I am all
Jazz music

NOTE: ‘Dis-Cooperire’ from Latin Dis and Cooperire, meaning ‘to remove the covering; completely uncover.’ By the mid 1500’s it was used to mean ‘seeing or gaining knowledge of something previously unknown’ and ‘finding out; bringing to light.’


Poetry Challenge – A Letter To Myself

22 February 2012


Dear A,

The years pass by like landscapes painted and pinned to the walls of consciousness, moments caught like musical notes strung into a sprawling jazz piece where spontaneous brass and ivory court the senses with teachings of grandeur.

We hear only the sounds we permit ourselves to hear. Of them, take only a few, and of those few, experience them like you are made of sand. We are but travelers with a silent yearning. When the heart gestures at the bird in flight, follow it.

Abide generously when the mind searches for silence. It is your music it longs to hear. The mad man and the poet know the way. Wipe their tears with your palm and water the garden. Watch what blooms, illuminated and awakened, when you let go of false certainties.

The artist transfers the shades of their vulnerability onto canvas. Listen as the shadows fall away. Tomorrow the sun will set as always and man’s growth, will rise with the moon…

The dead bird, to dust births flowers. There is consequence, and consistency. The seasons, a great journey forward. This is harmonies dependance.

Cradle your melody upon your heart and corner the breast like vanishing dew. In your grasp, faith, for next season. The wound is where the music flows from. Everything has life.

And A, don’t let the piano play your song without you…








NOTE: With thanks to ClownRhymes Poetry Challenge found at http://clownponders.wordpress.com/2012/02/21/348/#comment-1595



Born Knowing: submission to my Beloved

Labeled a Goddess, eight arms
seducing life and distracting death
to overwhelming endings, crushed
daisy’s between thumb and forefinger,
potential to actual broken glass
unattended, destroying language and flesh.

Slave to perception melded obtainable
to obtained. I stopped evolving.
Insular to mirroring unaffected,
growth and freedom retarded, I dissolved

my melody. Conciliated to appease
someone else’s destination I became death.
I personified freefalling, through
ten thousand lifetimes I died.
Looping unlearnings, stabbing at rocks,

I threw grains of sand at my heart
for not keeping it’s piece, it’s peace.
I paused on mapping confessions.
Meditation manifested cause
and spirit. Energy to motive giving voice

archaic acoustics, shaping the ending,
building blocks of Heaven and Hell
while pushing at 7th Heaven ceilings
examining and advancing, submission

centering my source. I metaphor on budding
roses, yielding newness from an endless
history, candlelight pollinating a dark smile
holding hue to infinity, atoning atoms
to blossom, cherry lips. I apologise.

One finger raised admitting my Beloved
never stopped watching. I held pain
in my hands and carried it Home, Knowing
on forever, atoned, shall dying Salat restore.

(c) A Hannan

The Song of Death

Between God and you
A hammock holding a lifetime, me,
Seven skies falling to one prayer,
Janazah whispered upon the backs of eagles,
Death of I to a union of two doves,
Pearled tears navigating desert dunes, cheeks
The hills of Eden pressed with sun, with moon,
Endless seasons spilling Zamzam’s water, life.
On my axis, I spin, planets of silk
Catching the sun to my moon.
I make Hajj to your well,
Fold your wings over my heart,
Quilted, heartnotes
Descant vibrations on the rim
Of wine glasses, grapes, flowers,
10,000 Angels singing in unison,
A place to lay my head.
This language watches birds in flight,
Catches our descent
Footing us firm to earth, soil
Bloomed in blood where your hand
Carved poetry to my naked flesh.
Habibi, weave the stars to cloud
Heart white butterflies
A path to which I tread,
A seed and a flame alongside as I pace
Seven times your Ka’aba, my hand
Striking stone over the first man’s,
Abraham and Ishmael
Drumbeats speaking over skin,
Ovary and stamen stretch a rhythm
To my salat, in your arms.

Do you feel the water of life in my skin?

(C) A Hannan