 "The Old Guitarist" - Pablo Picasso - Art Institute of Chicago Tocando la guitarra
Anteayer, cuando yo tocaba mi guitarra, sentía pajaritos en mis dedos que cantaban con mucho gusto. La música, siendo dulce, llenó el aire. Ayer, mientras yo tocaba mi guitarra, sentía serpientes en mis dedos, pero ellos se impacientaron con mi canción que era triste y muy lento. Ellos querían más. Ellos querían sangre. Esta mañana, mi guitarra sonaba y los insectos se reían mientras los gatos dormían, los perros se rascaban, y los niños se divertían. Todos los pajaritos y las serpientes se escaparon y ahora mis dedos están quietos. (c) Eric Walter 2017 All rights reserved.
0 Comments
Twin Rocks
I arise at first light and shuffle sleepily past the windows and darkened rooms, through the trees and dunes, down to the buffeted shore. The rocks reach up from the black sea, hulking silhouettes on the pale horizon. When the wind is right they will make music. One morning I listened as they played to a hundred pelicans taking flight. I believe they have played to thousands. Not far to the south, a stream of clear mountain water collides with the teeming Pacific. Small silver fish flash in the riffles. Sandpipers dash and dart in their skirmish with the waves. Strewn about the sand are pebbles that glow, pieces of shell that vibrate with color. I have seen the sun set here in every season. I have seen the moon between the rocks. I have seen Venus part the clouds. It is cold now, not yet spring.
From "Moves Between Worlds"
(c) 2012 Eric Walter
(c) Eric Walter 2017
Beach Notes The languages are fading. I can borrow them for a time When traveling But when the land becomes a memory So does the song. -- I am disappointed when I forget. I am sad when I remember. I am content when I am here. -- Sometimes you can see the storm coming. Sometimes it rises abruptly from within, The tempestuous grief of heartsongs Never fully sung. -- The clouds come and go Like the gods Whose tears I welcome but Never collect Unless my life depends on it. -- I will have one more day here on earth If you please. If I please. -- Dead stars Gleam through. Songs free Stray here. Dawn fires Burn callow dreams. -- Far along and introspective I deliquesce In roving mists of Memory and returning. Peerless storms scatter The meaning for which I haplessly Hopelessly yearn. -- I cannot be broken by darkness. I cannot be mended with light.  |
RSS Feed
