Saturday, August 3, 2013

Trying to Make It Out Alive (6WS)

now and then around sunset
he takes his favorite flute--
the one that could summon  whales
if there were any to call--
and heads out to his favorite
flute playing chair on the porch

sometimes he calls the whales
tries not to think about what would happen
if one showed up after all
or just plays that one low note
that gets all the dogs barking
across the valley below

and sometimes he just studies the flute
thinks about the music it makes
and the magic it makes inside him
trying not to look up
when a plane drones by
far overhead;
trying to make it out alive
for one more day

he plays the sun down
and if he's timed it right
the moon rises right on cue
and when the stars come out
he knows he's made it
and maybe she'll be home


  1. How hauntingly beautiful! I hear the flute, I see the sun set, the moon rise...I felt every word of that makes me want to pick up a flute and see if I can summon a love home.

    I'll definitely be back to read more.

    Happy 6WS!

  2. Interesting! Stopping by from 6WS.

  3. Jesus, JT; it's been a long time since I read something and wept, smiling.

    Whales indeed. The dogs & planes, though...


  4. I hear the flute, too, and the quiet that comes after.

    glad you liked it, ron.; thank YOU. and yes, this was for the most part a 'lines down the page' poem, the only kind I trust. =)

  5. A truly lovely poem. Thank you.

  6. and thank you for readng here, viv.

  7. I hear the longing...

    My 6ws is here: