Sunset on the west
…and what soft songs there are
written in the beams cast—
sun to sky, sky to earth
all this glow, yet still,
it is so very cold & I
am a last breath
Right now, this is where I am (without a cup of coffee). My SIL is working on some harmony on the bridge, and I would say we actually ‘jammed’ the other day. Both being very early beginners on the guitar means our naturally abilities are filling in for our skill lack. She came up with some strummed chords to go with my little bridge, and then while working on this this week on my own, it’s kind of evolved into what I just recorded this morning; hard to say what it’ll become next time we get together.
You can see, I’m sleepy here, but still so slow on chord changes and it’s not perfect yet at all. I keep practicing and have learned shape 1 of the pentatonic scale, so, tho it feels minuscule, I am progressing. I can hear music being written in my head these days, so much so I keep trying to understand if it’s something I’ve heard somewhere, but am beginning to realize it’s being generated only in my brain and now the thing is to find it on the guitar. I didn’t know that could happen. That’s new for me. But, that makes sense. This is where songs come from. Lol.
Anyways. Divergent. Tho, that name is temporary. I have begun to feel tho it was birthed off a guitar lesson it deserves to be named as its own self when it’s done.
I’ve never posted on YouTube before now, so here’s the link, since it doesn’t upload well to WP.
Nothing like public posting to keep you humble…
There is an intense wrestling between the folly & the discretion—they sit so close, side by side.
I ponder my heart, dissecting it’s inner chambers, reading what’s been scratched crudely & elegantly onto each of its warm fleshy walls. The tedium & the fascination, these quiet meditations, circling about themselves, spiralling & uncoiling; one life, transforming, slowing, as do eyes in the shifting light.
Side by side they sit, giggling in youth; but age, brings a war. One will live & one will die—it’s a set battle between two deep willed things. Both are cunning in their own way. Both are equally strong.
I push Folly from her ledge—it is a long slow death, and I must watch until her last breath. This is the way of the victor & the prey.
I do dream, in close, tired shades of hope—yes even hope gets tired, swallowed & silent, as again, we are overwhelmed & slightly broken on the rigours of life. If I scream, but a little louder, will it rouse, like a bird nestled quietly, upon its winter bough, to heave, loud & squawking to flight—chasing the light. Chasing the light.
I would love to tell you playing guitar is pretty…but it isn’t pretty on the fingers. But I’m addicted and making slow but steady progress. It doesn’t hurt much to play anymore so the ugly fingers are worth it.
I’ve been working on my song, and some technique stuff. But it doesn’t sound impressive to anyone but me I’m sure. But I do love it, and I’m playing everyday pretty much even if it’s only for a few minutes.
Eventually I may actually be able to shift chords fast enough to actually sound worth while. One day.
what was it
the little white lace birds
flock above your chest
or the night owl screaming
a foreign tongue so familiar
i came to find
not all dreams are nightmares
some are just nothings
asleep in the wind