Ice and Fire and Memory
Sheep’s frozen water.
Cleaving the ice open,
passing through summer’s sternum
Into our beehive’s buzzing heart.
Heat and bees
on my tongue
Tasted and said and eaten
Mid-winter honey memory and
Sheep’s water, re-freezing.
Video Inspiration for Poem–Remix?
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I listened to the beginning several times. Their song is soothing; I could hear the different voices, including one who is a complainer like my cat. Does it usually get so cold in Kentucky that you can play ice frisbee with your sheep?
Gentle orange glow
Fields in the soothing,
Subdued bah bah! humDo
Of the flock
Wanting,
Waiting for
Water
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I love the coinage–humDo!
I love the word subdued because it not only describes the light but contrast to the humble insistence of the sheep.
I am such a sucker for the rhythmical alliteration of the last three lines.
We get whatever weather the jetstream brings us. It will be sixty today, but if Alberta sends a missive we have no choice but to open it.
The sheep all have their own voice, humble though it might be. She sings the same humDo every day of her life and that’s a passle of bahbah’s.
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Things past.
Sounds of summer
splashing
in my mind
Laughter lilting
lightly
in my memory
Grandkids gathering
on the beach.
http://flic.kr/p/fFfS6q
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I am taken by the image of the grandkids and dog. It seems to have been snapped through a screen door ‘filter’ of some kind. I love how objects serve as totems for memory. They hold them and are keyed open in so many ways. In my case the sound of ice being cleaved open. As dear Emily writes,
One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.
~Emily Dickinson, “Time and Eternity”
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Here is my gift to you. I remixed your poem as a poem for two voices.
https://soundcloud.com/dogtrax/ice-fire-memory-music-songs
Kevin
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See my response. What a great Saturday it is shaping up to be. Tonight my wife, kids and I will be taking a full moon hike at Jefferson State Forest near Louisville. May you have blue skies.
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The long canvas bucket
a wind sock of the subterranean world
falls quickly down
and plops
into the coolest, cleanest, sweetest water
this LA kid had ever tasted
it was hard to wait for
the slow pulling of the bucket back up [I helped, I doubt i ever
made the whole haul by myself at eight]
out of that well in Plainview, Arkansas in 1950
came deep dreams and sweet bitter memories
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Working on a response, Fred. A lot happened in 1950, like the well it’s a very deep subject.
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