Life Lines: Lyrics from the Garden and the Farm
by Paul Healy
The stanza is back!
The heroic, tonally tuned, music driven, rhythmic structured, paragraph length, intellect inveigling and concentration commanding multiple compound super sentence is back!
The complex, totally inconsiderate, barely survivable, breathless but breathtaking, bemusing yet beautiful, bewildering, bug-eyeing, never brief and always brain exhausting, so wonderfully different, deviant and confronting, always ever challenging, totally self indulging yet strangely empowering, super layered, compound structured, deliciously devoid of stops, half page mock heroically Homeric stanza stretched to a pentathletic super paragraph is back - as no one else dare write it – in a space where I control all of it, every mad or wonderfully melodious, word extravagant or suddenly minimalist poetic part of it – written so every word invites misuse or abuse, rage or wonder, confusion or consideration, counsel or consideration – who knows nor cares, but now no one may ever try to stymie, stigmatise or deny its truth, when a paragraph for the Titans only is unleashed!
I promise that no one coming to this page will ever be considered a child of the text and fast APP, flicker fingered diaspora!
The Rainbow Bridge
A small soul flew to the rainbow bridge
Where the fowls have gathered, across the range
And as the twilight musters sunset clouds
You can trace their painted wings and tails
As the cock birds call and the hens still forage
Fields so sweet, and free of peril, where
The grasses seed, and the fruit hangs heavy
While the shade is rich with vines and berries;
And as the evening fades, so the flock is called
To rest within a kinder fold, while we - who send
Them swiftly lifting, streaming to the skies - are left
Where dreaming dies a little: ebbed with every death.
About This Week's Lyric: The Rainbow Bridge
Poetry can spring from the most surprising of places and sources, and when a full blown poetry phase is going – which happens two to three times each year – my head might be filled with as many as a dozen trace lines of new poetry prompted, but still waiting to be formed.
Each phase can last for up to six weeks, on each cycle, before exhaustion “sleeps the muse”.
“The Rainbow Bridge” sprang from a line posted on the SPKAT facebook page, last week, where a young person had lost her beloved pet.
I loved the term “rainbow bridge”.
The whole lyric - as it stands - ran from that, once I sat down to it, within ten minutes.
The last lines of the poem are a reflection upon the long term cost - to the soul - of the very necessary and responsible act of taking life, when you are breeding fowls that would leave the farm with way too many excess males, each year.
We eat all of our excess male stock: up to 150 birds a year, and glorious, open forage, soft and finer grained premium tasting darker fleshed Barnevelder meat is a major part of our all home grown organic diet, but still I take no joy from doing what is required to be done.
It is all about taking personal responsibility for your stock, and not passing the task on to someone else.
Copyright: All the words, works, writings and images appearing on this site are copyright to Paul Francis Healy and may not be reproduced, passed around, reprinted, recirculated, retransmitted or republished in either print or electronic form without the written permission of the author.