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funny how one chord
can say so much
while i
can’t say anything
When I'm sad, mournful piano music soothes me. I wish I could play.
stopdoopy Dec 2018
Pluck one
Then two
Drag them out
As long as you want
Play the song of their hearts
Feelings as tight as you tuned them
Draw them in
So taunt
Until the chord breaks
Played me like a fiddle.
Ellison Jun 2018
Counting the infinite voyage of the stars
Or thinking of all the drops in the sea
And thinking of the grains of sand on mars
Shrinks my body to microscopic sizes, you see.
Perhaps I'll send a paper plane out in the sky
To watch it fly to distance galaxies of tomorrow
And maybe it'll come right back to where I lie
In my bed of restless thoughts of stress and sorrow.

I'll spill some coins into the street
And watch them tumble by
Just watching them speed by leathered feet
Brings a salty tear to my tired eye.
Because coins have journeys of their own
In the musky old worlds of talk
Once carved straight out of stone
And before people knew to walk.

All the pages in the world wouldn't confuse
What thoughts are born today
Even books created from a powerful muse
Couldn't shake what keeps to stay.
Cause once I challenged God and all
To come down from the clouds
And I stood there sweaty and slipped and fall
To my mind of bewildered crowds.

Maybe now is the time to lay down the sword
Of previous gestures and innocent dust
Maybe now is the time to strike a new chord
To create what inevitably should must.
I'm not retiring from smiles and cheer
And no longer should it be any such curse
As to be what it is to create my own course to steer
No one now has to tell me how to write my next verse.
Knit Personality May 2018
A miracle performed on the flute
Was sounded in one single toot:
    A flutist spontaneously
    Played simultaneously
The fifth and the third and the root.  

#
WJ Thompson Mar 2017
It was an atmosphere.
It was an atmosphere.
It was oxygen mixed with southern fog,
Southpaw gloves tied in sailor knots,
Waves of golden grains in ocean wind,
The rolling hills behind property lines.

It was the question you asked,
It was the question you asked,
Not with words but in the way you breathed against the window glass,
While I leaned against your Corolla,
And we sang under the overpass.

It was graffiti,
It was graffiti.
It was the cavernous concrete cats with purple
hair and acid wash jean jackets,
Melting the light of their city's street lamps into the obsidian void of moistened pavement.

It was the way the reverb spread the major 7th across the sky with burnt orange cascading into the violet of the minor 9th which reminds me of crickets and summer nights (and violins and cellos and midwestern jazz bars), and how bar chords are a guitarists way of flipping off a crowd,
Surfing the web for an answer to why I'm still single-
handedly the handsomest man in my car currently.

It's the cloth in my empty passenger seat,
soaking up the air of my A/C heat.
And the scent of the soil spilt from the succulent I was given at a wedding last fall,
And now I don't know if my trunk will ever smell clean at all.
It was how my energy dripped away into the floods of San Jose,
And how her eyes began to sink into her iPhone 7's screen.
It's in how I long for prolonged eye contact,
It's in how close the answer is but never slips,
I'm not interested in the electric work of fingertips,
I'm interested in connection.
Inspired by the poetry slams of Livermore, amongst other things.
WJ Thompson Mar 2017
Words etched into the wall (above)
by the augmented fifth
Merely (below) displaced fifth
Blistering drywall
Voweling (in) out the love song
Caramelizing (out) paint
German Shepherd tilts
his (between) her head
Doesn't quite like (around)
The augmented fifth
What an awkward chord.
sweet ridicule Oct 2016
i Keep rubbing my wrists and my forearms nervously anxiously and can
feel the tendons ache and the muscles on my left forearm snap back and forth: a (broken) guitar string slapping the frets every
time it is
strummed.  If i push on the muscles --or the string, perhaps there is no difference-- too hard my hand (goes numb) and the cord (chord)-like muscles seep exhaustion into my skin --forgive me for this. there is little i can do and big i can do but all i remember is everything
it starts small a little bit of pain but i know I will willingly take it for just

( a little bit of you )

infiltrating me I don't know why my legs ache and my skin fights against me I am grateful for You fighting for me grateful for me fighting for You

this has been full of change full of upside down i am proud of my START AGAIN abilities of my explore: drive anywhere you want GO GO mindset
but sometimes I ache. calling you nightly is
not enough but I promise to make it enough
to try to make everything you do
feel like more than enough

                                             i love when the sun is warm and it is cloudy and i get the opportunity to trip over you Accidentally or (not so accidentally). falling into tears every time I hear a symphony play-- perhaps there is no love in the world comparable to a
symphony or perhaps I am
sinfully biased due to my
experiences with symphonic beings

i Intend to live my life Running or dancinG with symphonies blossoming between my tender and temporarily not calloused
fingers and
with you and we
Constantly reinventing what it means to be Alive  
I will try my best ( for you and for Me) but
there is not
enough time
:)
AJ Jun 2016
I can't write a poem
Right now
It's killing me inside
I can't write you a song
Once more
Forgive me, it'll be alright

I can't sing a tune
Again
My voice is all but gone
I can't paint a picture
Today
My fingers are stiff and wrong

If I could see your face
Once more
I swear I'd strum a chord
I'd dance around and click my shoes
And slide across the floor

But now you're gone
And I'm still here
I guess they call it fate
I eat alone in this empty house
Surrounded by ghosts and crates

But if the stars align
And I keep shining
Maybe the world will give
Another glance, another dance
And a chance for me to live.
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