Without The Music

Without The Music

Without music
Quiet has no notes to wake her up
From muffled morning’s sleepy headed slumber.
So, instead
She hangs her winsome head,
languishing in her lonely bed.
Hoping that a harp will play, or
maybe a cello will save the day.
Praying a piano quite possibly might
saunter  in,
Or trumpets wake the dead
Say arise, awake
With blasts of wind
instruments, drums and snare,
Replacing thick and quiet air
Violins or soothing flute
The horns will shout forth
an exclamation point.

Breaking the blistering silence of her mind
Hoping a happy stanza
peppered with piccolo will fill the air
But instead the quiet
Lingers, hanging void
The music hidden, lost,
Is nowhere.

Life without a song

Sounds like life
Without a pulse
dull
and fallen
Silence fills the air.
Only black and white
All color gone, no song.
The music must play on.
The strings shall sing, the harmony restore
The runs, the rifts, the ivories,
The keys will sing from lips of fingertips
The music.
Melody and symphony, sharps and flats
Notes from low to high, cascading making merry in the dark
Mirroring or changing the mood within the room
Transforming quiet, into music,
Liquid poetry.

Give me a blessed song that wakes my spirit up.

Turns the sad and lonely mood around
Plays hymns of praise
My anthem raise
No longer will I live my days,
Alone in silence lingering long
Without the sounds of  dancing
On clouds of spirit-thought.
Without
The music
Playing in the chambers,
The rooms of my heart.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Joining Laura at Laura Boggess dot com for her Playdates at The Wellspring.

Hymn of Praise

          Hymn of Praise


How quiet
Some days sound
Life, a  hymn of praise
Down beats
Press the  foot pedal to nearly mute

For those who watch

What do they hear
Do they see with the
Ears of their heart
The world is loud
My praise  faint
Breathing breaths of quiet
Praise
Whispered murmurings
From the orchestra pit
Is it music to
Him
The Holy one
Giver of lips from which should flow
I am a piccolo
I am a back row percussionist
Triangle, with one winsome note
To play
My life
A hymn of praise, muted
Some days
Feet don’t fail me now
You should be shaking, rattling,  doing the jitter bug, twist and shout
Rattle them dry bones a little bit louder now
And singing your living more loudly
Quiet
You can hear a pin drop
And no one can hear
Your muffled living.
Please forgive me
Love is buried in the quiet
Living
If  praise falls in the quiet
And no one hears
The hymn
Was it a hymn at all
Volume is overrated
Whispers
The poet

The Art of Noticing

31 days button 500x500

Welcome.

What a joy to have you here.

I have been pondering this series. Thinking of how important noticing is in a life of faith and art.

Does Noticing lead to praising, praying, worshiping and offering our gratitude? Perhaps.

Noticing creation in all its glory and beauty.

Noticing all the ordinary pieces of a day. Swirling them around in our soul and processing the mundane and the extraordinary. It is part of living fully alive.

Noticing people, art, emotion, and change. Seasons, our environment and being fully engaged with the people in our world. Our intimate worlds and our larger world.

Here are the links to each day in the series. Sit down and rest and catch your breath. You are welcome here,

The Art of Noticing – A Writing Series

Day One  – in the beginning there were questions – October One

Day Twoget out the windex, things are looking blurry – October Two

Day Three – and I heard be still – October Three

Day Four- taking note of the ordinary – October Four

Day Five – quiet, noticers at work and at play – October Five

Day Six  – now is the time for noticing – October Six

Day Seven – rolling up my shirtsleeves on this noticing thing – October Seven

Day Eight – looking at life from behind the lens – October Eight

Day Nine – in which I look for mid-week joy – October Nine

Day Ten – the weaning – October 10

Day Eleven –lost in a sea of other – October 11

Day Twelve – 

Day Thirteen- one day – October 13

Day Fourteen – left behind- a very very short story or when art holds you hostage – October 14

Day Fifteennoticing through the eyes of a poet – October 15

Day Sixteen – wink, blink, nod, and noticing – October 16

Day Seventeen –  running errands as a middle aged housewife – October 17

Day Eighteen – entanglement – noticing jealousy – October 18
noticing day one the shadow

I hope this will be a beautiful  journey. One of learning. One of practicing the art of noticing. One of savoring. Seeing. Engaging all of our senses.

A little poetry, prose, music, and photography. Art. They will all  be mixed in, woven into this 31 Day journey.

What a gift to have you here. Invite friends if you’d like. The sweet fragrance of fellowship enhances the journey.

Let’s start with these words from a favorite writer of mine,  Annie Dillard.

We are here to abet creation and to witness it, to notice each thing so each thing gets noticed. Together we notice not only each mountain shadow and each stone on the beach but we notice each other’s beautiful face and complex nature so that creation need not play to an empty house.

Tomorrow, October One. Let’s meet back here for the beginning. I am filled with joy. My soul is anticipating. My heart is ready.

Let’s go look and see, savor and taste.

The Art of Noticing begins October 1 for 31 days.  Join me at the nester dot com

I am on twitter @graceappears and on facebook, Elizabeth W.Marshall, poetry and prose if you’d like to follow the series there. Or better yet, subscribe so you don’t miss a daily post. Scroll down to follow me on facebook at the bottom of this home page and click my subscribe tab if you choose. It is at the top and the bottom.

noticing day one

Heaven’s Rock, And Roll

rain hammock chainEvery window
Wet with tears
Weeping
Won’t stop
The rain
Running down the cheeks

Of window
Pane
Every single
Sash and dash
Rim and Ledge
Wears a rain stained
Dripping
Heavy countenance
Tinged with melancholy
Rolling down the tracks of rain
Dropping rain
Drops like rocks
On top of every rooftop

The sappy sentiment
Soaks the shell of man

But oh
The hope that lies within
Even while
The heavens crack
The rumble rolls
Like stampeding wild horses
Cross
The sky, heavy hooves
Sound the charge
The storms arrive

Her tear-soaked faith
Will not swim in pools
Of pain
But rather

She will choose

To walk in
Fields of grace
Swim
In oceans too
Stroke by stroke,
Listening to Van Morrison’s
Songs that drown
The pain

Torrential sheets of water flood
Breaking forth
Released onto
Faithful
Man below without an arc
Onto
Every crown of head
And top of roof

Hope
Born from every ounce of  grace

She
Simply turns the music up
A notch, reaches for the highest decibals
Blaring triumphant brass and strings
And steel guitar with rocking beats
A chorus of foreshadowing
Of

joy that sees
Beyond
Wet casements
Windows will reflect
Again
The countenance of praise
And wipe the running raindrops
Racing down,
Smearing foggy glass will
Glisten, cleaned
With rags of vinegar
To cleanse a soaked and soggy
Soul

Of  man

By the very  hand of
The Man of Hope
The Son of God

The Washer  of
The dirt and pain
Rolling every rock and stone
Away revealing
Triumphant
Melody of Joy

That rocks and rolls us
Whole and healed
Dried by cloths of healing grace

Yet
Once again
Amazing Grace
How sweet the sound
You’re heaven’s
Rock and roll
And lullaby

Bye and Bye
Sweet bye and bye