The Call

Sometimes I surprise myself. I barely slept last night, kept awake after performing in a concert of story, song and poems on the stages of the Hero’s Journey. Joseph Campbell wrote extensively on this mythic journey, which is hard-wired in the human psyche despite our modern habit of dispensing with the old wisdom. My husband, Tony Cuckson, wove personal anecdote into the evening to illustrate just how relevent that old wisdom is still today. Together with myself and two other heroes, we performed it before an audience of inmates at Loughan House Open Prison last night. I was still buzzing on the adreneline rush well into the wee hours of today.

Yet, here I am writing and tapping out this post in the pre-dawn ‘ambrosial hours.’ The writing of the Poetry Daily was calling me out of a sleep that was still rocking to the memory of Claire Maguire’s amazing singing voice. 

The Call

Without a muezzin

I still rise

heeding the soul’s call

to this time

when the house is dark

silent.

How else could you hear?

The world is much too

everything other.

It is no wonder

you can go for years

ignoring the soul’s

wailing

to shake you to rise

to go

adventure

to risk

a differant

track.

Copyright Bee Smith 2018

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