Nocturne (Blue Grosbeak)
Why tremble
when nothing
arrives to be seen?
The architecture
of the day
comes and goes
in the same
heartbeat,
a disturbance
more felt than heard.
But listen.
The grosbeak sings
his presence
and departs,
leaving behind
the echo
of a motion
blending with night.
The air is cool.
A leaf utters
its own message
and falls
unnoticed.
Nothing awaits it.
This first appeared in February 2015.
O at the Edges 
Reblogged this on Seeing Beyond the Ordinary.
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Thanks for reblogging this, Susan.
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Love it!
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Beautiful! I’m no expert in Zen (okay, I’ll just come out and say it: I’m pretty dumb!), but it seems to me that Zen is a lot like what some people would call nihilism/solipsism [with the leaf falling, unnoticed and to nothing]. I have a (friendly, from my perspective) argument going with a fellow writer, wherein I assert that writers he thinks of as nihilistic/solipsistic/atheistic (like Lovecraft, Bram Stoker, probably Stephen King, Margaret Atwood, etc.) with regard to religion are actually, at least in some cases, exploring faith by confronting it, questioning it, and living inside the bubble of it with entrée through their art form. Anyway, love all the bird-y {and nature} poems you do, too.
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I confess to knowing nothing, Leigh. I can’t seem to escape the birds! 🙂
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Just don’t escape to a small phone booth with Tippi Hedren in it! {Ruh-roh, Raggy!} 🙂 Ha!
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I have a feeling that phone booths no longer exist in Bodega Bay. 🙂
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Words arise in morning poetry,
aleap the brightened time;
nuanced seeping imagery,
paintings envisioned of mind.
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I like this Randy. Thank you.
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Inspired by your poem. Lol about the birds! I’m afflicted with this, too. In my case, it’s a semiotic syndrome known as “bird brain”. Ha-ha! 🙂
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This is brilliant writing. Each time I scroll up and re-read, I get something new in meaning.
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You have made my day, Kunal. Thank you.
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You’re welcome… I meant it!
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Perfect for my mood today!
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I felt the need for peaceful contemplation. That, and a burger with grilled onions, sliced cornichons and camembert. But alas, I’m still on soft food and had to settle for the poem. 🙂
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I’ve missed something–why are you on soft foods?
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Oh, surgery a few weeks ago. I’ve only mentioned it in comments, and haven’t posted about it here or on FB, so you haven’t missed anything. But there’s a good chance that a poem or two will arise from the experience at some point.
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Oh man! Surgery is never fun. Take it easy.
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Surgery wasn’t fun, but I must admit that I took a liking to the morphine haze afterwards – felt all warm and fuzzy. Of course I gave that up the morning following the surgery, as I prefer a little discomfort to being addled.
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Morphine is the bomb. I’ve only had it after one surgery and quickly understood how people get hooked.
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This perfect meditation fell in my mailbox and it was noticed! You are so gifted with words. Oh and I wish you a speedy recovery.
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Thank you, Parmis. I am well on my way to recovery!
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Excellent poem.
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Thanks, Emily!
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Wonderful!
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Thank you, Tom.
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Goodness, what a wonderful number of comments on your poems! I really like this poem, the gentleness, the cadence, the structure. A line like “A leaf utters / its own message / and falls / unnoticed” is exquisite.
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Thanks, Mary. I truly appreciate the comments – it’s good to receive feedback, nice to discover that the piece has been read! We write these things, set them adrift, and hope that someone will find them useful in some way.
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I had in mind once to write a series of poems using Chopin’s Nocturnes. For each one, after multiple listens a poem would develop. Never got passed a thought & multiple listens of the Nocturnes though. Maybe yhey are poetry enough si nothing came, maybe i’m just a crap poet.
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Well, then we’re both crap poets. I’ve attempted on numerous occasions to write poems using specific musical pieces as starting points. Nothing has emerged from these attempts except utter crap. I can riff on music in general terms, or even a piece that comes to mind while in the midst of writing something else, but somehow I’ve not been able to target pieces. Oh, well.
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here’s to being crap poets.
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We could start a movement. Crap Poets Untie! Or something like that.
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Leaves do have a quiet existence. They bud into life without fanfare and drop from the trees with nary a tremble, only being heard when they crunch under foot. By then, their need for notice has passed. Lovely poem.
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I do enjoy their music in all their forms. Hmm. A leaf just plummeted in front of me. 🙂
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Love the sparseness of your words in this fine piece of literary delictibleness. Yes, I said that.
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Ha! Thanks, Rob.
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