Bolero… an inspired post…

Bolero… an inspired post…

Photo by Mat Kedzia on

(stream of consciousness freeform post, me sitting in my office with music and then… this.)

as bolero plays I am inextricably drawn, no, transported to a transformation, into the dawn of seasons, to spring, to observe the saplings, the probing buds, all the green things, the rise of life from fallow-dead-white fields, months shallow now filled eyes out to the horizon brim, plum blossoms sun-bursting in celestial parades, off carried by a gentle hand – a tender breeze, seed stars dance like human figurines, in this glorious ballroom of renewal, yes, bolero, more so than vivaldi’s reckoning, I do not know why, but that reminds me of spring in full swing, not this, not the uprising whistling just past the thaw, the burgeoning tide of dawn, where bird’s chatter is that much more amplified – melody, more – harmony, epiphany, the perfect score for the painted landscape being re-born, yes, bolero, tickles my ear, punches the ticket when I am on board, elucidates a dreaming dream to sweep away the doldrums of this daily day, for I see snow, and the icy remains, but no, bolero has brought me the inspired warmth of spring – if only for a moment as graces my auditorium.

and will I… ?

and will I… ?

Photo by Lina Kivaka on

will I see paris before I die?
to savor love upon the bridge of locks
hide’n dance n’the shadows of triumph
rise in the tower on champs de mars
n’dip my bones in the river siene

to see the frozen steps of everest
be fed from the kindred spirit hands of tibet
brail-read the walls of the khyber pass
and flow into the ganges herself as everlast

to witness pink waves of flamingos
island hops the flock n’galapagos
count time with a tortoise there
with an iguana squad scout the surf
shooting salt skyward with a puff

from the seven hills of italy
romulus and remus might guide my way
past the seven twined of istanbul
pass the gate to the holy lands
on to salted pillars of the deadly sea

may I lay down along
the nazca lines
and so align
along orion’s belt
before I die,
will I see paris, one more time?

stuck on an island divorced from pangea long ago
“will I see paris before I die?”
I asked the also flightless kakapo
“surely you did not expect me to answer, for that would be absurd”
I thought the bird might mutter
but what is more absurd than a flightless bird?
“have you bothered to look in the mirror?, SIR” rocco concurred
fair point, for a stranger in a strange land
a spectrum island if there has ever been
even in this waking dream
I keep thinking I might run into a hobbit or two
surely up for a brew or some song and more ale or two
but the maori tell me of more
a place to jump into the hereafter
if only I could muster the muster
to disappear into the tasman sea

notes… again, I stipulate, that sometimes things just come to me, or occur to me @ random, this is one of those works, just random universe influenced onto my thoughts, I can not explain it fully nor do I care to, at this point in my life I prefer to let it flow, so here it goes…