Chorus

 Our Lady of the Golden Voice

who makes the shepherds howl

and leaves the clerics' eyes all moist

then gifts them salted towels

Oh Lady fair, oh Lady cruel

riding a treble clef

admit us to your Music School

to chisel loose each breath.

____

for quadrille Monday

hosted by Linda Lyberg

Trill

 

The planet itself sways--

every sailor and starfish knows this.

It was my mother who was stillborn, 

and I have ever since 

searched for a heart beat to lay my ear to.

Language seduced me in a railroad car,

a constant leaving, one destination after another,

all the way to the horizon.

All my devotion has bought me is these bowling ball souvenirs,

these anvils in interesting rows.

But music! Even urchins carry flutes,

cows in fields wear bells, and Tartini's Devil left him a trill.

Music has been mercy,

from Janis's blue sandpaper

to Vivaldi's honey-hive violin,

I lay my ear on my own heart and hear the mermaids sing.

_______

For Sunday Muse #222. 

For Our Lady of Smoke & Window Sills

 You Are Our Lady of smoke and window sills

and I am a wheel made of rope and memories

A birch skin sun, full of poetry and rum

lays out its playing cards on the breeze

If I have hurt you, take this yellow bird

and ask it to sing your childhood back

If it dies in your palm, then you'll know that all along

we've lain our hearts together on the track

There is no dome of heaven blue enough,

to pose as Sunday's ornament

no coin to buy the peacock's lovely strut

and no tongue to tell you what it meant

In every water well, a witching stick

to guide the thirst back to our lips

where we could cure the snowblind trumpeter

and offer him our silence like a kiss

There is no morning glory blue enough

to pose our fanned out deck of saints

or to repair the garland in your hair

that falls like leaves we pretty up with paints.

The Next Voice You Hear

Poster,
please stick to relevant things--
the throes of nature,
the hilarious pratfalls of modern love, or
figures of worship in their august magnificence.

Stop this foolishness about hair styles,
haiku,
and what your husband does in his garage--
the world is filled with such horrors already.

Commune with your higher self,
fast, clear your mind and physical body,
then return to us and to your postings.

Tell us about your ex-convict grandfather
and the spotlight he keeps in the attic.
Give us stuff that works at the box office,
such as your journey from Jenny Craig to heroin and cult religion.

Reveal to us your unabashed embrace
of outre philosophies garnered from the complex and authentic human being you met at the bus stop.

In summary, cut the crap and give us
your True Self
in all of her shadows and lights.
Give us the hagiographic treatment, 
the old college try,
Pose for a picture holding a French visa open to show your patronymic name.

Otherwise, we unsubscribe
and banish you to a wilderness where only dumb animals and cosplay Vikings can survive in the late-winter rot of your usual content.

Regards,

MichiganSally52
________

from a word list for post #3 of my 39 in 39 days.