Have a listen to this short piece, maybe put it on loop, and write some poetry then post your results in the comments below.
Living Poetry
A group of poets and poetry readers.
June Musical Poetry Prompt
Have a listen to this short piece, maybe put it on loop, and write some poetry then post your results in the comments below.
Living Poetry 
https://seachurn.blogspot.com/2022/07/gnosienne.html
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Posted by Cressida | July 1, 2022, 3:42 PMA lovely little tribute to La Belle Epoche. Thank you for sharing!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | July 1, 2022, 7:18 PMPleased that you enjoyed it. Thank you !
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Posted by Cresssida | July 2, 2022, 5:18 AMI struggled with this one a bit. It didn’t sit right and reminded me of Debussy’s Clair de Lune. Did a bit of homework. Shout out to my fellow poet for the Keats reference. Here is an almost sonnet.
Rosicrucian musings
Gnossienne
Hidden in plain sight
Root – gnostic
Keats, Debussy, Satie, Jefferson, Franklin, Washington
Devotees of Rosicrucian thought
Belief in mystical knowlege held by a privileged few
The Constitution that quasi–religious treatise
written for self-government
by the sacred Founders
was really intended just for them
but I have the audacity
to believe that those words
apply to all humanity
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Posted by Second Act Blogger | July 1, 2022, 12:41 PMHa! Great commentary. Of course, I share that belief.
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | July 1, 2022, 7:15 PMThank you.
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Posted by Second Act Blogger | July 1, 2022, 11:32 PMBartholomew, I can’t seem to attach a post as befoe, since I am caught in a loop with wordpress, at least that is what keeps coming up.. so I am copying my contribution to your June musical prompt here, thanks for the prompt:
The Garret Room Melody
The stairs kept him young
he thought,
had stopped counting them
after 20 years
still the number echoed like a melody
in his memory
one hundred and ten.
He might live to be one hundred
with his careful diet
and daily walk
but truly it would be his
music that kept him going
each week he played
in the cafe
his music sprinkled through
the room as his hair grayed
They always seemed to listen
though in after years he could
not hear his own songs
as if the furrow in the brain
overflowed and became a sea,
His fingers knew the melody
his heart escaped the while so free
surely such a heart would keep,
continue beating out the threnody
for one hundred years.
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Posted by ts19page | June 29, 2022, 10:06 AMGlad you were able to share. I especially liked the “furrow in the brain / overflowed and became a sea” Great work!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | June 29, 2022, 6:04 PMA bit prose-y, but here it goes…
——————————————
She put the broken toy
a bauble really
in my hand
the last remaining tangible relict
of the time of her great-great grandfather
a furrier
from L’viv
a time when furriers were still
a respected profession
in a land that Emperors and Czars used
to keep score
of who was winning
from year to year
before the fight with his uncle
before being cheated out of the business
before his family left
moved
first to New York
then to Chicago
to live a life
safe from all the fears
that kept hounding them
in the empire
they lived close with each other
doing what was safe
doing what Ullmann’s had always done
buying pelts and selling stoles
he built this black-and-white-picture house
with real carved wood and red velvet
a marker to show the world that
he had indeed arrived
in a new world
but like all things
his body, his house, his time
his family
wore out
now all that was left
a small wooden toy
I imagined
carried in a woolen coat pocket
of a six-year old boy
handed down to each generation for 140 years
“Just throw that out… I have no use for it”
He was not my kin
I had no relation with him
But how could I discard
such a thing
with cavalier callousness
I put it my pocket
carried it out of the house
walked until I came
to 4th and Walnut
and when
no one was looking
buried it in the ground
under an elm tree
giving it a proper burial
that all such objects deserve
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Posted by Chris Clarke | June 28, 2022, 11:44 PMA quiet thoughtful story with a beautiful ending.
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Posted by ts19page | June 29, 2022, 12:34 PMA lovely story! My favorite bit is the description: “black-and-white-picture house / with real carved wood and red velvet” Great work!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | June 29, 2022, 5:57 PMTo Keats
My bed is soaked in the aftermath of night terrors
My body is weaker than the candle wick
Wisdom sings joyful tunes in my waiting ears
reminding me
God has blessed me with gift and talent
Then why
A young man with an old soul deserves no life
My heart wails like an owl
knowing the night won’t come
My eyes are going blind
knowing the sun won’t rise after dawn
Sorrow is the hemlock I drink up
fade, flake and fly away
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Posted by Cassa Bassa | June 27, 2022, 9:20 AMA lovely tribute to Keats. Love the lines “My heart wails like an owl / knowing the night won’t come” Great work!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | June 27, 2022, 5:30 PMThanks Bartholomew! The music was very ‘inspiring’. Keats came to mind straight away.
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Posted by Cassa Bassa | June 27, 2022, 5:36 PMBeautiful!
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Posted by Chris Clarke | June 28, 2022, 11:51 PMThanks Chris!
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Posted by Cassa Bassa | June 29, 2022, 12:45 AM