The Harrison quote from Songs of Unreason for Day # 10 of 28 Days of Unreason:
“Much that you see isn’t with your eyes”
My poetic response to that quote, entitled “Feeding the Lost Beast”
The notes only confuddle your eyes
play with that recklessness that feeds
that lost beast who runs
your life with dank
smoldering anger
passion
and regret
Snub the crowd what
do they know of the music
that clogs your arteries
with syncopated blues
viruses
diseased stones
hidden in your kidneys
Sense the horn
it is of your own
flesh
sinews wrapped
around muscles
heart valves
MUTE
© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved
Jilly's 
Jill! I’m pretty much in love with this one. That is all.
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All of that wild extemporizing, then slap, you hit the mute button. Is the beast too much? Can’t bear the ecstasy? Is it you or society that hit the mute? Or your internaliztion of society? You find the beast but then lose it again.
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No easy answers… or maybe Miles picked up the horn? Hahaha! Your complete the loop of the poetry when you read it, so the filters in your crazzzzy head are the ones that decide; what do YOU think? (The students aren’t back until the 14th of August, but I’m already going into teacher mode – crap!)
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The mute is so sudden and so final, it is (in the end, apologies) your last word on the subject. Or I guess the phone rang, and doesn’t need over thinking. But how fun would that be?
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Hmmm – sudden and final, you say. A ‘call’ you muse… motifs, my brilliant friend. What patterns do you see? Repeated words, ideas, images. Put a name on Mute.
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Ah OK, a poet inspired by the mute. A poet who found her mute. We are not amutes.
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Works for me…
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But then. .. Here it comes… You are… A MUTANT! Bwahaha!
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Reading your back-and-forth with Qbit… I see a disassociation between your two understandings of “mute.” The poem led me to the plunger-thingie trumpet players use… but I see mute button in Q’s comments. Context… personal and poetic… makes all the difference! Your poem left me jazzed to hear some muted horn.
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True, in the very literal sense. The mute used in trumpet playing changes the tone of the instrument. Now go back and look at the motifs – the things that show up again and again. Also, try this – uncap the final word and move it to the end of the last line of words…
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Ah, well, it’s just a dead end, then! 🙂
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Ya think?!
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Uncle! (Class resumes after coffee…)
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We have many senses and they are all a sort of seeing. I suspect even what we are aware that we see with our eyes isn’t all we see with them.
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Truth in that, Frank!
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Another haibun for this one.
https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2017/08/30/mint-and-memory/
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I like the off-beat musical imagery here. Instead of paradisiac, your music clogs the arteries, the only solution being the mute.
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Ah, yes – this poem. I just read back over the comments on this one from late July and see how several readers struggled with what that mute meant. If heart valves are ‘muted’ …
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No more heart.
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Exactly! Mute is my way of saying Death.
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🙂
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