Listened to the Lion

Lion, what roar remains inside your love?
We shall not be contained by the cages
Built around our souls, as if they’d define
Meaning inside the love we were bound.

No longer over the falls falling the tears
I hear the lion roar inside of me: “Love!”
So our souls build around us definition
Binding us to meaning, life still to live.

My voice:

Once upon a time, a version of me would have told you my favorite song was Into the Mystic by Van Morrison, and then my life began to change in ways unanticipated and a new song emerged that spoke to a deeper part of my soul needing to find its way into the world. I think the words above express something from that part of me. Song of the Week: Listen to the Lion, Van Morrison.

Artwork: Funky Lion Roar by Sarajevo2707
Funky lion roar

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Song of the Week: Bjork “Army of Me” and a response poem: “An Army of Me Met Met at the Door”

An Army of Me Met Met at the Door

An army of me met me at the door
and kicked me in the balls
so hard they rolled off my tongue
like ben wa and dropped
like a teenager’s waking up one morning
with a sticky surprise

An army of me met me at the door
and laughed in my face
until i had to laugh right along with me
ha ha ha, roll on the floor, jackass
and look at the teenager you became
30 years after it was hip

An army of me met me at the door
and came in for a scotch
he had it neat, i had it messy
with ice that melted
into a puddle deep enough
to go and drown a little sorrow

An army of me met me at the door
and we decided to hang out a bit
turns out he was good company
and so we decided to become one
and just get on with it:
the rescue squad was exhausted.

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To the Swan Who Pointed Home

I didn’t know him, but I wanted him.
All the words that fell through, spoke in a voice
He would not listen to long enough to believe.
A game he played, at war with himself.

One day, the swan rose up from the lake,
Her body like an arrow pointing home.
His heart painted black like doors unopened
As he walked the street, people turning away.

So he sank his boat
Into the puddle he dripped.

I did know him, the man I wanted to be.
All the words that fell through spoke
To the swan who sung along pointing home
As if to say, “Go, enough is enough.”

The war over erased the black exposing
The tender red door only courage could open.
I fell into eyes that knew me as if beginning
Still time to turn away and walk this street.

I raised his boat,
Pointed it home and followed the swan.

My voice:

This week, a poem that explains the new title of this poetry blog written in response to Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova’s beautiful “Falling Slowly” from the Soundtrack to the movie, Once. (and with a nod to the Stones’ classic, Paint it Black).

The song:

The lyrics:

Falling Slowly
Songwriters: Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova

I don’t know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can’t react
And games that never amount
To more than they’re meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You’ll make it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You’ll make it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I’ll sing along

Falling Slowly lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc