[stylist] Word: cacophony

[Barbara Hammel]

I'd agree, it is a pretty piece.
I liked the picture of the feathered baton.
Barbara




Let every nation know whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay 
any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose 
any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty.--John 
F. Kennedy
-----Original Message----- 
From: Bridgit Pollpeter
Sent: Thursday, December 01, 2011 4:11 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] Word: cacophony

Myrna,

I like this poem. I enjoy the musical thread, and it stays consistent
throughout the poem. I especially like the final stanza starting with,
"It is not the beauty of song that draws me outdoors."

Sincerely,
Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter
Read my blog at:
http://blogs.livewellnebraska.com/author/bpollpeter/

"History is not what happened; history is what was written down."
The Expected One- Kathleen McGowan

Message: 11
Date: Thu, 1 Dec 2011 11:18:24 -0500 (EST)
From: KajunCutie926 at aol.com
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: Re: [stylist] Word: cacophony
Message-ID: <136e6.4a259159.3c0902cf at aol.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="ISO-8859-1"

When I saw the word I had to share a piece I'd written  actually titled
'Cacophony'.  It is written in a poetry form developed by  myself and a
friend,
called a tankabun, a hybrid if you will of a haibun.   I just hope you
enjoy the piece..

Cacophony

Such a discordance
Of chirps,  tweets, and warbled voice
Makes me wonder
If the master composer
Has  misplaced his feathered baton

It is not the beauty of song that draws me  outdoors, braving the damp
frigidity of this winter morning. It is the  sheer noise!  This is not a

collaborative effort becoming one avian voice.  This is not harmony of
sparrow and
wren, warbler and finch.  No, this is an  exclamatory oration from each,

determined to be heard in their collective  audacity.  I laugh, joining
the
non-melodious flock, as realization shivers  through me.  These are the
off-key
mutterings of winged friends,  discovering that winter has neither
frozen
their wardrobes nor silenced their  voices.  The master's baton has not
been
misplaced after all and even  he applauds them and this, an impromptu
composition of feathered  cacophony.


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