Suzanne Munro

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24.08.2019 Article
When not writing music, I also find writing poetry a wonderful creative outlet: for emotions, both joy and sadness, and for putting into words the feelings generated from seeing beauty in nature, as well as lighter moments in life; all provide inspiration. Very often, a poem will in turn inspire a piece of music, although I rarely set my own poetry to music.

 I ran up the room,
 Towards the piano at the end: 
 Towards my friend, My soulmate, my release -
 There I would find heart's ease, 
 Calm, a sanctuary; 
 Where my mind could find 
 A peace, in a place of its own. 
 I was alone with the music: somewhere else.
 I felt the sting of a tear - 
 Tears that welled up from empty chords. 
 And those of weeping, gently sad.
 I could have stayed for hours, 
 Bathed in solitude of aural tranquility: 
 Just me; 
 Caught in a world of ethereal minor chords:
 And music spoke wit tears 
 Where there were no words. 
 There, I was alone 
 With a should that poured empathy on my own.
 A soul that poured empathy In harmony with my thoughts,
 Filled to the brim with emptiness: 
 By the sound of music I was heard, 
 And music cried my tears, 
 Where there were no words. 
 Suzanne Munro June 2018 
Dusk’s Tranquillity 
 The damp, fresh smell of yesterday’s rain on the grass, 
 And the dew drops and damp feel on my wet skirt hem, as I pass. 
 Roses’ dripping heads, hanging from every branch, 
 Like blossoms of descending rain, 
 A distant blur of white daisy heads, 
 As they fade into the gloom of transient dusk: before nature sleeps.
 I am drenched in peace. 
 I wait for the fox.
 The sky, in its vastness, a fading blue that calms and heals 
 Before night steals its transient colour. 
 We are drawn to look up, watching light fade 
 As we are drawn to each rose, perfectly formed. 
 I shake the blooms, and droplets, clear as glass 
 Come falling down: nature, 
 O thou spirit of restorative tranquillity and calm. 
 O nature, of restorative, healing power..... 
 The long wet grass, inviting to feet - soaked with rain after a heavy shower,  
 Dampening the skirt hem, refreshing in its wildness, 
 Expanse of sky: beauty in its fading vastness, as night draws on. 
 I hear the call, so lush, so sweet, of the blackbird’s song as he calls to all; 
 And I hear the call of the crow as it flies to roost. 
 In the distance, there is a wall of wild rose, cascading, descending from sky to  ground; 
 The singing, verdant, lush, from every tree around; 
 A thousand songs, blending, rising, falling, 
 Tumbling from seemingly every tree 
 And I marvel at the beauty as it washes over me. 
 30-5-18 .... on sitting out in the garden until quarter to ten at night.....


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