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The voice, the bell-yellow
voice of the sax plays on.
Under the mind like a layer
of canvas lie the brushes
and strokes, the arms and legs
of memory.  The arrival on the
skin of sound is the moment
of love.  The unfurling of
the pallette.

You say, listen, the wail of
breath on brass is mine.  No,
it is yours.  The voice, no
longer alone, even when
unaccompanied, falls from
the blues of evenings or the
reds of afternoons, approaches
with footprints in sand.  We
are castled in music, our
colors unfurled.

Our fingers on the keys.  We
see the archetype of design in
the sound of the sax, the
movement in the fabric of
stripes.  The sound’s colors
draw us to each other.
Listen.  The wail of breath
on brass is everywhere.
Listen.


101793
Writte
Memories are gateways to the past.

Childhood endeavors that couldn't last.

Passages through time, 
love and laughter, joy and tears.

Moments to savor in our passing years.

Still there are memories left to make, 
Surely there are gateways yet to take. 

Highways and byways to explore.

Paths of golden light
reaching deep into the night, 
leading us to some far off cosmic shore.

Too more memories,
more roads, 
life's a book we pray
will never close. 

Even as the final chapter nears its end. 

We look for another gate, 
a portal escaping fate.

And hope for a new journey to begin.
So I would really like to encourage all of you to check out
the you tube video I  made for this poem.

This poem has been turned into a full blown song
through the magic of AI. And I think it turned out super cool.

https://youtu.be/SXa9h8Ntoro?feature=shared use the url here or go to you tube and search @tsummerspoetry
Thanks so much!
Staring at nature , dreams are near
Right in front of me
Life storms by like a hurricane
When life gives no answers
Ask nature to help
Animals listen
Fresh air, cool breeze
Warm days, different ways
Staring off in space
Feeling calm, quiet solitude
Watching baby bird
Build her nest
Sweet, sweet
Little bird
I can’t believe, I can see
All these animals
In these woods
Staring at nature
 Apr 26 Bekah Halle
Jill
Of all my travails
Tryouts, dry runs, and run-ins
This one changed my path

Tension, danger, tears
escapes, hijinks, burns, and blood
Love in there somewhere

Detailed and hazy
True and unreliable
Funny and awful

My event record
Muddy origin story
Memory-flashed tale

Told and re-told to others
To learn more about myself
©2025

BLT Webster’s Word of the Day challenge (travail) date 26 April 2025. Travail is a formal word, usually used in plural, that refers to a difficult experience or situation.
 Apr 26 Bekah Halle
irene ci
i feel that i learn a lot with you,
but you don’t learn anything with me.
am i so boring?
am i so unintelligent?
am i so introverted?
am i so exhausting?
am i so dumb?
Late October,
and they have assuredly returned.

A canopy of clusters.

At second glance
the leaves on the trees are wings.

Whisper into the dreamscape
for they sense your voice.

Revive them with your breath.

Hold out your hand
like you hold out hope.

The warm sound of flutterings.

Circadian clocks in their antennae,
a sense of where they've been
and where they are going.

The gift from their Creator
moves them in the right direction.
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