'Tonio and the branches of bones'
Spoken Word Poetry
Hello! I've had a few requests for the text of the spoken word poem videos that I've been posting in various places, so I figured this blog would be a good place for that! I've tidied the text up as they weren't written 'well' as poems, they were just to be spoken aloud! I hope you enjoy!
I'm not sure if they are better written in 'poem' form, like in the first two verses, or just as paragraphs? I kind of prefer not adhering to the strict poem form in a way so might just do that in future. It also makes it way more challenging to read which I sort of enjoy - it means I need to know the poem well to get it right!
'Tonio and the branches of bones'
Claire Wimbush, June 2020
Tonio lives in an iced world of sound.
His legs ache as he wades through mounds
of fresh snow and frozen fears
wind bristles through his ears
and not for the first time over the years
he wonders why he is alone.
He heaves his load of precious bones to the forest and begins to suppose
that this is where he most belongs, far away from all the throngs
of people and the bustle of the ice. He sees a way his small life
could be contained by bush and branch, by green and brown.
If he had the chance, he thinks he may just live in a tree.
He wonders how sweet life may be
surrounded by leaf and mud and twig,
full up on berry and nut and fig,
swinging his limbs from a branch at noon,
hoping the day is not over too soon.
Watching the sun fall between the leaves,
trying to catch it so it never flees.
Then he hears the clink of the branches of bone and knows he could never sleep alone in forests with trees such as this. This is a notion that he must kiss goodbye, and remember exactly why he leaves the forest every time, he leaves the darkness just to climb back down the hill to his home, where he can shut the door, be alone. He keeps out the darkness and the fear, hugs the heat, safety, cheer.
He would never find peace amongst these trees and so he knows that he knows he must leave. He muses over this predicament as he sets the bones out clang, clatter, clink, they sing as piles of them grow, of breast, skull, finger, hipbone and toe. Tonio fills his crossbow with bones, and clambers the trees, a monkey with weight hanging down to his knees.
He passes the branch of animals past, of tiger, elephant, chimp, rooster and rat, bones of all peculiar shapes hanging in lines threaded which takes Tonio hours of labor, eyes squinting as he wavers over whether to use thread black, white or blue. What exact colour scheme to adhere to.
But what takes the hours from his night, he works at incessantly with all of his might, is knowing the note of each little bone, A, B or C, though those more grown tend to run to notes such as D, E and F and sometimes a G. This is not to suggest his work is then done, for now this is where comes the fun, finding within which octave a bone will sit, within which tree it is likely to fit and just what tune he will be able to play. Between which other bones this bone will lay.
He sits by the crackle of fire at night, sits and works and to his delight as morning brings itself around he scans the room, delighted to have found a thread to match every bone, of every colour and every tone and he knows these bones will never be alone. Their note and octave and colour tone have been decided and while he has provided a second life
for these skeletons his mind is rife with musings on his next steps,
his main act, he smacks his cheek which is thick with heavy sleep
for though he is exhausted by a nights long work, there is more to be done that he cannot shirk.
So as the dawn rings round the hills, he steps into the snow and begins to fill his basket up with bones galore, tunes of magic and tales of gore. The walk is a long and treacherous plight, he would never attempt it in the night, but only as day comes flooding in and after hours he finally begins to see the tops of the forest's trees.
A sight which brings him to his knees and he must stop and take a breath, unable to say why he is fearful of death and bones and darkness and song when surely he knows that he was the one to bring these animals to their knees, to stab their guts and watch them bleed, knowing he will later thread their bones, carry them up a hill and choose their homes, the branches that he will string together that will remain there and will weather the darkness, sun and pouring rain, never to roam freely again.
But their life does not end at this, for Tonio has only one wish. When all the bones have been strung and he is able to stand among his handiwork and survey the trees, the sight of beauty brings his pleads for this cycle never to end. He pleads to the Gods to bring him more friends, more badgers and bears and fish in the sea, more zebras and foxes and even the flea, that he might continue his nights of labor, he prays ardently for this one last favour.
And so he begins to play his tune, as he knows that others are not immune to the trance of the bones he so lightly plays. He sits among branches of bones for days, tinkling out some delightful song, thoroughly aware of the clatter and clong the bones make as they swing in the air, dangling his legs without a care.
He sits and hears their paws approach, as they swing, run and race from areas remote, to populate his world of ice and smoke. Tonio sits in his branches of bones, grateful that he will never be alone, for who could forget Jemima up there, Trax sat beside him and of course the stare of the bones of Frilla just over there.
He cocks his ear and hears them. Where? Why just outside the forest, just over there! Those moving bones cannot be aware of the fate that awaits them, in Tonio’s lair.
You can watch the video here on my channel!
Thanks so much for being here,
Claire x
