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Mikel 4d
Pour your torment on the page and let the sound leak out of you

Your music bleeds out of your veins and it’s so personal, so emotional, how could people keep from resonating with it?

So now, you get to perform the same recurring nightmare every night. Reopening the wound you couldn’t heal.
at last something broke you
and that something, it was you
you were closing your eyes
you were seeing it through

you blew up and sold
the world outside and within
and i fell on your black day
you showed me how to live

you showed me how to die
and no matter how hard i try
to stare at the sun
it is black to my blind eyes

and suddenly my eyes are open
somehow things begin to focus
high

we are all illuminated
light is shining on our faces
blind

until our rapture
falls to pieces

these are stolen
bits and pieces



new york is hot
how i loathe where i'm living
Bharata, you fought
now it's i who is giving
up
and now fly

now fly from your empty cage, girl
you are rust and the sky
always killing the bird
see, i am the night
jesus christ i suppose
see, i am the light

i don't mean to remind you
of anything you gave me in song
you blessed my muse with your light
what you did was so wrong

the light in us was darkness
how the night is so long
light a fire, wait for summer
we black stars wander on

smoldering embers
september's come and gone
here comes my december
half beast
and half gone



broken and cold
but all is still holy
Hallelujah, and through you
yes everything, holy

did we want it darker
so you turned out the light?

now i'm doing time
playing with meter and rhyme
longing to be in the house
of my own secret life

until the sea must free us
i'll wait for you there
you came just to see us
all we sailing where?

all of us sailors
rowers, keep rowing
now no light is showing
now the danger's approaching

row gently, never gently!
upstream to ignite
row never gently!
rage at that night!

oh captain, my lying captain
turn around and take me home
a long time ago
i thought you'd died alone

everybody knows this boat's leaking
all the white horses stopped sleeping
the ponies stopped running
i the band just keep playing
though the girls now are aging

lilac wine, sweet and heady
how my hand is unsteady
how aghast and unready
like my love that is ending
like the last night you danced me

when the music was over
you turned out the lights
you kissed me goodnight
with a thousand goodbyes

still in my dreams you walk dripping
from the sea where i'm slipping
from the sea that shall free me
to my hut that is ripping
through the masterpiece
tripping

how my soul is worn thin
i can't even begin
to speak
so i'll speak no more

and if it be your will
i'll sink beneath your wisdom
like a stone

like a stone
i'll wait for you there

alone
Kate longshaw Feb 21
The Beatles are your jam,
I like pink Floyd.
I see the music scam,
Controlled and devoid!
My idols, once much loved,
Such talent, what sounds!
Their ***** hands once gloved,
Their lows know no bounds.
How epically great they are.
How cool and unique,
Each one such a shining star.
Now I see how they're weak.
They'll no doubt be exceptions,
Won't follow the the rule,
Most built on deceptions,
I'll sing and dance like a fool!
Can't unhear such lyrics,
Nor forget their beats.
Won't break into hysteria,
Nor allow such defeats.
To whom would I get my groove on?
What song would I belt?
Ok so it's all just such a con,
Songs I've grown up with and felt...
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2016
A minyan is an assembly of ten Jews.  With ten present, the group can perform a fuller service, adding congregational prayers that an individual alone cannot say, and in heaven, received, as if from a 
more powerful, unified voice.

~~~
Satan laughing with delight at the happy news,
unusually proud of his soul-retrieving,
red state minions,
having scored late in the '16 season,
a long awaited prize,
a high priest of music, a hallelujah singer
just come  cross the borderline,
once a mere earth bound legend,
now to be mockingly enjoyed
in this, his legendary peculiar tier of heaven
~
a banner year it was, a cornucopia of new arrivals,
singers, songwriters, composers, conductors, rock 'n rollers,
itinerant blues musicians,
who as a rule, were not the most faithful observers
of the Ten Commandments and its host of detailed relatives
~
body and drug abusers,
of traditional morals, not such big users,
and as for their *** lives,
best not discussed in front of the baby devils,
just quite yet
~
all this made for easy "pluckings,"
as he smiled devilishly, his own ironic sense of humor,
an added delight for the new American Pie
that would forever serenade him henceforth
~
indeed this Leo-nine most new arrival,
intensifies the pleasure,
for deep in this one had waxed the god-spark,
his own fractured demise,
now allowing the cracks of light to be closing,
lessening by an immeasurable fraction
the despised joy to the world
-
then a raucous rustling heard,
a voice unseen but siren penetratingly heard proclaiming:

**** you Satan,
this time you've gone too far!

return unto me them all,
for you have overstepped the boundaries I have constructed
when birthed I the universe so long ago

these children, mine,
for though they were not perfect in their lives,
they perfected ever so much my designs,
the world I granted them,
with their music, voice and hands,
absolving them of all their sins

Surrender to me them all!

my Prince,
my lion, Cohen, high priest of my temple,
my haggard and worn Merle,
the greyed and Frey'd eagle, Glenn,
Natalie, daughter of the Earth King of Cole,
my rose of Sharon Jones,
my Emerson and my Lake,
Leon Russell,
my white bearded russet
who wrote 'A Song For You,'
the Duchess, Patty,
my Bobby Vee,
the first ro see
'the night has a thousand eyes,'
Frank Sinatra Jr., his fathers torch bearer,
my David, my right arm, my Bowie knife carrier,
who fell from heaven and needs returning unto me,
mine own Kanter, Jeffersonian pilot of my Airplane,
my Michael, George,
my Martin, George,
who never sang a word
but gifted us some Beatles,
My black and White Maurice,
who reignited the Earth, with Wind and Fire

all these mine and all the musicians of this year,
they have died, but not their music,
now to join my heavenly chorus,
my musicians' minyan
Second of a trilogy, but the first one posted,
about Leonard Cohen

Kohen or cohen (or kohain; Hebrew: כֹּהֵן‎, "priest", pl. כֹּהֲנִים‎ kohanim) is the Hebrew word for priest used colloquially in reference to the Aaronic priesthood. Jewish kohanim are traditionally believed and halakhically required to be of direct patrilineal descent from the biblical Aaron. The term is colloquially used in Orthodox Judaism in reference to modern day descendants of Aharon, brother of Moses.

Among the few remaining responsibility of a cohen today is the chanting of the priestly  blessing in the synagogue on high holy days in a special tune, instantly recognizable  by every Jew.   When the  Jewish priest chants the blessing, the Spirit of God is presumed to become present in the synagogue, and all bow their heads, fathers cover their children's eyes, lest one witness  god's image. Ironically, the special way that a cohen extends his arms and holds his fingers in a V  shape, was borrowed by another Canadian Jew, Leonard Nimoy, as inspiration for Spock's  greeting.

see en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing

see
//jewcy.com/jewish-arts-and-culture/leonard-nimoy-vulcan-salute-yiddish
Phi Kenzie Aug 2018
They start as a single
before moving to unity
a chorus of chortles
to those who listen for that

It’s hard not to
when they rehearse in your right ear
and perform in the left

You said that they could
lent them the key
thought about drowning out
with a little symphony

What a ******* mistake that was
August
and all the bugs are looking for love
faeri Aug 2018
Think about it...

Nothing is sweeter than two poets writing about each other.

Nothing is happier than two musicians playing for each other.

Nothing is more amazing than two singers singing to each other.

Nothing is more beautiful than two artists painting for each other.

Although, the best is still two humans living for each other.
Lillian May Jun 2018
a musician
a symphony
he can feel it                 finger by finger.
when he plays it he is singing it inside his mind.
          he said
"There's a pretty good chance I'll never get anywhere."
he puzzles me. he seems to have forgotten already
that he ever was such a person that may have significance.
no concept of him as he was; valuable.
          Well,
just for fun I wrote about the details of him
quiet and humble and letting the music speak for him
though he thought any voice of his small
whether from his mouth or his instrument
but I could hear him just fine
My friends like to make jokes about how I only date guys that look ***
Don't laugh, because it's partially true
I like long hair,
That's probably problem number one,
But I just want something to run my fingers through, something to braid when I'm bored

It's also probably because I fall in love with musicians
My ideal man is Roger from Rent
A guitar playing, napkin lyric writing heroine addict
Yes, I fell in love with him when I was 12
Sweet addiction,
Cigarettes and leather were always my thing
D, N, and A are the initials of my first infatuations. I do not concider them first loves.
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