Sharing with The Sunday Muse, for #193.
Turn away, like the moon, listening...
Listening to the planet that rumbles with a hundred million
slaps. All the feet, all the rockets, all the
pistons in the cars on the asphalt over the chasm
where the veins run deep, blue in sunlight, black at night.
Running over the chasm.
Once or twice they ran to you.
Once or twice they ran by.
Greetings and salutations. The sky is an entertaining shade of concrete yellow as the rain promised earlier in the week makes good on its arrival. It's a disturbing bright sallow sky, the kind of sky that puts you in mind of old movies and degraded film stock and the pops and crackles incidental to the main story.
Several years ago I made a resolution to journal more and last year I came across a video that suggested I actually re-read those journals, at least those of the previous year, at the beginning of each new year. Technically, I have kept the journal resolution, making daily notes in the margins of notes for stories, with the result that my journals are scattered among false starts and stories. The incidental popping and cracking this year is me attempting to stitch the year into one long file according to the dated notes. I've been typing for days. There is so much that I started and then left off for a new start or new story. I feel like I'm the giant insect sitting in the middle of the bones of half-eaten stories. I'm not sure when the military (or the plucky kids or the stray scientist with a head for insects) will begin the pummeling...but it has to be soon, right? Might be the headache talking.
Hope you're having a wonderful (dry-ish) week!
-- chrissa
Your poem is deep and amazing Chrissa! The idea of a planet that rumbles with a hundred million slaps...well that line is utterly brilliant and a fascinating way of speaking of what humans on it have done. This rain has been brutal for me. I had to drive in a bad downpour earlier. I am still trying to recover. 😓
ReplyDeleteYikes!! Hoping you get a chance to recover! Downpour driving is awful. :(
DeleteSplendid writing Chrissa! Mesmerizing imagery!
ReplyDeleteThere is such strength is this poem! Thought provoking!
ReplyDeleteWow its interesting how far out the image transported you.
ReplyDeleteNice one Chrissa
Happy New Year
Much love...
Midnight stream of consciousness!
ReplyDeleteIndeed, I have played the bongo .. in front of an audience. The tapping, slapping on the drum .. hypnotic as is your poem.
ReplyDeleteI think you have heard the vibrations of the drum echoing out into the universe. I play a hoop drum and the energy is amazing. Unfortunately, I feel we have slapped our planet too hard and she is striking back with a force that is scary.
ReplyDeleteI have a reverence for you doing the journal. We all have need to do this but it is too late for me. I may do a memoir or two instead. I've had three cars that "rumble" with the pistons firing. The first one I got a ticket back in my hometown for it being too loud. The second one I was harassed by the police where I lived for having it like that, the third I still have, an old but pristine 1974 Ford Mustang II that was my mom's car. It has 67K miles.
ReplyDelete..
Never too late Jim. Start journaling. I find it such a liberating activity. I do morning pages (as prescribed by Julia Cameron) and when I don't get to them, because life gets busier than normal, I find myself getting crotchety and moody. It takes me a while to realise the reason for my unrest.
Delete"where the veins run deep, blue in sunlight, black at night.
ReplyDeleteRunning over the chasm.
Once or twice they ran to you.
Once or twice they ran by."
Outstanding, Chrissa! I love to read your after notes.
Yes, I love those lines too
DeleteI love the reflection here, Turn away yet Listening!
ReplyDeleteFabulous poem. Well done. I almost sang it when reading ...
ReplyDeleteChrissa, I love your stream of consciousness here.
ReplyDelete--Li/Lisa at tao-talk