The first section is a draft poem begun and never used as is, although the lines have appeared in several different poems in perhaps slightly different phrasing. The second part is free-writing based on the first lines.
Feather Dialect
I.
We write sentences of small existence
staccato bursts of jazz
or an eight bar blues beat
praise songs, songs for the dead
in the language memory teaches us
a dialect of promises and hope
an accent of incidentals.
II.
Wake, dress, eat, work. The hours of existence. Each minute small
summing life one tick, one tock at a time. Eat, sleep. Wake.
Repeat. Endless in monotony but punctuated.
We are not automatons. Bored, inert, a sudden jolt of jazz
pulls our strings. We dance like puppets at rope’s end, then
pull back into wakedresseatworkeatsleepwake at the end
of the bar. Blues? Those long mean minor notes, notes from
the Indigo side, Chicago, Delta, rhythm of humdrum days
and long drawn nights, a black and white movie in
Kerouac’s San Fran. Piano in the background.
Then hallelujah! A ray of golden gospel chorus and
the wings of angels hum. Some born again, the rest
just mark time to the next meal, next shift. Next.
Last shift is coming. All of us in denial. An endless stream
of days ahead, wake, dress, eat, work, eat, sleep.
One morning early the song for the dead plays in our ears,
our own last melody. Still thinking what if tomorrow…?
Overhead, a stone reads In Memoriam taken from the language
of granite. Rocks have long memories, can tell you what first was
begat and what begotten down eons. Our memories, shorter than
our short lives, end the moment before lights out.
We think everafter. Where there’s life and feathers.
Incidental words in incidental accents for incidental lives.
CAS May 10, 2014
Graveyard’s door (Photo credit: echiner1)
Quillfyre 
Hi Carol, this piece has been placed in the ‘Friends Of Uncorked’ section of Conceptual Creation. For this form of writing I’m using the term ‘uncorked’ (let me know what you think of the name…I appreciate your honesty, as usual :)
Of your 3rd experimental, the most evocative lines (for me) are –
“rhythm of humdrum days and long drawn nights.”
“our own last melody. Still thinking what if tomorrow…?”
“Incidental words in incidental accents for incidental lives.”
The form appears to be settling in nicely, Lewis :)
Uncorked is good, but I think it needs a second word… send me the link to your section and I will add it to my posts going forward. Had a bad fall last week, injuring one hand quite badly so have had to take time away from using it to type! C.
Hi Carol, I’m sorry to hear about your fall, I hope your hand heals quickly and without leaving any after effects.
I see what you mean about ‘Uncorked’ needing a second word, I’ll carry on looking along the lines of your suggestion that the name have something to do with how the poems “open out” from part 1 into part 2, (any ideas?).
The link to the section is Friends Of Uncorked.
Lewis :)
I’m not sure how to send you the link to Friends Of Uncorked. Until I work out how to send the link here is my blog address – http://thecuttingpoets.wordpress.com
I think this is the link to Friends Of Uncorked – http://wp.me/P4x9P7-lf
there’s a problem with pt. 2 of the 3rd poem where the caption from the pic attached itself to the first line “double clocks” isn’t in the poem, the line begins with Wake…
Sorry Carol, I have corrected my mistake…well spotted! :)
Does the link to Friends Of Uncorked work from your end?
Hi Carol, there was a bit of a mix up on my blog site, the new link for Friends Of Uncorked is – http://wp.me/P4EYl2-K
will this be a permanent link or is it going to change often? If so, I will have to remove the link from my sidebar each time and replace. Thanks
Hi Carol, Sorry about all the changes. This is the permanent link….promise! Lewis :)
Yes, the link worked quite well, Lewis!
:)