Difference between revisions of "Task & Purpose"
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− | [See also Poet's Dilemma & Imperative | + | == A Poem By <u>[[Gerald Alan Ney]]</u> == |
− | + | '''Task & Purpose''' 10/26/2018<Br> | |
+ | (See also '''[[Poet's Dilemma & Imperative]]'''<Br> | ||
+ | and '''[[Caedmon's Choice]]''')<Br> | ||
+ | <Br> | ||
+ | I see the mountains,<Br> | ||
+ | I see the sea,<Br> | ||
+ | And sometimes<Br> | ||
+ | Both together.<Br> | ||
+ | ~<Br> | ||
+ | I've heard their voices<Br> | ||
+ | and sung their songs;<Br> | ||
+ | Noted their signs inscribed<Br> | ||
+ | On Gaia's fluid face.<Br> | ||
+ | ~<Br> | ||
+ | I could tell you<Br> | ||
+ | What I was gifted,<Br> | ||
+ | What I received<Br> | ||
+ | Into my mind and heart,<Br> | ||
+ | Soul and spirit.<Br> | ||
+ | ~<Br> | ||
+ | But as our ears<Br> | ||
+ | Are different,<Br> | ||
+ | Unique;<Br> | ||
+ | What you hear<Br> | ||
+ | Will be measured, weighed,<Br> | ||
+ | Sifted, filtered,<Br> | ||
+ | By what you are.<Br> | ||
+ | ~<Br> | ||
+ | And yet,<Br> | ||
+ | Again the words<Br> | ||
+ | Insistently call<Br> | ||
+ | For impression to expression.<Br> | ||
+ | ~<Br> | ||
+ | As they once did<Br> | ||
+ | To Caedmon<Br> | ||
+ | Of the dream song:<Br> | ||
+ | "Sing me a song."<Br> | ||
+ | ~<Br> | ||
+ | So I put voice to ink,<Br> | ||
+ | and color to letters,<Br> | ||
+ | A novice's crayola scrawls,<Br> | ||
+ | And pray to strike and stroke<Br> | ||
+ | A plangent chord<Br> | ||
+ | To resonate<Br> | ||
+ | On expectant strings<Br> | ||
+ | Of someone's inner harp.<Br> | ||
− | + | --<Br> | |
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− | + | **[[Gerald Alan Ney]] | |
− | + | [[Category:Is-Poem]][[Category:By-Gerald_Alan_Ney]] | |
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− | -- | ||
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Latest revision as of 13:54, 8 December 2019
A Poem By Gerald Alan Ney
Task & Purpose 10/26/2018
(See also Poet's Dilemma & Imperative
and Caedmon's Choice)
I see the mountains,
I see the sea,
And sometimes
Both together.
~
I've heard their voices
and sung their songs;
Noted their signs inscribed
On Gaia's fluid face.
~
I could tell you
What I was gifted,
What I received
Into my mind and heart,
Soul and spirit.
~
But as our ears
Are different,
Unique;
What you hear
Will be measured, weighed,
Sifted, filtered,
By what you are.
~
And yet,
Again the words
Insistently call
For impression to expression.
~
As they once did
To Caedmon
Of the dream song:
"Sing me a song."
~
So I put voice to ink,
and color to letters,
A novice's crayola scrawls,
And pray to strike and stroke
A plangent chord
To resonate
On expectant strings
Of someone's inner harp.
--