September 2019

Back to Issue 6

quiet illusions 

By pymschaare


the sounds i hear
                 then bracket & un-bracket between a high
                                          & low plume of exotic scents

they cascade 
                  no order or sequence
                                             just a continued hush 
                                                                                of quavers 
                                                        a hemi note

i look up
              feel the slip of sound
                     a white landing 
                                  between pillow-puff-clouds
                                                                               falling & catching on squat trees
                                            lumpy crotchets
                            an odd math combination
                                                          timing in & out at the count of eight
                                         demi shapes spilling & spiralling
                                                                                            around ear cartilage 
                                       where it hums & sails on blue
                                                                      curves on waves
                                                                                            wind rushed
                                     watery fingers grasp   grab
                                               make a cradle for what i think
                                                                          i hear as i walk

the murmurs pulling at my heart
                           fall into my hand
                                 where i hold firm
                                                       a related thought
                                where in every turn of my head
                                              whispers zoom
                                                       & my imagination climbs
                                                                       always climbing
                                      a head voice speaks
                                                   clean notes 
                                                              firm resolutions

yet a quiet illusion evolves 
                around the words i love you
when watching flowers
                                              crescendo in colours
                                                     each silken sound petal brush
                                                              a whispering with the breeze across the bay