements of my mind

…staring to the stars and beyond. 

Crashing waves walking the shores -

burying the bits and flotsam of all this

…existence. 

 

And I, I'm letting go -

inch-by-inch 'til the sun's final rise

finds

I was never really here after all

- just a passing shadow

at a meadow’s edge.

…step…

A pause -

A never was…

BUT I heard the music …play.

 

Chris

 

* - words (and thought) from the musical - “Cabaret”. 

Author's Note

feel free

Reviews

[poetgurl]

This is really good, amazing imagery in this write. Nicely written

[Chris]

Here it is still morning sooooooooo "Good morning Kimmie" you are always welcome to pause with me.

[poetgurl]

it's still morning here as well. Cool as well.

[Carola]

i actually understood your free verse (i don't normally) well done.
it comes through as a daydream for me.
cheerio carola

[Chris]

Then I did good... thank you...

[Laura Kate]

This is absolutely brilliant, beautiful imagery

"walking the battlements of my mind"
I'm feeling inspired.
Best wishes,
Laura

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Youth is wasted on the young in the moment of being young. Age is a gift - a box full of memories, experiences, love and joy, pain and sorrow. I have come to love how age has filled the meadow of my life with flowers, flowers that I can pick at any time to put in a special vase for viewing. I can reflect on each flower as I will and create bouquets for sharing with others. Flowers may wilt and fade away, but I can remember holding them in my hands.

[Chris]

Good morning... the coffee is vibrant today. It's raining and chill, and gray and green and quiet and loud, alive and aware ...with just the right hint of an aftersthought smile.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Good afternoon ... the sun is vibrant today. It's hot and sunny, not a drop in sight. Another day of 90 degree weather. We haven't had rain for weeks, and the grass borders on becoming straw. The sky is blue with not a cloud in sight, but your words rain in my brain. Flowers bloom.

[barleygirl]

The actual words you express are simply-stated, but in combination with your pacing, playing with pauses, repetition . . . you tangle the reader into a net of magical exploration, stepping along, bit by bit, finding out WHATEVER (reader fill in the blanks). You do a great job of mixing up the sensations & the pacing so this doesn't come out feeling the same thru-out. Your poem captures the thing I love about good musicians . . . being able to pull tempo like saltwater taffy (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Stephany]

this is the fragile balance, for all of us, each day
Bravo!

[Chris]

I'm glad you came by and paused...

[Stephany]

It is always a pleasure to read your writing!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i think if the speaker heard music, he must have been there.
This poem reminds me of two things...walking through a woods with really tall trees....and feeling so helpless, like i was lost and would just be eaten up by the trees.
I also remember a time in Vermont, in this one pasture...i was suddenly surrounded by a herd of Holstein Cows...really weird ones with more white than black...and i loved cows, and still do, but it was the only time i was every scared of them...i was probably about 6 years old.
i wonder sometimes if we do exist, or are we just shadows...maybe the writing we leave will be proof...
but then, do ghosts type?
j.