Sound Seekers for Bruce and Ed   Leave a comment


glistening fat burns in a carved bowl

shadows rise on cave walls

a man samples the sounds of his flute

he thinks of water, of hooves,

a snarl of teeth, a fingersnap,

of hums and buzz and wind

and how colors and scents blend sounds

like honey that drips a beat     sweetens the tongue

stays in the mind

he greets the sun with uplifted

arms conducting the new day

as if by moving his arms to the trees

the birds begin their crescendo of song

he directs the rush of water

over and around rocks and roots

that lie smooth from the deep massage

a turn of his body towards the cave

and he draws the cooing of his child into

this mix and the knapp knapp knapping of the stone

and the slap pat slap pat of bread making

and the rhythm overcomes him

his heart beats into his limbs

and he knows joy

and puts the flute to his mouth

50,000 years later

another man put that same bony flute to his mouth

both gatherers

ears like palettes

picking sounds red and blue as berries

to paint their songs

storing hues of  swatches

blending untouched whispers

with the wild roar of our footprints

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Posted August 16, 2010 by strongjacksonpoet54 in Poetry of Mary Strong Jackson

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