I tune into your station
on the wireless radio,
hearing your voice
within the static.
The old rhymes
and sing-song melodies
distorted by the sounds
of Humpty Dumpty
and the Forest Witch.
I remember harmonies –
boys on a street-corner,
girls in the nuns’ choir,
sounds of Christmas eve
and the stories we’d tell.
I could turn up the volume,
shout back over the confusion
but the smell of water
and sight of long-tailed birds
keeps me grounded
beyond the uproar.
The ancients listened
to radio station Giza,
the voices they heard
clear and pristine.
Just turn the knob,
tweak your dial.
There’s music playing
that all the king’s men
will never hear.
Reading by author with music by Ahura
~ From The Deep I Rise With You Brother ~ Feeling Blessed ~ Thank You ~ 🙏
Where DO these inspirations come from?… such a close & magical place!
Traveling with you, Poet Brother. Love & Blessings.
Don, your words sing accompaniment to the music “that all the king’s men will never hear.” The ancients are as here, now, today as ever. It just takes one to hear one.
Don…there IS music playing…what Uranda used to call the Wonderful One Within….and most do not hear it.
We need you to keep singing, so few are listening, so few are hearing. Your voice goes beyond those of us who treasure you and your songs. You set into the ethers new points on the inner dial that can touch others far beyond these words. That’s what poets and wizards do!
The Wind by Cat Stevens.
Don, you’re playing to a clever audience. The comments are as interesting as the poem that prompted them. Thanks.
As your poem clearly indicates Don, this is getting to be a lot of fun; and every broadcast needs amplification, not accomplshed by one man standing lone and shouting louder; now the whole mechanism comes together, works together, and from this invisible capstone, the signal pulsing strong—and those who turn the dial may find the station with this ancient Voice and music playing loud and clear, and drum or sing or hum along, and let the dance begin anew
Beautiful Don, could Dylan have said it too, ” All Along the Watchtower.” ” “There must be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief.
There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth”
“No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke
“There is many here among us who feel life is but a joke
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”
All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too
Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl
Love to you Don.
This poem is loaded.
Thankyou