Before fiction, flash and poetry, before this blog, I wrote songs. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say, I heard songs in my head and had the good sense to write them down.
Pages and pages of rhyming words set to melodies filled my head; a gift from the universe, I had supposed, that sustained me during some of the hardest times of my life: poverty, domestic abuse, isolation. I was a troubadour then, performing for my supper, more often than not, in living rooms, nursing homes, hospital rooms and meeting halls.
I never truly considered them “my songs” because they seemed to come from somewhere outside of myself. In retrospect I realize that they were every bit me. My hopes, my dreams, my longings, wrapped mellifluously in simplicity to help me express what I was feeling, how things were and how they could be.
I still make music, but somewhere along the way I stopped singing the words. These days I hum, and that suits me just fine. The earth, the trees, the wind, the sea; they all hum. I’m content in knowing that I am in good company.
sometimes the words come
like an old friend, familiar,
they meant something once
more than a sweet melody
desire set to music
what a gift they were
those streams of consciousness
these days I just hum
A Haibun/Tanka/Haiku combo for Colleen Chesebro’s Weekly Poetry Challenge, prompt words, song and gift.