The Music Effect

Music reaches deep inside invoking feelings that I need, and fills my head with pleasure on which my soul can feed. It takes me to another place, immerses me in pools of sound, and leaves me free to float or fly – no longer feel earthbound.

With skilful hands it clasps my mood and throws it up real high. Then like a captive bird set free I spread my wings and fly. The open skies I find before me have no clouds – no threat of rain. Even gloomy songs uplift me, elated in this new domain.

Drug me with euphoric feelings, take me on a carefree ride. Nothing else can so uplift me, nothing else can tap inside. Drench me in its sonic shower, pull me through its magic door. Show me all the disparate pieces, help me in my quest for more

© Andy(ArT)Trigg 2001 – 2015

Butterfly

One day I sat alone when it settled on my arm. A lovely little butterfly, someone had done it harm. It had a damaged wing, which was very badly frayed, it made me feel quite special. I was happy when it stayed.

Although it had been damaged (to everybody’s eye) it was still a very valid and delightful butterfly. I seemed to make it happy, it appeared to feel secure, but a sudden movement by me – and it was there no more.

Eventually it came again, my fondness for it grew. But when I tried to touch it – up in the air it flew. Whenever it would come back, I tried to show I care, but each time it felt safer returning to the air

One time I thought I’d hurt it as I tried to hold it tight. It stayed in the air a long time before it did alight. Attempting to persuade it to stay a little longer I always seemed to scare it, but my need became much stronger.

Eventually it flew away high up in the sky, I can only now catch sight of it as it goes flying by. Butterfly’s are delicate, they need to feel they’re free. I’ll never try to hold one if one ever lands on me.

© Andy(ArT)Trigg 2001

Do it?

Don’t spend the rest of your life waist deep in cold water. It’s no excuse to say that if you swim over to another shore then you’ll be wetter than you were before. For after reaching dry land, you’ll very often find, that you will soon be wet no more

© Andy(ArT)Trigg 2001

In a nutshell

We have a precious gift, to give at our discretion. Enough for all we meet, a truly great possession. No matter who we give it to we always have some left – but if we give it no one, it’s us that are bereft.

© Andy(ArT)Trigg 2001

Glassless Window

A friend had yielded to neglect, was soon to be no more. I set my task to reconnect, nostalgia junkie needs a score. Walking down the derelict street with the road I played on beneath my feet. Houses shrunken, path too narrow, happy days I’ve come to borrow.

The trees I climbed no longer tower, they’re all too small to the larger me. I unite myself with the past and its power but my memory and eyes disagree. The journey was short but so far away, back to my past where I wish I could stay. Nothing can change there that didn’t before but I still need to feel those great memories once more.

Peering through the glassless window I feel the things that used to be, and with open arms I welcome the images that come to me. No longer able to impress, dereliction hides the truth, yet still I briefly repossess the spirit of my youth.

I climb inside, nostalgia waits, and fills me with regrets I kill. I’m happy now I reason but I feel its presence still. I see broken-glass carpet with curtains of wood and I mentally place the old furniture there. A ghost TV plays and I only see good as I mentally sit in my favourite chair.

If only I’d have seen me now, as now I see me there. That was now – this is then – memories everywhere.

© Andy(ArT)Trigg 2000