I didn't have to use the bathroom
I just needed to sit
My feet were kind of hurting
****** arch support
The concert is good
Reminds me of Cowboy Bebop
With all the hats and button downs
"See you, space cowboy"
I'm still just sitting in the bathroom
Trying to play the part
I ran away to write a poem
Better move around a little
I can't focus on the band
I think tonight I figured out
What love feels like, looks like
Agape, the right Latin term I think
So many different definitions
For this four letter word
It's this feeling you get
Looking at someone in love
With their own moment
I feel this certain kind of smile spreading
Everything is warm
When you see people happy
Yeah, you feel joy (I hope)
It's just being human
Happiness, as they say
But it's different
This is different
And I'm trying to figure out
How to describe it
Sitting in this ******* stall
It's days later now
From when I ran to the bathroom
Figured I might have a better word
Some heightened vocabulary skills
But I don't
This feeling that I had (have)
The warmth inside my body
Seeing these people slip into space
An outer self, void of anything
That grounds them
I went back to the show
Arch support still ****, but
I didn't say why I really left
But I knew I needed to go back
I knew I needed to feel
I left to escape my sadness
It trapped my heels in the ground
But I came back to see their sun
And I watched the people float
Weightless in their universe
The steady chirping of the crickets
Is natures concert, without the tickets
How do they do it, I have to ask
Don't they get tired of their life long task
They click, chirp and clack, all night long
Hippin and hoppin to the same old song
It makes you crazy, I have to admit
I really wish, they all would just quit....
Brian Hill - 2019 # 194
Oh the sound....
I enter a dream
A dream of the fantastic
Reality’s sacrificial lamb
That propels me forward
Battle moves swift
I move swifter
The black nights roar
A silent passion igniting the
Flames of misfortune
The flowers mingle in the morning sun
I awaken towards the blooming rose of love
I wrote this during a concert
stood at the stands
our hands catching the wind
we shout every word
as she starts to sing
We're all sound artists now.
Walking through our chosen concert halls, with or without walls, listening through public spaces, in personal places, curating our own shapes of combinations, constructions, concoctions of sounds and visions, an unwitting contribution to the contemporary audio visual world of sonic art installations.
We're all artists now.
And we're in charge.
Walking through London listening to my playlist.
we came to see the opening band,
the main act only an epilogue,
sitting on the patio as the free pre-concert artist
sings about the impossibility of love. again.
she says, staring ahead as she applauds,
"i've never been to a concert before."
i tell her, "you'll love it."
and i mention the vibrations -
through the microphones to the speakers
larger than our bodies combined -
that push up through your toes and into your bones
and that "when the percussion comes in,
it's almost like the drummer's playing your heartbeat for you."
the singer for the opening act sits a table away.
no one recognizes her, except for us.
mascara clumped beyond belief
deep brown eyes practically closing
horse in the corner
fake crystalline necklace
dark blue knee skirt
***** white tights
too big flats
the cusp of eleven years old
going to her first concert
bladder filling up
relief at last
pep in her step
hands grip her sides
so she does
spreads through her
eleven years old
never the same
I don't know why
But right now
I'm drunk and high
And I miss you
The light will be shining
I'm supposed to be the star,
and yet I'm so
The keys will be right there,
waiting for me.
Black and white
silky, ivory keys.
I tell myself.
And yet I know that
Tonight is my piano concert. Man, am I nervous!
After making love,
that space inside you and that mess outside,
a hot breeze that then cools you both.
The words you write,
that tumble out,
of a kind that can only be written once.
A 5 am walk in a snow covered city,
with only street cleaners for company,
they speak that language from that place they ran.
The roar from a concert,
from a nearby park.
Feeling on your fingers,
stored heat rising off the pavement,
at the end of a hot summer day.
The significance of understanding,
the beauty of your insignificance,
against all that is beautiful.