Saturday, February 26, 2011

Sentimental Violins

When I was little, I heard the voice of a violin for the first time on a tv program. Next to the piano, I thought it was one of the most beautiful sounds that any instrument could ever make.  I still find them to be wonderful to listen to, but the sounds they create are only made effective if the person playing them knows the strings so well..that a story could be told in a thousand different ways.  Musicians of all sort who are at the top of their game understand one thing very well- the emotional story that needs to be told and felt by their audience.  It is this idea that gave me the inspiration for this poem.  Hope you all enjoy :)


Sentimental Violins by April Gerard

Papers.
Notes; ink and colors
blended in.

Words lost and remembered
in faded midnight skies.


Worn fingers
trace the edges of
blurred objects
emitting melodies-
owning their memories
once again.

stories told here.


Files of sounds,
from here or there,
a hush of laughter caught
against the cry of
years in the past.


Sentiments carried
on a string, in a note,
in a voice that once whispered
long ago.

Music that played its sorrows
or its joys,
as Time beckoned
its come and go.


Sentimental values displayed-
often without pictures framed
or mirrored reproach.

People who've been known,
seeds that were once sown,
all held in this or thats.

memories in motion...
at the speed of sound.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Perfect



Listened to the song "Perfect" by Hedley the other day (video posted above) and it dawned on me that this is what so many of us struggle with.  "Not perfect"  seems to be a constant expression in all the new music in all the genres- we're all trying to scream out loud that we are not perfect, including those in the music world.  In fact the chorus line in Hedley's song goes, "I'm not perfect, but I keep trying. Cause thats what I said I would do from the start. I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please dont leave. Was it something I said or just my personality?"

We are either trying to measure up to someone else's idea of perfection or, worse yet in some ways, to our own.  Why do we do this to ourselves and to others?

I guess I'm wondering how come it seems we have to shout to each other, friends, family, significant others, etc.. how is it that we have to shout it out that we're not perfect?  We know that we are not perfect, yet why do we ask it of others so often if we know that?

 It concerns me a bit that we often hold the expectations that others have of us higher than those who hold them do.  Its one thing to keep trying, to keep expecting yourself to be a better person and to hold yourself accountable- that's a healthy choice of living, but to allow your own or others expectations of yourself to leave you feeling as though you'll never amount to anything, that you can't be better- that's when its wrong. 

If I ever had one thing to say to anyone is this: Just be yourself, love yourself and keep dreaming. Achieving your dreams never required perfection- it just requires believing you'll get there and doing all you can to make those dreams of yours come alive.  The world was founded on imagination, nothing it has in it became real until it was first dreamed of by someone.

We are all human- we were born to be imperfect,  that's what makes us beautiful I think :)

These are just some thoughts of mine. Have a great start to your week everyone!  and here's the video clip of the new song "F**kin' Perfect" by Pink- its a song that says exactly what I'd say to several of my closest friends, who in their own ways are Perfect to me and I love them all the more for it.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Reminiscent Rains

Reminiscent Rains by April L. Gerard

Reminiscent rains gather
at the feel of many dawns quietly slipping by.
Seepage of emotions in the periphery of the past gone.
Time… you could never hold in your hands.

There is no use for regrets.
Still, sometimes the heart needs to know

Or maybe it just stubbornly refuses to see,
Why the soul still wishes, still wants, and still bleeds.


Funny the things you learn in life and carry with you-
Parables of the things you never knew, but dreamed.
Touched at first and made to be real- either in your mind’s eye
Or in the realness of yesterdays and tomorrows.


Still, sometimes the heart doesn’t want to know
Or maybe it just refuses to acknowledges that it feels,
And where the heart harbors its secrets,
is where it seeks refuge in only memories.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Words

A very short post here. My head is full of many things today.  But I only just want to share one thought that occurred to me today:

Words are just words.  It is we who fill them with meaning....

and I wondered to myself after I thought that, "just exactly what kind of meaning is it that I want my words to have?"

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Wings

I've been really busy in the last week or so, so my apologies to all for my lack of posting. Below is my lastest writing.

It's been awhile since I wrote a short story on here and I thought since it has also been a bit of time since I've posted on here, that this might be a nice surprise for each of you.  Hope you enjoy it and Have a wonderful week! 

Wings
A short story of fiction By April L. Gerard, All rights reserved

"What of the wings?” He said to her with a scoff and waved her off. “Do you think you'll find such mysteries shrouded in the cloak of humanness, eh? It's a fool's errand to chase. Most don't even bother trying to look for them."

“But, they are more precious than we know. I want them to see that.” She countered softly.

"Why the Wings?" He questioned with an eyebrow arched.

She looked at him with imploring eyes, tinted with that innocence he hadn’t seen in decades, “Haven't you Ever felt the warmth of a breeze touching your skin, blowing your hair, and making you feel somehow Alive?”

"What if I have, hmm? You think that makes a difference?” He shook his head at her. Such naivety in this one he had thought when he heard her words. Blasted wonder she managed to find him with such eyes clouding her vision. Then he continued saying, “Soaring in the winds my dear, doesn't mean you've found them. You've got a lot more to learn if you think that's the case."

He did not deter her. She simply replied back, “Everyone has a lot more to learn in life, why should I be any different?”

He sighed, realizing her determination and hedging a small amount of respect for it. She was persistent this one was. He cocked a smile to himself and spoke again, "That is true enough. Not many people think about that.” He paused a bit allowing a bit of silence in the conversation. Then he stated, “You’ve still not told me why the wings are so important to you."

She took a step closer, looking at his backside where he was seated and said to him, “Ever reach for something tipped on the edge of your toes and think to yourself, If I could just reach a little higher? Or have you asked yourself time and time again, Where do I belong? What have I done that's really worth something of value in this life? Is there more out there, waiting for me to find it?"

She stopped, momentarily wondering if he was even listening to her. But she kept her resolve to speak her piece. She had come so far to reach this man. She would not give up now. “There is so much more to all of this! So much more than we allow ourselves to see or even to feel, I think.

Wings stretch minds and open hearts to the worlds we once left behind or were forgotten in dreams long lost. They pick us up when we can no longer stand on our own. Heartbreaks come, yet we learn more about ourselves. And in that learning- sprouts of new discoveries. Discoveries in the wings of thoughts that we never knew we could think.

Wings carry our securities and our freedoms. They allow us to be ourselves and embrace what we don't understand or know. They help us love others. And they help us to love ourselves. Don’t you see? Wings are so much more than we understand. So much more than we can see with our own eyes.”

“I see more than you know child.” He said somberly. His curiosity was now piqued at seeing her resolute belief that wings were as real as the air breathed in. He then asked her, “How is it that you’re so sure that these wings still exist for you; or for the others for that matter?”

“Wings hold a metaphor for me. They are my reminder that we really do have the power to soar to heights beyond our dreams and hopes. When we use our wings, when we follow the path of where our hearts are begging us to go, that’s when we soar to the heights of our potential. That’s when we define new realities and open doors that we never even knew existed. Finding our wings just simply means finding ourselves as we were meant to be, not as the world would have us be.”

“And so you want your wings is that it? Asking me to help you find them? Bah, Child You know not what you ask for.” He stated in a moot attempt to dissuade her from continuing on her quest. He knew now, after having talked with this enigma of a child, that nothing could stop her. Indeed she might just find these wings that have been long lost to the people. There was strength in her that He felt sure he’d never seen in a person before. She would resurrect mythical beings to life just be conveying her convictions to a person, so adept was she at making you believe in things you’d lost interest in as a child. Her surety rang clearly in her voice. It shook him to his core and opened his eyes that had long lost the sight for such things.

She spoke again with a subtle confidence that was gentle and yet strong and pointed to his glass flooring that showed the world beneath his feet, “I know where my wings are. I do not need your help for that. What I want now is to help them find theirs.”

“You would change the world with your own hands?” he said. His respect for her grew immensely in that moment. How long had it been since someone offered to shoulder a responsibility he should have been shouldering all these years? How long had it been since one of them had even noticed that he wasn’t doing his assignment. A single tear crept from his eyes. He heard no condescending tones or judgment from her. How was it that she cared for him like that, despite his failing to carrying out his given assignment? An assignment only the Maker could give him.

And here this mite of a girl was convinced she had to help them find their wings, whether they wanted ‘em or not, no matter the cost to her. It spoke volumes to him about her character and that of his own. he felt the heat of his shame well up within his insides as he heard her speak.

“I could do nothing less. Neither should you. Will you help?”

It was then he looked up from his chair. He stood and turned to face the woman before him. With misty eyes that truly saw her for the first time, He spoke with a trembling voice, “My dear, It is you that has just now helped me to remember my own wings. Come, let us help the others.”