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Chris Saitta Jun 20
Autumn was an old Viennese street held up in sacrifice to the sky,
With burnt-song offerings that still see through the clouds, as they see through you.
His was cobbler craft of reed-winded flame for the foot in tune,
Amid the outsnuffed shopkeepers’ lights and the candlesmoke of midnight hours,  
Pulsing above the inner heart of the Ringstrasse
Of brass signs and paving stones, misted and mute.
His was the candelabra of wick-notes
Wanded through the windowed rooms of forested night.
His were those woods filled with doorways, bookcases, and stairs
And everything dim and warm with people, no longer there.

***

The winter sunlight played across the keyboard of crypted windows,
And in the muted under-roofs of ice and snow,
On one window, like a hand in whole rest,
The caramelized glass swallowed the flame-image of the stray redbird
And the black carriage wheels that passed.

In the long hallway of the Viennese flat,
One candle remained lit in the mouth of song.
The Ringstrasse is the well-known road around Old Vienna, the inner heart of the city.

For a slide video of this and other poems, please check out my Instagram page at ChrisSaitta or my Tumblr page at Chris-Saitta.
Ylzm May 15
orchids,
alien and other worldly.

beauty,
bordering the grotesque and bizarre,
strangely exhilarating.

variations,
wild and uninhibited,
even orgiastic,
of a mind, as if,
not of this world;
shapes and sizes,
folds and spirals
colours and colourations.

at times,
more animal or insect,
than flower.

if a rose is Mozart,
an orchid, Stravinsky.
Peter B Sep 2018
He passed away in 1791,
aged thirty five.
He never saw a car,
never heard a noise of a machine.
His lungs
never breathed a smog.

He didn't wait
for the industrial revolution,
wild capitalism
and their awful consequences.

He left much earlier,
saving his senses
from the ugliness of the world,

from the unpleasant times,
which were soon to come.

He didn't die,
he only withdrew
from the end of the world.
İlayda Korkmaz Aug 2018
Take me to Vienna where the music walks.
Where the buildings invite you to sit,
And accompany them for a cup of melange.
Where the many palace gardens have jovial pique-niques,
With their bikes resting by the trees.

Take me to Vienna where life ebbs out
Where the past lives on,
And composers wave out the windows.

Take me to Klimt's golden city,
The city where even the grey Donau is welcoming.
Take me to Vienna and don't take me back.
Peter B May 2018
It's Drei Uhr in Wien,
Leute are sleeping tight,
when Wolfgang is playing
on the Klassiknacht.
*Drei Uhr - 3 o'clock, 3 am
*Wien - Vienna
*Leute -  people
*Klassiknacht - classic music show on Austrian radio Ö1
Peter B May 2018
Listening to Mozart
extends your life expectancy,
prolongs it
at least by eternity.
Inspired by Mozart's Symphonie Nr.40 in g-moll.
Dakota J Dawson Mar 2018
Oak and pine
Trailmix
Staff

Electric lights
Harsh sounds
Blue

Crystal gaze
Wax figurines
Limp with a twist

Metal and plastic
Compose a score
Mozart baking tragedy

Red begets the black
Summer fun
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