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Kenn Rushworth Oct 2019
I wake from a dream,
A dream in which I can sing,
My voice gritty yet powerful,
My chest full as the lights come in,
I go to speak in the waking world
Just a shiver of my sleeping sound falls out.
I am weak,
I am empty,
I am confused,
I am quiet,
My voice carries no further than the ring in my ears,
A chorus of noise crashes through me, unfiltered,
My walk and sound fades in rhythm and meaning,
I imagine my tired voice using the right words at the right pitch, tone, and timbre.
I lay down,
I do not sleep,
I do not cry,
I do not sing.
Keiya Tasire Oct 2019
See, smell, hold it, feel it,
Strum it, remember.
I see you  siting on the couch in the family room.
We are playing and signing together.

These are some of my happiest memories of you
This guitar, with it's four strings
With a rattling inside
Turning it from front to back
Back to front again and again
This 1938 Martin Tenor Guitar
My father held and played for hours
Weddings, family gatherings, holidays
And just because it was a Monday.
A family home for the evening - singing.
I was always the last one to leave.
"Play me another song, dad. Please!"

Rattling rattle, what's inside?
Turning, shaking
Reaching for the sound
Deep inside with my fingers
There it is! Got it!
What is it?

Look at this!
It's my dad's guitar pick!
A picture of a palm tree and  "Fender Heavy"
Stamped into an old plastic pick
Tucked into this Tenor Guitar for safe keeping.

Tears swelling to overflowing
Spilling from my eyes
I hear him picking, singing
It is so soothing.

To  His little girl's delight
Turning the guitar face side up
placing my left hand on the neck
Feeling, ******* the cords he taught me
Going through each one of them
One by one.
I loved this time with my father.
There are times I really miss him. He passed in 2003. These memories keep him strong within the love of my heart.
Enas Sep 2019
27th. August. 2014

Once, a promise..

Stronger, kinder and wiser..

A silent seeker..

Today, a creed..

Tenacious, gracious and sagest..

A singing sophist..
MisfitOfSociety Sep 2019
I cut a peep hole in space,
Enough to squeeze my fingers through.
I pull it open and wrap its fabric around me,
To gain a better view.

Feeling the stars rotate around my center point,
A cosmic spider’s web stretching out infinitely.
Scaling the web like morning dew.
The stars beat in rhythmic poetry.
I sing to them and they sing to me,
We are all singing in harmony.

It is all balanced and perfect,
Sway to the music.

Sorting to find it in the storm.
Be an instrument in its hands,
Sing its melody through your chords,
Let the sound fill your center,
Let it bounce around and out of you,
To touch the hearts and minds around you.

Is this separate or is this my reflection?
In everything I see myself,
Echoing through the gaps between particles of inner space,
Staring right at God’s face.

The universe is singing to me.
That old sweet melody.
Sway to the rhythm of the music,
Let it pass through body, mind and spirit!

Accept this holy gift and sway to the music!

I can hear the hum of Saturn,
Resonating within me.
The stars they sing out,
Verses of a remedy.

I am,
An instrument,
In its hands.
Sway to,
The music,
In its hands.

Sway to the music,
Witness every in-between scenes behind the moment!
KJ Reed Aug 2019
Sing for me,
wether good or bad,
cracked or too high pitched,
through tears or anger,
because I just want
to hear your voice,
in all the ways your voice
can sing or sound.
Danny C Jul 2019
You'll find sparrows, my mother said
Not in the thick,
nor the deep dark
canopies of the woods

You will find them, in droves,
at the ends of tree lines,
busy, busy—always busy
whether in song or with a twig

You will find them in coves
perched upon the green vines,
busy, busy—always busy
calling out upon a sprig

They are small when alone
like me,
in the long, silent hours of my nights
But in the morning they are a chorus
reminding you of all the work yet begun

So, go, find yourself a tree
You'll find sparrows when you're done
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