Shakuhachi Blues
That waver,
like the end of a long
dream flickering to wakefulness,
or an origami crane
unfolding between whiskey
poured and the tale of deceit
and a good woman done wrong.
Air flutters through this bamboo
tube, and it seems I control
nothing. Inhaling, I try again.
A simple instrument that will take a lifetime to learn…
O at the Edges 
Perhaps peace comes when we realize we don’t have to be in control!
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That certainly helps, Dwight!
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LOVE THIS!
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Thank you, Jessica!
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Very, very nice!
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Thank you very much, Linda.
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Beautiful. As poem, and as chosen challenge. Would love to hear a few notes (hint, hint).
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Thanks, Jazz. I’m a long way from sounding any notes in public. 🙂
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Was thinking selected notes interspersed with a poem … chosen, recorded in your shack … some day …
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I’ve tried to record a few notes and phrases, but this far have been dissatisfied. One of these days!
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Astoundingly beautiful 🙏🏾❤️
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Thank you!
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Just for once I’m going to blow my own flute here on your thread. [I have shakuhachi music playing in the background.] Maybe it was the whiskey mentioned, but I thought of Bukowski in a mellow mood, a mood to get up and greet the dawn whilst clutching the remnants of one of the previous night’s cans of beer. Strange threading, I know, but such is the way the the water of thoughts finds its own persistent level.
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Don’t be shy about sharing here, Marie! Thank you.
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