I carry my heart in a tight grip
With a melody, a symphony
That trembles out my lament
Of longing to be who I used to be
In hopes I change my path
To the one I am meant to be.

There’s a symphony
in her voice and it's playing
on all my heartstrings

10:19 PM
10/9/19

O! I went to the loo to do a number
    two
Only one cubicle was vacant, the rest
    they were all taken
"Looks like a full house today" I
     thought to myself
Man! I was bustin' to go
As I sat there on my throne in my
    cockpit all alone
There came this funny rumbling
    sound from down below
And then, this fearsome volley.... a  
    fantastic farting
And then, a great release
As finally I dropped my bombs with
    studious aplomb
O! what a relief !

"Man! ", I said to myself, " I must
      lay off that Aloe Vera juice
That stuff it goes right through you "
But then, something strange, from the
    cubicle right next to me
Came this other big thunderous ****
    explosion
A big fat blubbery balloony one
It sounded like a tuba gone wrong
And then! And then, another one! this
    one further down the line
This time a big bubble and squeaky
    one
And then! yet another! a funny little
    flute-ey one
Like it just squirreled out in the nick
    of  time
And then finally, another!!! a big Big
    Bellow like from some wonky
        trumpet
A real rasper, he must have thought he
    was doin' the solo
Man! It was so funny, one right after
    the other, you had to laugh
It was.... well, it was Gas !!!
Lucky no one struck a match
Or else it might have been... yea!
    Jumpin' Jack Flash !!!

It was like listening to a whole scale of
    *** notes
Such a strange symphony, these
    wondrous excursions in Sound
For a moment there, it reminded me a
     bit of Beethoven,
It was no celestial choir that's for sure
It was something altogether more dire,
Like something you'd hear in a
    farmyard byre
The animals all gathered at the trough
It was like all the bottoms were
    conversing with one another,
        having a chat
Plotting a rebellion even, an uprising,
    a coup d'etat
Against that other much more
    celebrated Opening
That much vaunted Hole in the Face,
    the Mouth!
That puffed up preening Prima Donna
    with his preposterous outpourings
His Monstrous, pompous inflated Self-
   importance
Sitting up there stuffing himself and
    forever spouting nonsense
"Sure, we do all the work down here",
  the Bottoms were saying, " and we
    talk a lot more sense as well"
They posed the question "Can a Bottom speak more Truth than a
    Mouth ?"
These defiant derrieres, these proud
    posteriors
With their proud exultations
Sticking a firm ******* up at that so-called world of respectability up
     there
That world of petrified good manners
Suffocating! Oppressing! with its
    stifling mores and traditions
Yea!....for sure, the rebel Masses, they
    were just a bunch of Bad *****.

O! the air it was blue just like Pepe Le
    Pew
I could have sworn I seen a big blue
    gaseous cloud ascending
Heading up toward the ceiling
Like a great Cloud of Unknowing
    except with a bit more foreboding
Reminded me of William Wordsworth
    & his lonely cloud a-wandering
But then I thought, did Wordsworth,
    Shelley or Keats ever write
An Ode to His **** ?
Was it too dark a side to show, too
    dark a place to go
The Dark Side of the Back Side
The Dark Side... of the Moon.

Pepe! Pepe Le Pew, that old Don Juan,
    Casanova of the old cartoons
It was then, my Love, it was then I
    thought of you
I smiled and said to myself"I know
    what I'll do
I'll blow out another sweet blue
    raspberry one just for you....
Oh yea!....that one was lovely, that one
    was true
I think that one had your name
    written on it
O!  I do".

And now as Pepe might say " Adieu! adieu!.....Sweet, sweet Adieu! ".

                       Ende

When my emotions are in disharmony
I do introspective-philosophy
to tune up my emotions
and conduct them
until they are a harmonious symphony.

Her voice
is softer
than the
moon, her
countenance
is that of a
fragile
symphony,
soaring
in her violin
song,
she is the
paralian
who lies
upon the
shore
and lets
the emerald
become her
dress and hair,
In the night
ocean, she
hears the
vague
waves of
memories
moving as
light in the
revolving
lanterns of
her mind,
the rose of
time opens,
she recollects
of how she was
the hidden petals
of the library,
delicate in the
secrecy of her,
beyond the old
books, within
her eyes, where
he saw the layers
of her rose
unfold before
the pages
she turned,
it was magical,
he thought,
of how the
small things,
the sea flower
of her secret
garden,
was once
revealed
to none,  
realized
only by
the one
who saw
with the
heart,
the clouds
became
words
unsung
in the gentle
glass silk
caressing
her fair hands,
she mused
upon where
to begin and
end, as she,
the wanderer,
returned from
her dreams,
she closed
her eyes,
through
time,
jazz,
space
and
healing,
the loner
awakens
in the shore
and sails,
holding
the stars
In her coffee
& a vintage
camera,
and it
echoed
to her,
what she
once said
to her lover,
the gentle of
how they
floated as
petals
above the
lotus
ponds,
in the
touching
of hands
and the
secret
she held
in the rose,
I will invite
you to hear
it’s whisper,
“to love is to be
as the water,
to the silver
song, you
will return.”

You were a symphony of stardusts
And I, a lost prismatic star
But you came to me
As if I was your constellation
As if I was your universe
You came to me
And suddenly,
I am drawn to your symphony