The Lazy Man’s Fiddle

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As a child I was told to believe in myself, to get out of bed on my own, early; to rise ready and reaching, reach for something, kid, until you taste it, touch it, know
And so
I reached, all right. I reached right to the eyes of God
Saw my fellow man
A sight for sore eyes
Even from that angle

I reached upon the ancestral path, touched prehistory’s keepings, and silenced by its sorrows I released its angry hand

I reached until the reaching wrote the writings on the wall, my eyes both saw the truth in who is building
brick by brick
the red-handed oblivion, the barrels of monkeys, the masses of them
Making fates and the laws
For us humans
It was a Blood Meridian; I didn’t reach that way for long

I reached the naked shaking fault; the midline, the angel’s fall; the lion’s den, the sacrificial blood; the albatross; the sound barrier boom, the speed of light, the hands of time, I reached and shook them once or twice

Mars, like Earth: so lifelessly breathing

I reached the heat of the wild noon
Mercury, mercurial
Elemental wrecking ball, I reached
into the core, the flame
The heat that kept me reaching
til I
Grabbed survived and lastly changed

I reached and read for firsthand proof
the eternal pride and prejudices; Newton, Nietzsche
Among the others
Such a sight-surprising touch
To well-read hands
When finding both
So long devoid
of their words and their pomp
their circumstance such
with their tongues tied to dust

I reached the romances too, the ones Love should cease to be if forgotten; the ones quietly ravaged, permanent, glass-like and ageless; I reached right into the middle of that rhythmic swinging see-saw

Wordsworth, Dickinson; the flower-pushing tragedies of a heart-infected wisdom

I reached her hope, and his regret
Neither have their feathers
There was no bird
There was no song
Echoes of a figure eight which wrapped around the hollow
This: the only thing there found
Still perching in the soul
Hope, if ever truly reached, is but an empty grave
I reached old age and touched its face, fingerprints, I used to trace
Its browline and its frown
No evidence of smile lines
And so I laid my reaching down
At last, with nothing satisfied
yet everything there is to find
My heart, to it is bound

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About Brandy Desiree

"Call on me, and I will show you great and unsearchable things you do not know." --Jeremiah 33:3 I am a seeker. A lover. A doer. A thinker. I make music, I dance often, and I laugh. It's all hilarious, really. Everything. Look around you. My children teach me a lot about life. I have five boys, and yes I'm out of my mind. It works for me though; I think this world could honestly use just a little more crazy. A lot of humanity's problems could be solved by everybody taking themselves a little less seriously. I'm grateful and alive; a constantly evolving creature, thankful for the sunshine and just as thankful for the rain... Visit my corner of the universe and share yourself! My heart could implode with welcome for you.

8 responses »

    • Sister source, no need for coming
      Even in these momentary reachings
      When all it takes from you is one word
      Or five
      The breathing out of a phrase
      That instantaneous yet never fleeting suggestion or question
      You make, or ask
      And BAM
      The life comes through to all of us, gleaning
      Given, grafting us each
      To you
      Your light
      Radiant always
      Perfect surprise

  1. Glad to have you back and feeling better, Brandy, and a beautiful poem to wake up too. Even though rushed through your new lines and words yesterday. A wonderful start to the day… Autumn honeys, copper golds, and silver greens here at the moment, with a thousand miles of country stretching outback to the mountain ranges. Steeped in their forests, creeks, and rivers, with the Coral Sea, the dulcet coastal songs at the front door.

    Questions to wander, to seek and to search. To walk around the high rocky road, finding the glens and dales, the Kin delights. Where be a traveler to life’s long queries, welcome in fright, the changing seasons. Transient in hope a wayfarer finds, conversation between which is living, upon the miles of thoughts, beyond a meandering transit, the rivers run. Where nomads moves on the many same roads, the Kin of words, the Kin of conversations and verse. Such as gypsy vagabonds born of song and dance, diverse to our trade to be unconditioned. Travelers of Night and Day, trekkers upon the Moon and Sun. Voyagers of our vast Way, wanders’ of stories, in both our homes, our travels in the Multi-verse, our conversations, our thoughts, our verse, our lines, our words.

    • Mad from the start of it
      Madness of a furious impression of glory
      Centered beauty, the power of a view across a perpetually new
      Landscape, escaping so far as if to the moon
      Only halfway around the world, what but a day or two by sea or shore
      I will swim there in my sleep and see it
      For myself, for all my selves I’ve left behind
      I shall return to become them
      And see this world, your side
      Through their hungriest forever eyes

      • Mad from the start of it
        Though did you catch your breath
        Madness of a furious impression of glory
        Falling out through the night of day
        Centered beauty, the power of a view across a perpetually new
        Stepping back to wander the leeward wonders
        Landscape, escaping so far as if to the moon
        After the snow flakes they’ve melted away
        Only halfway around the world, what but a day or two by sea or shore
        Like trekking the atmosphere on an ozone safari
        I will swim there in my sleep and see it
        As to be skipping stones across the currents
        For myself, for all my selves I’ve left behind
        Taken up by a radiant stride to be walking far
        I shall return to become them
        Ancient, a nomad, passing between the coral shoals
        And see this world, your side
        Beneath below the vast southern blues
        Through their hungriest forever eyes
        Wayfarer born to the turning, twist tilted Way’s night sky…

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