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Earl Dignos Dec 2013
she was more than a mother
from all the cigarettes she lit
made herself smother
hopelessly, brokenness aside

she became a violist
that she love playing sad songs
the strings were her wrist
crossing the blade through her skin

lastly she wanted the worlds beyond it
so she swam through her tears and blood
thought that they would never meet
across the street, love made her grow
Dalton Bauder  Oct 2012
violist
Dalton Bauder Oct 2012
Sing to me in the dark
with your harmonies of touch,
the symphonies of sense you create.
sing with all the scratches and marks,
melodies lined by your lips,
and the constant rhythm of the beat of your heart in my ear.

sing me lullabies of goosebumps with kisses goodnight,
threading my skin through your teeth
like a bow to the string
I can feel it,
the crescendo 
ringing from me
this is definitely not about ***.
also experimenting with different style.
Adam Childs  Oct 2015
COMPLEX
Adam Childs Oct 2015
There was a little
sixteen year old boy
who had a little insecurity
So decided it best
to just go and run away

So he went on to make
and lose a fortune
travelled the world
went to thailand
pulled a violist in Chicago
Got some jobs and
a carrier too
And got drunk again
and again
And again
Learnt to meditate
found a Indian Guru
Worshipped Jesus
even slipped in a drug or two
before he bought a house
And got a degree

  Then one day it took just
   a teenage girl or two
In a field in Hampshire
To show him
That he in twenty years
he had gone no where
Was right where he first started

That he was
still that little sixteen
year old boy
who could not look
naked in the mirror
without
crying...

because he could not like
what he was seeing...  

Now that boy inside of me
realizes there is no magic wand
no one to save him
and a thousand shields
won't protect him from
who he really is.

But i do someday hope
that i can raise my chin
to look in the mirror
without my stomach turning,
curdling and my mind holding
back my crying...
preservationman Nov 2020
The highway thru bus to love, and as the curtain has arisen, so is the story.  It’s a hot day in the midst of summer when two musicians are about to find each other, and the analysis of Chemistry 101. The story takes place in Downtown Pittsburgh at the Pittsburgh Transportation Center on Greyhound for a journey to New York City. You see, Judy Smith, an accomplished Pianist is about to venture at Carnegie Hall for a concert. Because Judy hit all the right notes of melody, it was University of Pittsburgh in their amateur night sponsored by the Music department under the guidance of Professor Geoffrey Tuner. Now John Minichiello, an accomplished Violist from the Pittsburgh music arrangement society sponsored by the creator, John Carey. Back in his day, he was an extraordinary Orchestra Leader. Joseph was also going to play at Carnegie Hall.

Before the bus even arrives in New York City, there will be a music harmony of its own having a love tone and tranquility in a relationship in the making while at a Rest Stop. At Gate 18, a Greyhound Prevost with the destination in bold letters, NEW YORK, NY was ready for boarding for a 10:00 am departure. It the trip would take 7 hours. The Greyhound Driver was busy exchanging passenger Tickets at the gate, and the Baggage Handler was loading the bus. Judy Smith was in front of Joseph Minichiello, which he accidentally bumped into Judy Smith, which Joseph apologized, and Judy stated no problem. One begins to wonder, was the bump really an accident or a way of getting Judy Smith’s attention. The bus was backing out of the departure gate on time precisely at 10:00 am. The bus was going through the downtown streets of Pittsburgh heading for the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

Finally, the bus was moving swiftly on the turnpike passing cars and trucks. At about 2:00 pm, a rest stop was made at Breezewood, PA. The Greyhound Driver announced that the rest stop would be for 30 minutes. Oh good, here’s my chance too stretch my legs stated Joseph Minichiello. As all the passengers had gotten off, Joseph Minichiello and Judy Smith seemed too settle for another area of the rest stop, where Judy Smith was reading her music that she was going to play at the concert. Mind you now, none of them knew each other, but that is about to change. Judy looked over her shoulder, and asked Joseph, “What instrument do you play?” and Joseph replied, “The Violin”. Judy responded that she is a Pianist heading for Carnegie Hall. What a coincidence Joseph responded, he told Judy he was heading to Carnegie Hall as well to perform. They talked and talked, and almost missed the bus at the rest stop. They boarded the bus and proceeded onward to New York City. The bus was now on the New Jersey Turnpike. In the distance looking close was too far was New York City. It is now 5:00 pm, and the bus has entered rush hour traffic going into the Lincoln Tunnel. Finally, the Hound bus enters the Lincoln Tunnel heading for the final destination of New York City within the Port Authority Bus Terminal. The bus pulls into Gate 64, which the arrivals are Gates 62 through 66. When everyone is disembarking, Judy Smith asks where Joseph Minichiello is staying, and he said, “He will check into a hotel, but Judy suggested, why don’t you stay with me at the Carnegie Hall Tower complex as her University supplied everything, and Joseph said yes, why not.

It was a subway ride to West 57th Street on the R train. Up they went in the elevator to their room, which had a panoramic view of numerous New York City Skyscrapers, which the Big Apple is known for. Joseph stated he wanted to take a shower. So he showered then later came out of the bathroom in just a towel wrapped around his body. It was wrecking Judy’s senses of curiosity as to what size was under that towel. The ripped abs didn’t help either. Out of the blue, Joseph began to kiss Judy, and she became weak under his spell, and wanted more. Joseph then picked her up, and escorted her to the bedroom for unstoppable loving action, which added the tones of sequence with the playing of her ivories of melody.

The concert is tonight, and the music accompaniment is about to begin. Judy smith on the Piano with soothing sounds of peace and comfort, and on the Violin was Joseph Minichiello call of the wild and embracing the soul into taming the beast from within. Then the entire orchestra joined in for a musical night that for the entire audience that they would never forget. Loud applause and standing ovations rang out. This was a night Judy Smith and Joseph Minichiello will always remember. They played musical notes of their own, but not for the audience. They kissed behind the curtain, and it was music of the skies that brought them together, and the intermittent Hound bus for bringing people together.
Courtesy Robert Burns
circa  (25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796)
the National Bard,
Bard of Ayrshire
and the Ploughman Poet.

Two hundred sixty one orbitz elapsed
since brief existence of aforementioned
Scottish poet and lyricist graced Earth,
yet his legacy unwittingly still
enshrined, regaled, warbled...
upon cusp of New Year's Eve,
when revelers sing familiar words
getting misty eyed about
times long past, yet without doubt.

Courtesy Geordie composer William Shield
5 March 1748 – 25 January 1829,
an English composer, violinist and violist
contemporaneous with former
credited with writing music
linkedin with aforementioned tune
posthumous popularity doth wield.

Covid-19 pandemic that
swept across human lot
decrees loved ones untimely
passing, a poignant jot
upon surviving kith and kin
necessitates apropos bon mot
to allow, enable and provide
succor yada yada yada
loosening Gordian knot
constricting one groveling,
muttering, and sniveling snot.

Convenient heft of New
Year's eve lends clout
any other month date day
one could more easily flout
generally speaking/writing
vouchsafing making resolutions
not agreeable with lout
spinning forth verses
as he moseys along
figurative groovy route.

Abstract notion delineating, indicating,
plotting, and zoning passage of time
extremely elusive to grasp at least
for purposes of reasonable poetic soupy rhyme
nevertheless civilizations far and wide
codifying, formulating, identifying
lapsing seconds, minutes, hours,

days, months, years... constituting
artificial construct paradigm
watching, validating, tabulating,
recording, pendulum swinging tick tock
while days of our lives
segues from day into nighttime
as the world (wide web) turns.

Now join in and sing if not averse
despite damning series
(I tip hat to Lemony Snicket)
of unfortunate events, a curse
hundreds of years ago
witnessed by countless
many horse drawn hearse
when "bring out your dead"
what fate could be worse?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For days of auld lang syne
We twa hae run about the braes

And pu'd the gowans fine
But we've wander'd mony a weary fit
Sin days of auld lang syne
We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn
Frae morning sun till dine
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin days of auld lang syne
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For days of auld lang syne
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp
And surely I'll be mine
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne
And there's a hand, my trusty fiere
And gie's a hand o' thine
And we'll tak a right gude-***** waught

For auld lang syne
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

— The End —