Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Sounds from the Dead

Cleaning out a closet and finding old recordings of my dear friend piano genius Doug Hall, my remarkable violinist father, my sister Sharon and dear friend vocalist/ composer Tina Marsh...all making music up in the clouds now.

Sounds from the Dead

I can listen,
But not all the time…
Only when I’m centered,
His touch on piano
Coming back in time
Press rewind,
I love that phrase…
And he plays…
Flooding interior of my car,
sound track
of the world passing.

But I hesitate to hear
The strings of my father…
Violin song
Too close to his voice
Heartbreakingly sweet frequency
long ago,
My young world then…
Washes over
an uncertain aging heart.

She speaks
On fragile Maxell.
Worry I might loose captured
ghost of speech…
in antique Sony sound machine.
Her laugh rising
from plastic speaker holes,
her timid song
in tune
self conscious
I had forgotten how beautiful,
As tone flies through my ears
To my tightening throat
I empathically sing along
With her…
Finding this process
I press
Room quiet
Ears buzz
Her voice remains.

And you
Who made your
Voice song captured
to be replayed on time
The focus of a life.
You sing
and grab me
from unexpected places
ever present.
belted lines
of dissonant collisions
and sorrowful calling.
Again I press stop,
And remove the vault
Where sounds flood back
Returning memories
To a jewel case grave.