[stylist] Word: cacophony
KajunCutie926 at aol.com
KajunCutie926 at aol.com
Fri Dec 2 02:30:43 UTC 2011
Thank you Barbara... That's the image I have when I think of Him
conducting the avian chorus...)
Myrna
In a message dated 12/1/2011 8:29:11 P.M. Central Standard Time,
poetlori8 at msn.com writes:
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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