Weaver, Unweaving the Harp

in #dsound5 years ago (edited)

Weaver, Unweaving the Harp

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Weaver, Unweaving the Harp

Sine-swell lushman of seasons grown,
of seedwell drawn, o'er seasons thrown.

Scattered the matter of changless aisles,
dreamt through air, unreasoning known
by soft-smiling deity-iris:
open, blink, arise-built gyrus.

Trials embalming the tombless glee:
immemorial field, O waves unseen!
Mapped through summit and sulcus-scree:
message, meaning, A liminalcy.

Sine-swell lushman of seasons grown,
of seedwell drawn, o'er seasons thrown.
Traveled, unraveling heart-torn gem—
be rung by fullness' hymn.


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poetry,
audio, & images
by @d-pend
10.31.18


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You are sounding like a trovador now. Very musical composition. Quite appropriate for a story of travelers and seed throwers who are supposed to be themselves the accumulation of seasons of good seeding.

Time well spent/used is supposed to reward those who put it to good use. Lessons learned should mean fewer errors upheld.
The unweaving of a harp suggests the undoing of a musical fabric. But it may also suggest, by the very process of deconstruction of its constitutive parts, the unchaining of what is fastened or fixed. That liberating sense plays along with the feeling of rhythmic precipitousness in this composition.

The scattering in changeless isles make me think of religion, farming and some gifts from nature that provide messages of good and bad timing. The pews inhabited by monotony and conformism (resignation disguised as faith?); the rows that receive the seeds intended and others brought by the wind, watered by independent clouds and illumined by “waves [of colors] unseen” by the common eye.

Mountain ranges, crevices and rocks map the lessons still unlearned, just discovered by travelers “unraveling heart-torn gem”, ringing the bells of wholeness, crossing the luminal spaces of the known and the unknown.
Thus, the new troubadours sing about the solved and unsolved mysteries of the world spreading new seeds on unfertile rows, ringing harp notes that sound disconnected to the changeless ear.

@d-pend,

Daniel, beautifully done. Very well crafted.

An Ode to Learning ... A Ballad for the Brain ... one of my favorite subjects. It's not often that sulcus and gyrus make it into a poem. Brainwaves. Ideas planted as seeds over time become the harvest.

Sine-swell lushman of seasons grown,
of seedwell drawn, o'er seasons thrown.
Traveled, unraveling heart-torn gem—

be rung by fullness' hymn.

And these three lines ... delicious.

Daniel, you've gotten very good at writing Verse ... while managing to preserve that unique d-pend style and voice.

This is a huge accomplishment. A lot harder than most would imagine. Well done, mate.

Quill

I recognize you and I recognize myself in your word: weaver, screwdriver of harps of lyres thrown into the wind. Emotions ambushed, swirled in verses to hide the rain inside: "message, meaning, A liminalcy"

Traveled, unraveling heart-torn gem-
be rung by fullness' hymn.

"IN ALL GREAT WRITER THERE IS A GREAT PAINTER, A GREAT SCULPTOR AND A GREAT MUSIC"
I bless you, I honor you and I ingratiate myself with your higher self, from my inner self, @d-pend.

The words all weave together and it is hard to hold them @d-pend. Listening to this feels like I have some grains of wheat in my hand but they are all slipping away and then blowing in the wind.

From reading the poem it seems to me that you are talking about the passing of time (one of my favorite subjects to write about in middle school).
I have never seen the words "sine-swell" used in a poem before. But I'm not surprised. I have the feeling of a sine waves flowing though unforgettable memories beyond the mind's eye.

So after unraveling the weaver's weave, did you find any good threads or are you just enjoying the ride?

Dear @d-pend sir!
The internal struggle and happiness of human nature is best demonstrated. The desires are eternal. Weaver is entangled in its own thread.along with cloudy photography.Regards

Nature gives us a beautiful vision that we often do not appreciate because of the dynamics of life. Only when we are in the existential limit is when we see the greatness of nature.

Sine-swell lushman of seasons grown,
of seedwell drawn, o'er seasons thrown.

Love the rhythm of this

When you say "tombless glee" are you talking about eternal happiness?

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