Where That Sound Comes From

Poem day ten

It’s interesting … the concept of where ideas come from. I was watching this performance by Colin Hay (formerly of Men at Work) of an excellent song called Waiting for My Real Life to Begin, and thought of where our Muse comes from.

Where does music come from? Where are the seeds of sound planted in all of us? That’s where today’s poem emerged from — the wondering.

Peace (planted and nurtured),

  1. What a cool poem, Kevin. There’s so much I love about this — the inquiry into the origin of the muse, but especially the way you used those big and little dots as a new form of punctuation. They reminded me of musical notation (not that I know much about it), the way sound gets broken up into measures.

  2. Rhythm is in our bodies. Breathing. Heart beats.

    Sounds our bodies make. Sighs, chewing, a grumpy hungry stomach, the natural trompet like tones of our farts.

    It’s all there from the start. We can take it from there, adding drumming our chest, clapping our hands, clicking our fingers.

    Just add some whistles, words, vocal sounds, and we’re all set to make music.

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