Southern Sky

Response to Prompt# 28: Heard it in a Song

The Eagles. I have a bit if a love-hate relationship with their music. Radio stations have outplayed many of their timeless classics to the point that I wouldn't miss them if I never heard them again. Case in point, Hotel California. But others, I never get sick of, no matter how many times I hear them. Only one of their songs has the distinction of being in my iTunes library. Seven Bridges Road, which I just learned is a remake of a 1969 country song by a lesser known artist, Steve Young (no, not the retired NFL player). It's been recorded by Joan Baez, Rita Coolidge, and even Dolly Parton,  but it was the 1980 Eagles version with full blown vocal harmonies that earned the song its wider fame. I read today, prior to recording the song, the Eagles used it for warm-up backstage before performing. The vocal harmonies helped them get their voices ready for the show. I also learned that the Seven Bridges Road is Woodley Road in Montgomery, Alabama, nicknamed as so because you guessed it, there were 7 bridges along the road. (Information gathered from Songplaces.com)

There are lots of videos available of the band singing this song. I found a great one from a concert earlier this month, but within Glenn Frye I had to choose an older one. Here is a brief one of the band warming up with the opening harmonies,  back stage at a show in 1977.

Seven Bridges Road was inspiration for my piece of writing below...

Southern Sky

by Laurie J. Kemp

There are stars in the southern sky

pointing me back to my home

twinkling, brilliant they light the way 

keeping me company as I go back 

to the people and things, and places I love

There is moonlight, and moss in the trees

assuring me I am heading in the right direction

where the great heron soars and the white egret perches

where the otters flutter about in the preserve

below the lush and green cypress dome

Sometimes there's a part of me 

has to turn from here and go

work takes me away, days at a time

and though I have physically left

my mind and my spirit always remain

Under the southern sky

Top of the Ridge

Response to Prompt #28  "Heard It In a Love Song"

There is a song I've been hearing on Bluegrass Junction called "Top of the Ridge" by Blue Highway.  I have been thinking for a week now about it, and trying to figure out why I cannot get it out of my mind as the song I have to write about for this prompt.

Today answered the question. Synchronicity, of course.

Yesterday with my afternoon Reading students, we looked at a poem called "In My Dreams" by Francisco X. Alarcon.  The poem is about the dream of animals and humans living together as one family.  We talked about various parts of the poem, and then I gave brainstorming questions to my students to help them write their own "In My Dreams" poem.  Very few of them could do this, seeming completely stymied and stalled, and I knew that I was going to have to approach this a new way.  And it had to begin with me writing my own "In My Dreams" poem.

During my short meditation this morning, it connected together in my mind -- a place I can go in my dreams is the top of the ridge.  It is about a day I have never forgotten in the summer of 1995 in North Carolina. A day that sticks in my memory for more reasons than I record here.  But this was the crux of it.

See the photo above of me at the top of the ridge, in front of a tobacco field?  I'm wearing a sunflower shirt that has the Emerson quote: Why on earth if not to grow?  This was definitely my living motto throughout the 1990's. It enters into all I believe about life then and now.  It connects to what happened that day in 1995.

Here is the poem I have written about my dream of being on the top of the ridge and all it can do for me.  You will probably recognize common themes, as it seems to be my purpose in writing these days.  I am grateful for this opportunity to share this story, as I've wanted for a long time to write about it in a way that honored the experience.  I tried to drop in a few words from the "Top of the Ridge" song, and there is a similar theme. And, of course, I've included a video of the song.  I hope you find it as beautiful as I do.

In My Dreams (Free Flowers)

Mid-summer Ashe County.

The journey feeling a bit rough

On the gravel road we take

To the top of the ridge.

On the way, twists and turns, up and down,

Lilting voice of Alison Krauss filling the car.

Christmas trees farms covering the hills.

Orange and yellow tiger lilies bordering the road.

Tobacco fields just getting started.

July sun, some clouds overhead.

Jagged lines of Blue Ridge in the distance.

Unusual and magical, in the middle of nowhere,

Two children stand by the road, angelic messengers;

“Free Flowers” their handmade sign says.

In my dreams I can go to the top of that ridge

And receive a flower any time I want.

Soft feathery petals, fragrant and free.

In my mind these kind and generous children

Are ever-present, standing in their yard,

Even as they are long gone.

On the top of the ridge I stand on sacred ground,

Watch the sun rise and set, see the long view.

No running now – only connecting to a place

With no worry or pain or anxiety.

In the moment I can remember this:

Loving actions take no special effort.

Cost nothing. Always available.

Peace and love form a bridge

To the place I need to be.

I can recall this, as I choose,

When I go to the top of the ridge.

Home Sweet Home

Prompt #28 "Heard It in a Love Song"

Being an 80's kid, I heard Motley Crue on the radio regularly. While I wasn't a huge fan of most of their hard rock/metal hits, I do remember liking their ballads. And their hair.

After our closing on Friday, October 6th, John and I rushed home to meet the movers. They were running late of course, but at that point, it didn't matter. We were moving home--who cared if it was an hour later than anticipated? Filled with nervous energy, I taped up the few remaining open boxes while I waited. You're almost there, Annmarie, I assured myself.

The moving crew arrived, devised a plan, and got to work. One of the kids had music playing on his phone--a bunch of 80's and 90's rock that seemed too old for him, but I was ecstatic it wasn't some vile rap. I went about my business of cleaning what I could, not really paying attention to the songs, when John said, "That's the perfect song for today."

"What?" I answered.

"Listen," he said.

"...I'm coming off this
Long and winding roadI'm on my wayI'm on my wayHome sweet home..."

I smiled at him. "It is perfect." So perfect, my eyes welled up with tears. I tried to make Orlando my home, found happiness by embracing my unhappiness and by exploring my creative side through writing and photography. I had almost convinced myself. And, then John came home with the news that he had a job offer back in Naples.

"We are going home," he said, the relief on his face conspicuous.

I tried not to show my jubilation at the news. I needed him to know I was excited without revealing just how miserable I had been over the past 4 months. He didn't need that guilt. And, quite frankly, I didn't even realize I felt that way because again, I had resolved to be happy.  But, he wasn't fooled.

"My heart's like an open book 
For the whole world to read
Sometimes nothing keeps me together 
At the seams..."

I actually had quite a few things holding me together, the most profound being the 12-week creative recovery program, the Artist's Way, that my wise and dear friend, Helen, had turned me onto months before.  I bought the book while still in Fort Myers, but it sat. It sat as I spent nights alone watching re-runs on TV. Sat while I stress ate and drank. Sat until I was ready.

Once I reached Orlando, I found the book as I unpacked. I left it out as a reminder that I needed to start it. I'm not ready, I convinced myself.

But, I was. So, I cracked the book open after a couple of weeks and began my journey.  The carefully designed steps and activities, along with the support I received from Helen as she repeated the program, saved me. I'm not exaggerating. It saved me.

"You know I'm a dreamer
But my heart's of gold
I had to run away high
So I wouldn't come home low..."

Being a dreamer was always a problem for me. I was raised to be more realistic, to keep my head out of the clouds. TAW changed that. I learned it's OK to be a wishful thinker, to pursue creativity, to live my vision.

"I'm on my way
Just set me free
Home sweet home."

Listen to it/watch it here.

Prompt #28: Heard it in a Love Song

Okay, it doesn't actually have to be something you heard in a love song. It can be any song. Things have been pretty heavy lately, in Florida and everywhere. We are stymied by natural disasters, violence, the politicking, and the human suffering. I figured we could all use a little chance to lighten things up a bit. Of course, who am I to direct your writing path. My idea felt light and fun to me, but who knows in what direction it will take the rest of you. Either way, I hope you enjoy writing.

Recently, a song has been repeatedly surfacing in the random shuffle playlist on my phone. It's a tiny little piece of lyric begging for me to write something, either with it or in response to it. It's really nothing fancy, just a phrase that's strung together in a way that makes me smile when I hear it. It got me thinking... let's go back to song lyrics. We haven't worked with songs in awhile.

I have been trying to decide on buying some tickets to a concert lately. There are a few acts coming into town that interest me. One of them is The Marshall Tucker Band with Charlie Daniels Band. It'll probably be a great show, but I've decided against it because of the price and the venue. Anyway, I guess I have Marshall Tucker on my mind because this prompt is to write anything you want inspired by something you heard in a song- a love song, or any song. Use a lyric exactly, twist some of the words around for a found poem, find inspiration in a melody, or use a line as a story starter. Whatever you want. Just have a little fun with it. (You'll have to wait to see the one I'm using.)

Warning: You're likely to catch an ear worm.

Here's a little inspiration from TMTB.

Wounds

Response to prompt #27- They Say, I Say

Wounds
by Laurie J. Kemp

They say time heals all wounds. I say
not exactly. Time rubs up against
a wound over and over again. If you are lucky
perhaps, the friction of time, repeatedly agitating,
builds up a toughness, a thickening of the skin,
a callus if you will, a barrier to more pain,
a shield from further wound. Alternatively, in a soft spot
the friction of time repeatedly agitating, creates rawness,
peeling away layers before they can tighten up again,
exposing fleshy vulnerable nerve endings, reaching
desperately for opposite ends, begging for a chance
to seal up and dry. Time does not heal all wounds,
it gives us a choice to live with the misery of red
fleshy rawness day after day, continuing to salt ourselves
in agony. Or we can build up layers of toughness
protecting ourselves from more impending pain.

No Reasons, Just Responses

In response to Prompt #27 They Say, I Say.

As I write this post, I am listening to Tom Petty's Full Moon Fever, and I feel I'm in a free fall. This has been a heck of a month, and there seems to be no end in sight.

I had longed to write something light for this prompt, but I guess it wasn't to be.

I am totally over the saying "Everything happens for a reason."  Maybe it is because I have 12-year-old students who toss it off as if they know what it really means.  Maybe it is my intense Buddhist studies.  I am not sure; but a perfect storm has happened and I am rebelling against this (what I consider) trite saying.

There is no reason for the stuff that is going on.  There may be a bit of cause and effect, but I dare anyone to come up with a reason for the cruel heart of the president or the fact that someone opened fire at a concert -- a place I consider sacred ground.  I dare anyone to say there is a reason that hurricane victims should get deported or that random natural disasters strike some people and not others.  I deplore those who blame it on gays or abortion. 

There is no REASON.

All that we have is RESPONSE.

I decided to try something different to get my point across, and so I wrote a sonnet. I cannot say I've ever written one before.  If I did, I don't recall.

This sonnet has 10 syllables per line and the Shakespearean rhyme scheme, but I am not going to claim it has iambic pentameter.

I've struggled to get the message right.  I've spent two days revising.  Probably could spend a lot more.  But this is so on my mind, here it is, warts and all.

"Everything happens for a reason" they
say. Well, I call bullshit on that. How do
we ever find a real reason for, say,
constant cruelty to others the crew
in the White House is known for? What reason
can there be for war, cancer, and abuse?
Considering those, it seems uneven.
To look for reasons provides an excuse.
Ever-changing phenomena is just
that. Compassionate love can make it right.
Moment by moment, we tune in and trust
Mindful our responses carry some might.
Don't reduce events to five little words.
Instead, look to the purpose they can serve.