Author Archives: Garnet David

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Babbling Drops

Rain plunks babbling drops on the skylight glass above…
                 Xylophonic riffs
                         ( jazzy counterpoints of
                         clustered rhythms)
                ebb and roll
                singing a sweet, wet, tinkling blues.

Shiny, chartreuse oak leaves
born just days ago
                glow
                glisten
                joyfully jiggling under the gurgling drizzle.

Spring froths forth, foaming green.
My eyes limp across this languid scene.
The dripping tunes, tipping drooping leaves
become my only need.

I’m a little late with this poem, which was written in late Spring. I tried to imitate the rhythms of the dripping drops in the poem.

Trance Mix: Bird Songs, Clarinet, Rhythm, Late Night Mood

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For what it’s worth, there are 15 tracks mixed here. 1 clarinetist improvising to repeated Robin calls, American Robin quarter speed, White Crowned Sparrow, Carolina Chickadee, Acorns dropping on my roof. Sooty Shearwater bird calls, Japanese Winter Wren, and Sage Thrasher at 64 and 128 slowed down speeds. Enjoy!

[audio:https://glitteringmuse.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/TRANCE.mp3|titles=TRANCE]

Cicada Flower Quilt

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Pulsing Cicadas emboss Sunflowers
Trapunto, over dusty
tired ivies
Helios’ Chariot chars
burgundy Dahlias
unraveling their light.
Pastel Hibiscus wilt beyond
bleached Rose.
Stiff reefs of electric
Globe Thistle lap by
parched grasses.
Geranium beams
roast Baby’s Breath
Foxglove, Echinacea
While molten smoldering Petunias
pierce through, over and over.

Hummingbird by Wilco

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Hummingbird by Wilco (Jeff Tweedy songwriter)

his goal in life was to be an echo
riding alone, town after town, toll after toll
a fixed bayonet through the great southwest
to forget her
she appears
in his dreams
but in his car, and in his arms
a dream could mean anything
a cheap sunset on a television set could upset her
but he never could
remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird
his goal in life was to be an echo
the type of sound that floats around
and then back down like a feather
but in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans
no one could hear him
or anything
so he slept, on a mountain
in a sleeping bag underneath the stars,
he would lie awake and count them
but the great fountain spray of the great Milky Way
would never let him
die alone
remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird
remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird
a hummingbird
a hummingbird