Submitted by Anne Bourne on Thu, 09/16/2010 - 13:13

Phoenix

When I look through the stack of Polaroids  I have no memory of these images yet there I am. No pictures of my face only my body, in an amber light glow. I thought I had just woken from a deep sleep. I howl. It is a black hole of no memory.

He is walking around swingng a paint can that is spilling over with flames and everywhere the paint lands another fire is started. The whole warehouse and outside the windows of broken glass, the streets are burning, orange and glowing with heat and flame.

Submitted by Anne Bourne on Wed, 09/15/2010 - 15:22

Light beings

 When I enter the room, there are many technicians with low tech gear, and unmatched chairs like a bohemian moon- landing team. They have been preparing the stage for us , the theatre is ready and wired.

Submitted by Anne Bourne on Thu, 09/09/2010 - 07:53

a child's song

 I go to his room. My old friend. I climb into his bed where he is lying. He permits me.

Submitted by Anne Bourne on Mon, 09/06/2010 - 12:22

The metronome

 I am on the periphery. In a large room many are circulating and discussing creative ideas. Some wear white shirts. The master assigns me the voice solo in the  piece. I want you to sing.

He seems erudite, well-dressed but subtle in this academic setting. A translator of Rumi, rumpled and whiskered. The rest are younger and dynamic, and debate theoretically how to make an interdisciplinary context for the musical expression of his text.

Submitted by Anne Bourne on Fri, 09/03/2010 - 08:35

the aesthete

He has a refined sense of poetry and the sensual, from his travels and his architecture. I have asked him to share his knowledge of cooking and aromatic spice.

Submitted by Anne Bourne on Thu, 09/02/2010 - 22:01

Rose coloured glass sphere / dream fragment

And then they all turn to me, like a family, a tribe, like a gathering of a certain species of bird on the edge of a body of water, and she asks. In a husky Catalonian voice, she asks, 'I would like to buy perfume.'

I turn and survey the wall behind me they are gazing at. It has shelves of antique glass perfume bottles containing potions of scent.

Submitted by Anne Bourne on Sat, 01/31/2009 - 18:18

wolf

I am looking at myself from the tops of trees.
They have assigned us the judgement of being a distraction for the wolves they so fear being torn apart by.
They send me out first as the others leave through a hidden door.
I am standing in my black clothes and bonnet
in a dirt clearing near the cabin.
The wolves' howling is rising from the thickening evergreens nearby.
A lone wolf approaches I look into it's face and we merge, submerge in thought together.
Both of us stilled by our perception our hearts slow.

Submitted by Anne Bourne on Wed, 01/07/2009 - 08:48

carpet dream

I am looking down at my bare feet.
I see a polished wooden floor.
A dark Blue and dark Red Persian rug with white fringe, is being pulled swiftly away,
before I can step on it.
Is it the rug I bought with my daughter's father so many years ago, being pulled out from under me.
Is it a magic carpet escaping to freedom, no longer to be walked on.

Submitted by Anne Bourne on Sun, 01/04/2009 - 18:32

The light house

every room is light filled
and still
I notice Pauline is moving swiftly from room to room, white light around her,
white shirt
focused on the sound she is imagining,
and how to allow it to sound here

Submitted by Anne Bourne on Mon, 10/06/2008 - 20:33

lost cello fragment

I have forgotten my cello.
I cannot leave.
I want to play.
I have found a friend who will go and find it and bring it to me.
I think it is fer.

Syndicate content