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Maria Mitea May 21
the forest without paths
the lonely shores,
mournful music,
the doors through which no one enters,

if we could hide the distance
the pain
the tears
the words
the poems
Will you see me?
how
I am waiting here

for you

simply


waiting


you


here
My heart is a broken metronome
A gift by saboteur
Wayward in her rhythm
though birthing Gods of Beauty
Like the Tree of Myrrh

My heart is a broken metronome
Reckless in her proffer
Too hasty in her measure
Yet for those adroit to dive her depth
A sunken Royal Coffer
Inspired by my arrythmia and theories of Beethovens broken metronome
Ruchira Apr 1
She is like a Beethoven's symphony.
More you try to hold on to , more free you will feel ...
Paul Butters Apr 2020
As I walk out of my door
A clichéd cacophony of birdsong
Surrounds me with beauty
And uplifts my soul.

Yet we humans too love to sing
And play those instruments:
Creating lullabies, arias, symphonies,
Serenades and rock and roll shows.
To name but a few.

Angelic choirs in lofty minsters,
Lifting us up to the stars,
Embracing God in Heaven.
Heavy metal bands
Thrashing out thunder
In stadia seething with singing fans.
Brass bands too: trumpeting and rumpeting
In a crescendo of sound.

Hear those trembling triangles and sublime wind chimes.
Feel those bouncing drums.
Twanging, sweeping, swooning
Plucking, soaring, crying
Guitar.
Tinkling pianos and weeping violins.
Whole orchestras of mind-blowing sound,
Welsh rugby crowds
And the Liverpool Kop.

Magical music:
From spiritually haunting
To simply getting laid.
Bringing out the animal in us:
Passion and desire
Raw emotion
Or else the supernatural
Ethereal skyscapes
Sometimes sheer dread
And horror.

Watch any good film:
The musical score is everything:
“Star Wars”, “Gone with the Wind”, “******”
“Battlestar Gallactica”, “Ben Hur”…
Beethoven, Mozart, The Beatles
The Stones, Queen, Genesis…
So much to love
Chuck Berry and Elvis
Rocking and rolling and reeling
And stealing our minds away.

So let’s get singing
And dancing
And banging those drums,
Flexing our plectrums
To make one helluva
Noise.
Let that magical music play
For Ever.

Paul Butters

© PB 10\4\2020.
Let Us Play...
Paul Butters Mar 2019
You can’t beat that musical beat,
From tinkling triangles
To blaring horns.
A quick ditty
Or grand symphony.

Music can mould mountains,
Oceans and plains.
Make you feel any emotion
Or atmosphere.

When songs and poems marry,
Their offspring are awesome:
“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…”
Mercury magic.

Those rhythms run like chugging trains.
They fight pitch battles
Within our brains.

Drums keep beating,
Guitars whine.
Ever repeating
All through time.

Chuck Berry with his rock and roll,
Aretha Franklin, Queen of Soul.
Elvis truly was the King,
Want some crooning?
Play some Bing.

Beatles, Queen or Stones,
Who really cares?
Roll over Beethoven
Bach or Lennon
On your dancing squares.

I know that rap can give you the blues,
But there’s so much music
You’ve got plenty to choose.

Musical memories adorn our minds,
Warm associations
Of nostalgic times.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\3\2019. Last stanza added 6\3\19.
Let the band begin to play...
Pete King Dec 2018
Realisation can be a harsh pill;
One I've always struggled to swallow.
The dose, in this instance, was to be
That my happiness isn't a reward.

It's not earned through great achievements;
Contentedness isn't product of valour.
It's not found in deep breathing and spiritualism,
It's not created by anything external.

No.
My happiness will always be through
consistent fidelity and belief in a purpose.
A purpose that simply has to be weightier
than the small stuff we're sometimes thrown.

It's the consistent drive:
To love.
To laugh.
To make laughter..
To put pen to paper.
It's a thousand-melodies,
On twelve piano keys.
It's the gnawing hunger inside of me,
That says it would be simply unacceptable
For me to leave this world,
Until I have brought forth
Everything I feel I have within me.

Happiness is always going to be a fleeting thing for me.
And that's alright.
Because I'm only just getting started.
Lyda M Sourne Dec 2018
Let us dance,

Let us sing,

Let us be merry and jovial



See! The lark flies!

Red and gold

Aflutter in the breeze!



The strings resonate

The drums beat in time

As horns and flute

Play



There is much to

Celebrate this

Auspicious day



Auspicious day?

No such thing!



Each day is much

Like the other

And tomorrow



So sadness, evil,

Anxiety,

Away with thee!



We will sing

Of what was,

What is,

What will be



The past shall not

return



The present ever

a walking pace



The future

Unforeseen



So will be our days

Left to fate



Such are the

Years short



So what use are

These of gloom and doom?



Stay with me,

Let us be with

Music til the end



But may our music

Never end.
Beethoven Violin Concerto, Op.61 - third movement
Lyda M Sourne Dec 2018
Pristine white,

Like cathedral spires,

Pierce the skies



There is longing,

For the sky blue

Expanse above



Can you not see?

The love, the yearning



There is so much more

Than what this world

Can offer to one such as you



‘Tis pleasant,

A wonder of quiet

and harmony



Who do you offer

Music to?



Oh, love,

How lovely it

Is to meet you



Overflowing,

One cannot comprehend

Such beauty



And these days

Are golden and light

With the fluttering

Of your love



In the form

Of soaring melodies



Alas!
Beethoven Violin Concerto, Op.61 - second movement
Lyda M Sourne Dec 2018
Music – she is my muse

She sings to me

Her lilting voice reaching for the heavens



And yet



It falls short as she aches for

Love – tis heart breaking and bittersweet



It is a tug of war

For the melody

Who it sings for



A back and forth,

Undecided, disconcerted

Forlorn and desolate



Madness, determination

But she is beckoned

back, restrain





Don’t hold back

[I] can’t hold back

[I’m] trying



And yet

[I’ll] fall short



“Why? Oh, why?”

Can one not sing?

Shall the muse be only thought,

Ever taught?



No.



She sings and sings.

To fill in the desire

Of a passion unrestrained

(with restraints)



She is ineffable,

And only in silence

Can she be heard.
Beethoven Violin Concerto in D Major, Op.61 - first movement
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