That night, I heard
the violin.
Between staves of
leaves,
string-encrusted frills,
I heard a violin,

not cry, not sing, but
dream.
I heard a violin dream.

Before long, after
soon,
I heard the violin.
Between shifting, fleeting,
mindful things,
I heard a violin,

fitted unmathematically
within a memory.

so much music and there are clouds outside coloring the sky grey (or is it gray no I'm not British) and the green trees contrast against it like black notes on a sheet of pale white music.

music is pale white and thick black but more color is drawn from it than from anything else on earth.  grey skies are like sheets of music and I find more color in them than in the sunshine.  clearly I am eager to please eager to learn but perfection is hard is humanly impossible and music is all about perfection.

SO MANY BE VERBS

my violin professor smells like green naked juice and something sweet and over-chewed mint gum while his short nailed fingers tiptoe accurately onto pitches I awkwardly slide into. my fingers are shuffling like an introvert dancing to the YMCA in public for the first time.  I am deeply humiliated by my incompetence.  sometimes I want to cry when his pitches mock mine but somehow I remain placid which is rare for me.

baile baile baile black dots and rain drops
crescendos and silver painted toes
sad eyes and arpeggio tries

someone said music is the most intricate concept in the world.  it connects the whole brain and captivates controls enthralls the movements of the body so frustrating I want to pull my hair out.  

extraordinary be extraordinary be EXTRAORDINARY they all scream into my bleeding ears and I crumble because carrying that responsibility is impossibly euphoric and tragic

proof proof I demand proof that I am alive

As the sun rises
At the edge of oblivion
I stood here with the intent of plummeting
This heart wavering at its end
Barely pumping 
My soul no longer at its pasture

Wait,
What is this? What’s this sound? A tune?
A sudden melodic presence staggered my senses
Awoke from my nightmare of fatuous melancholy past
This tune
This melody
This beautiful presence
Brought my soul back to innocence

I can see her
But I couldn't see her face
Her fire sparks as she plays
I can feel her entity-
Rupturing every part of my enmity
She’s in this glass with infinite bright
The lark who saves every norm from falling
Igniting her flames to those in need

But I did fall
I fell hard
Not to my demise
But for this girl with the violin

And I feel alive
For the first time
I feel alive.


@Erennwrites

Her nails skittered across his violin-heart
Plucking the strings to sound a lonely melody
And when he reached out to do the same
They made a beautiful symphony.

Do, re, tiring **me.
Fa, So, Latte sounds good.
A sale on tea?
Do ti la "So, how are your scales going?"
My teacher calls; he wants to know.

"FAr from REady." I admit.
I tried to practice steady,
but starbucks had a sale today, so I quit.

"You'll never make the grade like that;
Devote every hour" He says with a glower.
"Go practice your bow. Coffee can wait."
He's right of course, but I still take the bait.

How's a coffee-enthusiast like me
expected to practice enthusiastically?
What's a violinist without caffeine to keep his lights turned to "go"?
When Starbucks conspires to take all my hard earned DOugh?

Satan plays the violin; the same shape and tone as mine.
The devil passes time in Hell by playing fiddle,
and if I had to guess; I think that's the reason why
he knows the answer to life's riddle,
because its trilling's the only feeling filling
enough to get away with that beautiful lie.
It drowns the screams of the ****** that died;
                                                                ­          and briefly
                                                         ­                     tells us we are still alive.

you chuckle and say
your welcome
when i thank you for holding open the door
you blush and say
thank you
as i ask you
if you could play me more
you shuffle and  question
if i want to go see a movie
you grin and say
for you anything
when i ask you to accompany
me on the violin
you grimace and say
of course not
when i ask you if you're angry
you smile and say
i love you
and i smile
and tell you
that your smile
is why I fell
for you

its the small things that
entice me to you
the way your glasses
kiss your cheekbones
the way you blush
when I cant
contain my stare
the way
your
voice is deeper than the pacific
and you are
as tall
as the leaning tower
I love how you
are scared of spiders
because I am too
I love that bone that gently emerges
when you
play violin
first chair
but that bone
entices me
almost as much as your smile
because you
fill the sum of your parts
with music

Subtle melody, find solace

as fingers ride the wind like wings.
Side walk top hats are my wallet,
as heartache grips the listening crowd
and just like that, the wind too sings
along with my torn fingered strings,
that fly like heartache sung aloud,
and come alive like Spring.

My fingers know which notes to tear away.
The violin knows what wind it needs for tune.
I'll rest the base against my neck and play,
Street corners my rehearsal room,
in coldest winter or sunniest spring;
In frigid night, in scorching day,
I'll play. My blistered fingers know the way.

Seasons come and go astray.
Plucking fingers freeze and burn.
But everywhere by bow resolves to turn,
the wind follows, waiting for my word;
His cue to take the stage and sing
songs that come alive like Spring
and my smiling fingers know which string
will permit the wind be heard.

The days where i'm shy,
I call my friend along,
I speak through him
and he speaks through me

He knows how  I see things,
as he sees things the way I see it,
If you know your instrument well,
you'd  understand what im saying

So when day comes to present and show,
We dont feel that we are letting go,
we are a team.
and what we do, we do it together.

If you know your instrument well,
you'd  understand what i'm saying