The #6 bus makes its paces through the town:
up Baxter Street, past Millege, up Sanford, past
the Library, past the transit center, and then looping around
to Hancock Street. Everything is slick from the
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Tag Archives: R.E.M.
Without End, Amen
The gathering at the oak tree gazes up to watch
light breaking through the leaves in lucent blonde fingers;
hallelujah
through the gathering of leaves — the oak’s green sleeves:
a blind wooden eye turns, and the gifts slip through her fingers;
hallelujah
as colors race through the membrane sky –
the rainbow siblings salute us through azure as one;
hallelujah
past the rain, shed to call colors up from
the earthen membrane beneath us, where we stand as one
hallelujah,
and we send back the song as electric impulses,
voices carried through limbs and hearts alone;
hallelujah
is our voices escaping only in breaths and upraised limbs as
we each stand before You alone;
hallelujah
Written 11/29/11
© 2011 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
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This week’s poem was inspired by two things: 1) “Hallelujah” by R.E.M., which appears on their latest release, “Part Lies, Part Heart, Part Truth, and Part Garbage” and 2) the We Write Poems Prompt this week which suggested that we look at words in pairs and the relationships between words. The picture is courtesy of Rampaging Poet from Deviant Art.
Process Notes: I basically took the words in the order that they appeared and considered each two to be a pair (gathering/oak, color/membrane, and voice/limb). Once I did this, the images and the story began to emerge. Also, I’ve been listening to “Hallelujah” lately…it’s an absolutely gorgeous and inspiring track and it just makes me even sadder that they broke up…but at the same time it seems like the perfect song for an ending. The spiritual nature of the lyrics inspired me…I wanted to write a companion/answer that would do it justice.
-Nicole
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You and Me, We Know About Time
R.E.M., 1984
For Peter, Bill, Mike, and Michael
You were made out of
cinereal, coriander, and lemon;
sable, cinnamon, and indigo;
bergamot, ginger, and rose. You
spoke like a thesaurus and sounded like
troubadours, da Vinci, broken glass, microchips, and
guitar string nerves, ragged at the edge
and carrying too much current. You
mumbled and sang clarion from rooftops by turns.
All of this has been living in my ears
and in my brain, that attic that
holds everything and lets go of nothing.
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