Poetry is music, a song without instrumentation; a symphony of rhythm, meter, timing, flow and magic. It is a conundrum. The expression of an emotion through the use of language that seeks to instill emotion, but how does one create a concerto of syllables and verbs, adjectives, nouns and pronouns in order to adequately convey something that is often intangible.
Take love for example. How does anyone truly express such an inexpressible concept? A sensation so powerful it overrules all logical thought, yet so delicate it can be whispered in the softest tones and still be understood? It is exceedingly blissful and agonizingly painful; a tempest of temptation temptingly tempestuous.
Some poets are born to spin emotion into lyrical gold. Shakespeare, Poe, Blake, Dunn; they all had a unique style that reached hearts and minds within mere measures of words and are even today, hundreds of years after their lives, evoking emotion through the power of words. We, as contemporary poets, all seek to emulate, in our own way, magic similar to theirs; we all strive to convey emotion in an enduring and poignant manner.
Poetry is music. A Heartbeat; a pulse; a tempo to which the heart and mind dance. For some, creating that music is easy; for others a struggle. For me, it is magic that is indescribable; a romance between my hands that form the words and my spirit that feels them. I write with my eyes closed, waiting. Heart quiet in restful calm or pounding in passionate inspiration, and Spirit open, willing, questing, seeking, listening, as the words and images come tumbling down. Down from Heaven.
Down from the Sweet, sparkling heavens;
Down from the clouds of thundering rain,
Down from the Starlight of glittering Refrain,
Down from the Breathless moon that Sighs,
Down from the Whispers of Silken skies.
I am there, an open vessel while my Spirit sings the Sweetest tune I have ever heard. Though I cannot physically hear it, though I cannot listen to the manifestation of music like I do when I connect to my playlists, I hear the serenade as clearly as that faltering music. The melody comes down.
Down from Heaven,
Down from the sweet, sparkling heavens,
Down from the clouds of Glittering glow,
Down from the bastion o’er the rushing flow.
Down like a Heralding triumphant horn,
Down from the Endless expanse of morn.
Eyes closed, waiting. Heart Quiet, listening. Spirit Willing, Questing. All for the lyrical Beauty that spills like an endlessly cascading fall of sparkling water from that inestimably breathtaking Source. I write, write as fast as I am able, unconcerned about spelling, punctuation, context, verbiage. I sit in Humble wonder as the Blessed words pour Down.
Down from Heaven.
Down from the Sweet, Sparkling heavens.
Down from the rainbow of Jubilant Praise,
Down like a star falling in radiant blaze,
Down like symphonies of ethereal balm
Down like thunderous, calamitous calm!
Beautiful Original Artwork: heartbeat_by_moonbeam1212