Canadian Radio

There is nothing significant about the title of this post, but it refers to a quiet evening a few days ago, as I made myself a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich while the warm summer breeze fell though the window. The dog came in the room with her tail wagging and she put her nose in the space between the cabinet and the sink to smell the air, the fireflies, and the buzzing of the streetlights.

The radio was tuned to public radio and they were talking about the last few space-shuttle take-offs. They discussed how different songs had been used in the past to wake up the astronauts from their designated sleep-schedule, as the Scientific American reported, “Wake-up music is a tradition that, according to a NASA history of the practice, stretches back to the Apollo moon program. Ground control pipes a tune up to the spacecraft to rouse the crew from their sleep shifts, and often a crew member’s family will choose a song with special meaning for their relative.” This year, people can vote for which song they think should wake up the astronauts.

So this week I second the Canadian choice for the Canadian band, Rush’s song, Countdown, but only because of the feeling of a peaceful summer evening, where thoughts drifted away to less important things for just a moment, where radio entertained instead of sold, where even classic rock felt like poetry.

Rush – Countdown


And I also invite you to read my poetry on I have been submitting a new poem every day, a sort of journaling, though more abstract and symbolic. Here is today’s:

This poem goes out to all of the deleted words,
the millions of ideas quickly erased, obliterated
because they just didn’t quite fit in with
the rest of the ideas. Today, I honor them briefly,
but sometimes, life moves by too quickly
to mourn, even when life, true life, is lost.
Today, I sniff the cold, stiff air
and the breeze feels like shivers, covered
in warm, futile sunlight. The short hairs on
my adam’s apple scrape on my collar like
road-gravel on newly built freeways, but
I don’t drive.
Today, momentary friendship is held up
by our busy hands, and even as we leave
we hope that our hope will keep it airborne,
but at least I know that this fellowship
will not break if it hits the ground,
it will always be there to pick back up
at a later date.

Posted in Music, Poems by Preston on September 4th, 2010

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