Calling

My aim is to inspire
coax ember to fire

With intake of breath
to plot a heart's death

Wrong for me to break you
Perhaps I can just make you

Stop

Think

Feel

Whole.

A momentary glimpse of divine
Breath of life unleashed, sublime

Trust and an open heart
is all is required on your part

A vessel for the spirit
Although I do not merit

Gift eternally to share
this I do swear.

Jennifer D. Behnke
April 30, 2013 

I realize this is entirely self indulgent. And yet, a lot of projects on the horizon are forcing me to think and dream bigger than I ever have before.

May Day

On the brink of blossom azaleas wait
to open their blooms lustily burning
And maple trees completely saturate
the air with pollen yearning.

You give me your hand and beg me to keep
my heart with hope, love, fire open,
Blue eyes read my soul intense and deep
You've no idea how much I'm broken.

Completely disarmed and battle worn
my heart no longer blazed, but dimly smouldered.
Rekindling flames, you've banished the storm.
Now again, my sword I have shouldered.
Jennifer D. Behnke - April 29, 2013

This poem was partially inspired by listening to Strauss's "Allerseelen" today.
If this is how the poet felt by November, what must have happened in that May?
I've included the original YouTube of Kirsten Flagstad singing R. Strauss's "Allerseelen"poem below.

Allerseelen by Hermann von Gilm zu Rosenegg

Stell auf den Tisch die duftenden Reseden,
  Die letzten roten Astern trag herbei,
Und laß uns wieder von der Liebe reden,
    Wie einst im Mai.

Gib mir die Hand, daß ich sie heimlich drücke
  Und wenn man's sieht, mir ist es einerlei,
Gib mir nur einen deiner süßen Blicke,
    Wie einst im Mai.

Es blüht und funkelt heut auf jedem Grabe,
  Ein Tag im Jahre ist den Toten frei,
Komm an mein Herz, daß ich dich wieder habe,
    Wie einst im Mai.

Translation by Emily Ezust
All Soul's Day
Place on the table the fragrant mignonettes, Bring inside the last red asters, and let us speak again of love, as once we did in May. Give me your hand, so that I can press it secretly; and if someone sees us, it's all the same to me. Just give me your sweet gaze, as once you did in May. Flowers adorn today each grave, sending off their fragrances; one day in the year are the dead free. Come close to my heart, so that I can have you again, as once I did in May.

Peripheral vision

Lying on her back
beneath a curtainless window
the quiet breeze sifting though her hair
and the moon so bright.

Through the trees
and the breeze, the stars
too numerous seem to scatter
upon her direct gaze.

Throwing open those eyes
risking the glare of moon,
she drinks in the dim starlight
on the periphery of her sight.

Jennifer D. Behnke - April 25, 2013

Singer's Creed

This is my voice. There are no others like it, and this one is all mine. My voice is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. My voice, without my thought, is useless. Without my voice, I am useless. I must use my voice in truth. I must not sing like anyone else, lest I be to my own voice untrue. I must sing with my voice with that soul which is in me, and not imitate anyone else. I will...

My voice and myself know that what counts in this world is not the roles we perform, the notes we sustain, nor the applause that we get. We know that it is the ability to move people. We will move them...

My voice is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a lover. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its range, its dynamics, its breadth and its size. I will ever guard it against the ravages of criticism and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my voice limber and free. We will become part of each other. We will...

Before God, I swear this creed. My voice and myself are the defenders of my soul. We are the masters of my song. We are the singers of my story. So be it, until bad-singing is vanquished, and there is no auto-tune, but harmony!
Jennifer D. Behnke - February 9, 2011

written after a particularly frustrating audition experience 2 weeks prior

The Waters of March

A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone
It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms
A fox in the brush, the knot in the wood
The song of a thrush, the wood of the wind
A cliff, a fall, a scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of a slope
It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart

The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The beat of the road, a slingshot stone
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow
A fight, a bet, the range of a bow

The bed of the well, the end of the line
The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find
A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
A drip, a drop, the end of the tale

A truckload of bricks, in the soft morning light
The shot of a gun in the dead of the night
A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump
It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps

The plan of the house, the body in bed
And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud.

A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart

A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe
It's a thorn in your hand or a cut on your toe
A point, a grain, a bee, a bite, a blink, a buzzard
A sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle, a sting, a pain
A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain
A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule
In the distance the shelves, grow three shadows of blue

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart

A stick, a stone, the end of the load
The rest of the stump, a lonesome road
A sliver of glass, a life, a sun
A night, a death, the end of the run

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart 
Antonio Carlos Jobim

____

The steam pictured above is one I had to cross twice daily for 12 years of my life. 
On days when I'm wrung out, or sung out I sometimes find myself drawn to crossing this little brook or walking its length which runs from a swampy marsh at the end of the pond so small it doesn't even warrant an entry on google maps, about 1/4 mile down into Highland Lake.

When as a teen, I needed to escape, I'd sit on these rocks, and hop from one to the next down to the shore or out to the rickety old dock to watch the sunset over the water. 

I posted this picture on April 1, 2013. A friend said "hey that reminds me of the 'Waters of March' song."  
Yes. In light of today, I just want to remember to hold on to all the moments and the safe places in my life, and don't let the fear steal joy.

Where I am now

moving pictures in clouds and trees through which sunlight streams
evergreen towers in a quiet forest save the crunch of leaves underfoot
and a green so deep, i dive into the pockets of cool darkness beckoning

tell me your secrets and lead me further and further and beyond the light
past a forgotten grave site, and a broken cart wheel and ruins abound 
around a solitary scorched hearth, so dark i'd swear it was still smouldering
 
further beyond the iron mines and the battered pines
and the streams of water and light that run off the mountain to a cliff 
on which lies a vine, so long since fallen from its perch, a reminder of too many swings
 
before me a chasm so wide the way around long since abandoned
the other side is dim in haze and sunflecked leaves and the drop is a broken leg if not worse
but the pull to cross is so strong, as real as the blood coursing in my veins.

returned to this place, from which I ran so long and so far
beyond the forest and the mountain, and even the city where I've hidden these long years.
feeling the fear finally whither, so that the risk of not trying is a thousand deaths.

closing my eyes, whispering a prayer, a shaft of light appears, shimmering before me.  
A way beyond the fears and the chasm of doubt.
I drink in the light, and I bless it. I am whole, and the chasm but a memory.

Jennifer D. Behnke, April 2013
____________________________

I'm not really sure what this is, but it is something that has been swirling around in my head for a while. It needed typing tonight.