Tap-Tap-Tapping (Audio)

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Обои завязанные глаза, девушка на поле ...

I wish I could write something beautiful
I wish I could write something so real that it would change how things are
I can see it in my mind, a picture so clear, I can taste it and inhale its fragrances
The desires of my heart have burned me, they have hollowed me out
The landscape of my soul has been altered
Or perhaps it is just the overgrowth that has been cleared
For now I seem to see better the rise and fall and shape of me
It seemed as if the fire would consume me and I would be no more
As the last ember died and the wind hurried away the final wisp of smoke
I remained, still there, naked, scarred, and raw, but separate somehow from all that had been
I found only dry bitter ashes and the black barren solitude of my grief
I wandered in that place, alone for many days and many nights watering the ground with my tears
Remembering what was and what could have been, wishing for what is now, Not

I hope I will write something beautiful
I hope that my Soul will find Her voice and learn to sing a new song, one that has always been
I can hear a simple sweet strain rise and fall, strangely familiar like a dream of home
For now I make my way like a blind man, sight requiring new senses
Cautiously my words tap – tap – tap before me, through the ash and the unknown
Seeking their way, reaching out, feeling for the next step along this new path
Scribbles on a page, symbols seeking structure enough to contain the melody of Her
Clever words and ego were burned in the clearing of me, the illusion of my intellect brought low
Yet with what small vision remains I catch glimpses of green arising from the soot
Life indomitable pushes through the ruin and back into the light, buds break and blossom
The landscape is bare but not barren, even the ruin enriches and reveals the soil of me
Salt tears are still needed to water this place and in my laughter new seeds are sown
What was is no longer, what is to come is yet to be, so Now patient I wait, just tap – tap – tapping

38 thoughts on “Tap-Tap-Tapping (Audio)”

  1. I don’t read much poetry but THIS just…I can’t even describe the feeling, the thoughts I had while listening and reading. Dericki Johnson said this described the journey of a writer and his/her muse. I didn’t think of that really until he said it. I saw in these words…life. Burning, beautiful, ever changing and growing, all consuming and passionate, sometimes too much of all of this that it physically hurts.
    After looking at your posts and seeing so much that inspired me, I am overhauling my own blog (probably even changing the name) and sharing what I know about survival and patience and dreams with people who may or may not read it, but I have a big dose of courage because of this blog!
    This was amazing and I thank you for sharing.

  2. Since you mentioned this, I came to listen again. Your voice, the instrument of your words, has a way of suspending time around me when I’m listening. I could leave this world from that place and have no fear for what is through that door because I know these words come from somewhere else and I’d be going to find out where…

        • It is either sacred or not good enough for people to go out of their way. That is how I think about it. Maybe it is that good and people dont think I need any feedback. Or it is mediocre or nice. I am not sure which. Or maybe it is something else.

          • Is Tapping the one you read tonight? If it was still it was because you took people beyond where they’ve usually gone. If it was Bare Feet, they may have not connected. Remember, not everyone has that kind of childhood experience. Not every poem is going to hit them in the same place. You must be prepared for that. I think in your heart you know which ones are the ones that will take people into themselves. Tapping, for instance, is way different from I Need You. They won’t react the same to both, right?

  4. There’s a wonderful story that gets used as a sermon illustration time and again; I don’t believe it’s true in an actual sense, but it is true nonetheless. It tells of a devastating forest fire. Acres of regal old trees left scorched and black. When at last the flames are reduced to smoldering embers, fire fighters move among the charred remains of what was once a beautiful forest. Coming upon what he knows is a dead bird, one pokes at it with a stick just to be sure. Turns it over. Curiously. Respectfully. And there: Life. A baby bird scurries out from under her mother’s protective wings into the light. Love has power. Power to save its beloved. You, my dear Plato, are being loved back to life.
    Oh, and by the way, beautiful poem!

  6. I hear something has changed – is changing – within. It is like watching, in slow motion, a metamorphosis, the way a flower opens to the light. Such a tender sense.

  7. The landscape is bare but not barren, even the ruin enriches and reveals the soil of me…

    Sigh…just listened, sitting here in stillness and wonderment.

  9. Your heart is beginning to beat to a different drummer. The skin that was burned away and left you raw and exposed has begun to grow back just like with Buddy.

    I am so privileged to have been able to watch some of your rebirth. I rejoice in the rising of your spirit. And I stand without words in awe.

  10. That words fail, speaks of how much I revere what I experience, reading, feeling the flow of your words. They are like spun gold. Yet the fragility of them… see, words fail.

  12. DeRicki Johnson

    I thoroughly enjoyed reading this work. It described so cogently that hard place through and from which a writer must often journey in search of their muse. Thanks for sharing…

      • DeRicki Johnson

        The pleasure is mine, brother. BTW – I believe we are all “real artists” – the actualization of which is based on the depth of our self awareness. Oh, and as for your delight at having others read your stuff – I feel the same every time you comment on one of my posts!

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