Olympus and Mount Helicon Inside Us Always
Our singing starts when mind and heart awake
A pen or tongue. The singing might be notes
Or words, composer or the poet. Blake
Or Brahms begins inside us. Singing floats
Out from our fingers or our mouths. The lips
Then chant of anything the soul has seen
As deep as diamonds, vulnerable as hips,
Or red-haired, laughing, green-eyed mavaurneen,
Hurt-shouldered hunk at Highland Games. The song
Will come, no matter what. We humans must
Make music. Melody or rhythms throng
Through chests. These stanzas soar from wanderlust.
We do not have to search. They fill ribs’ naves
As utter as those Altamira caves.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Dec 22, 2024 | MU |