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Knit Personality Aug 2018
the red sun
                  rises
    on Japanese instruments

                      music for koto
                             like green tea
                         long-steeped

             shakuhachi & musician  
        with the colors of the wind                          
                 paint music in air

needlepoint
     notes
          pierce
     my pincushion eardrum;
                   a bachi plucks three strings
                
              Toru Takemitsu
in an autumn garden
                       pentagonal


#
Orange Rose Aug 2018
I hear a song which colors Autumn.
It sings Creation's symphony,
Of days long past, or still to be,
Of what the Earth is to become.

It moves the air and paints the skies.
The waves crash with crescendos,
And with its trumpets, wind does blow.
The cellos play.  The eagle flies.

With violins the flowers bloom.
With piccolos the sparrow calls.
Like cotton snow, the music falls.
The drums begin. The mountains loom.

And when it seems the song will end,
In Winter's white and icy chill,
When all the world is calm and still,
The trumpets will begin again.
inspired by Vivaldi
Words have power
They can pierce your bones
The right ones devour
Your very soul
Peaceful ones flower
And make you whole

Others cut deep
Leave scars, angry red
Make you lose sleep
As they dance in your head
Your happiness they reap
Until your spirit is dead

The strong message they send
Cannot be erased
They twist and they bend
They demand to be faced
They make ideas blend
Leaving a bad aftertaste

You cannot try to forget
The things you hear
Like a cigarette
They take what you hold dear
They sing a duet
Of shame, grief, and fear

Once it is said
It penetrates the defenses
Causing joy or dread
Sometimes beyond recompenses

Words can move you
Words can ****
Words can pierce through
Words can thrill

Each time you part your lips
The words that stain the air
Can sink the finest ships
Or be an answer to a prayer
"Say what you mean. Mean what you say."
Knit Personality Jul 2018
There once was a player named Morgan
Who played all day long with his *****:
     He played with it majorly,
     Sadistically, and ragerly,
That claw-handed, hairy-palmed Morgan.  

There once was a confident nudist,
The rudest of nudists, and lewdest,
     Who'd offer a toot
     On his flesh-and-bone flute,
Declaring he'd make you a flutist.

There once was a wandering hobo
Who wandered from NoBo to SoBo
     Whilst whistling merrily,
     Gladly, and verily
Mozart's concerto for oboe.

#
Lily Jul 2018
Please tell everyone your name, grade,
And what instrument you play.
We’re just going to go over some basics.
You can have a break in ten minutes.
Band, ten, HUT!
HUT!
Come to set!
Attention!
I said come to set!
Heels together, toes apart.
Check your posture!
Guide to your left!
No, your other left!
Your steps are too big.
No, now your steps are too small.
You have to stay at set for three minutes;
If anyone moves, we start again.
Restart the time!
Restart again!
Get your feet in time, freshmen!
Section leaders, I need to see you.  Now.
Your water break is still ten minutes away.
Drum majors, go get more batteries for the met.
First competition guys, good luck!
I don’t care if it’s late, we need to learn the drill.
Someone go run and turn on the field lights!
You’ll thank me later.
First football game, good luck!
Drumline, did I say you could put your instruments down?
Trumpets, get your horns up!  To the press box!
You’ll get it, don’t give up!
Last competition guys, congrats!
Give it your all and don’t look back!
Guard, don’t **** anybody with your flags.
GUARD!
Last football game, congrats!
Somebody please let the bass drums through!
Everybody give me your plumes!
Do NOT set your uniform on the ground!
I expect all of you back next year.
Thank you for giving me your best.
I apologize for when I was at my worst.
I love you guys.
Sun Drop Jun 2018
Don't defy the clarinet, its keys are awful sharp.
Don't attempt to struggle 'gainst the plucking of the harp.
Don't strike at the chin-rest of the nimble violin.
Let their sounds ****** you, breathe in deeply and give in.

Let your eyelids flutter as the bass punches away.
Drift off into slumber as the horns start their foray.
Dream of passing pleasantries, and don't mind the bassoons.
Why supply rejoinders when the sounds solicit swoons?
Blake Jun 2018
She threw to many sharp stones.
So as her glass house tumbled down,
She would pick one of the shards of choir glass off the ground and use it
as a instrument.
Always playing the same violent violin piece across her dynamical skin.

Her mother always knew she had
a gift for music.
So when she heard the same solemn chorus pitching from the living room ceiling,
She darted to steal the show.

And become her daughters duet...her piano,
To hug her so tightly,
Singing and squeezing
Until her violin chords stopped bleeding.
Parents make and break you
Damaré M May 2018
I wanna have sax with you again.

You trumpet my mind away.

I miss how the tips of my fingers press every single one of your keys causing you to vibrate

Then I’d strum a handful of your strings, getting amped up for you to scream

Do you remember the way that your ***** felt due to the stroking of my trombone?

This is when your harps start to beat excessively

And mines was on the same bass

You would always turn around so I can use my drumstick

You’d think I put my foot it in.

I recall how you catch rhythm quite splendid each side clapping tambourines.

I inquired, you’d choir

****, our orchestrated erotica

Now do you understand why your name is logged into my phone as Harmonica?
Midnight.

Getting into incredible scenes as the southern US dreams
The color of your soul
Where unshackled, dancing spirits take control
Feet contact to terra firma via tactical movements painting its target
You attack, artistically
I resist no longer
Upon your canvas
I fall

Rome

Where (apparently) all roads lead to
Your heart, the coronary Colosseum.
A stronghold I yearn to hold tight
Under the roar of the crowd
And the loudness of your beats

Harmony

There are psalms that Cadillacs crank
Your viscous soul
At the seat of this purple drank think tank
Sticking to my ribs like backyard barbecue
Santoor mallets tapping my heartstrings
Doing 10 in a 65, side-to-side
Front, back
Letting the melodies ride and glide

Air

Whatever words you'd utter, I'd usurp its presence within the second it leaves your lips.
Floating on cloud 9
To catch your breath with my fingertips
Kinda like I want our lungs to be in a relationship
Or something close to enjoying the heights

Then record our previous accords just before
Midnight.



Ifeanyi N. Okoro II - © 2018
Finished around 4:47 a.m.
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