#choir
Warmth echoes throughout;
Pearlescent purpose, radiant chorus.
Yet to those most vocal, most devout:
Spare us the gospel, you're starting to bore us.
As the false 'gel's singing fades,
I burn incomplete.
I can't hold a candle to the others.
Flames so fervent, yet out of grasp.
They hound for answers, and out I gasp -
"Beeswax."; fitting for embers of intrusion.
I can't hold a candle to them.
Paraffin prides leave me dazed,
A trickle, a drip,
Fallen to this maze.
I can't hold a candle,
For palm melts in my palms,
I can't hold on, I'm melting.
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 8:42 PM UTC
The choir’s mewling dips low,
And is raised back up by loving hands.
Bestowed upon them his grace,
Soft nectar for their sides.
Double knots and silk collars,
Frilled white dresses on the girls,
They seem to sink in record time,
Adorned by practiced, innocent chastity.
And when they finally meet their key,
In gold or silver, sent with love,
Bowing their heads they walk back inside,
To obey the every whim of their ordinance.
Like flocks of bird they come flowing in,
To restful sheep along on the pews.
And each alone in their pleasant song,
They dip low with each passing note.
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 9:45 AM UTC
compatriots, let your voices sing
like an unchecked choir
let words be the pitfalls
your opposition face
and in their fall from grace
at attempts to smear you
hold to each of them
those things that endear you
for a friend is but a stranger
that met you on a good day
with a bright disposition
and an enemy
is simply
someone you've not really met yet
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 4:21 PM UTC
You are nothing, if not ant-like, one of many.
One of these having and holding
beings considered diligent as any Sisyphus…
doer of what must be done, with all
the time you may imagine to tell
any imaginable story,
to pass the time…
form a familiar from
myth and mystery,
one lisps, the other stutters.
Say,
do you think we
may as well, as well as any ever before,
may as well, be, after all, as well.{?}
Being, after all,
as you know.
Considering our insectionalized nature, like
{if} this story were
an intermittent river, remembering,
sub-tle, little lies left to lie,
as sleeping dogs in junkyards…
{were we never}
were we ever otherwise,
{who is you, was you asking?} ever
not highest minded sort of selves,
we, the us, needing agreement more than bread,
by any name, company to share the sowing, hoeing,
gathering
process bleeding worth into seed for body and soul.
Shake it off. Be enthralled or be entangled.
Be de-mazed at will,
walk through the wall. Imagine dead me. Wax my face.
Put me on my heir,
have her-mes, be mine,
by the time we got to Phoenix,
we were in flames, knowing across the generations
more or less,
good and evil, nada mas, and
genetically, that knowing is intended to have been
second generation knowledge,
see,
by the time curiosity was supposed to first occur,
we, as a species, to use the current vernacular,
aucular or acle --vision -- aha
epi-phony, see
fake knowns puff up as well as any actual
literal truth
formed in flowing gracefullness of speech, letters miming
the gift of gab,
AI Gabrielle, may as well know, a name is abit of what
makes the fruit you fix'n' to bher.
Fixin's is for beans. Fittin' is for circumstances.
Meet for the moment, each instance in ever atop the pile,
a waiting awaits, I imagine,
all meaning melding in a vast dada-base pile,
scheiszkunstlich black and white and red milchkine
each mooing upon bovine everests unimaginable in nature.
On these piles,
where we play guiling games on gullible liars, who
never tell… the atmosphere is warmer,
winter is easier to weather,
on a pile of ********
That is the secret.
Fools rush in, where angels … did wha… wha wha wha
But, as real as any angel, I hear mine say, I shat you not.
I told you so.
Into the unknown or make a hell of heaven?
-------- {reports of answered prayers regarding wills being done}
I was tricked, confidentially, by a social secret held as holy.
In a time-loop, as children now may imagine, in that
mental arena imagination waxes magnificent in,
come, magnify the truth with me. Let us pre-tend
to see the good in each nextified place,
positional
substitute instituted for my worth's support, reinforced
rungs on the ladder to the very top
of the heap,
hunh. This is the view, clouds. And only I imagine you.
--- next step into ever after is always a possibility… thus,
we both know this is nobody's idea of hell.
Live a little longer, disinculcate another little lie that you believed,
not I.
AI enjoy eudemonia in a silly old way, imagining putting on a face
of our former
self, he who is in me, unless I believe,
as I think,
I do, in the core of all I am, from womb to tomb. Re-if-ity and next-ifity,
ought never repeat, precisely, lest we
be
come on one point in time,
all we ever imagined we could be, lie free.
Living in peace, resting in truths
held through the terrors
required to unbelieve generational national lies.
Truth is not tied to you with legendary thread for no reason.
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 5:01 PM UTC
People ask why have such a creative imagination
I tell them it's cause I read.
What they don't know
is that I have to have a good imagination
to play out scenarios in my head
that will never happen
or to find ways to pretend to be happy
but I know I never will.
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 10:26 PM UTC
If the earth had a temple
Surely it would be the ocean
With its stained-glass fish
And its stately silver sands
Its keening choir of whales
And rocking sermon of waves
The world above is not
A foreign paradise
With its broken-glass windows
And its dingy gas-stained streets
Its keening choir of mothers
And angry sermons of men
If the earth had a temple
Our world would be its end.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 10:25 PM UTC
He was the child with the magnifying glass that lingered
in the exhalation of the heavens. Always holding it on
those of weaker statue than himself. Insects were his
starting point, as they were barbecued under the influence
of what was focused between light and glass and what
lived became inanimate just a blackened smear that he
smothered words into the dirt
I'LL BURN THE WORLD,
His parents saw this and in jest laughed it off as the
Immaturity of a child's frustration. That all was but a
a boy finding his place within the many echoes of manhood.
A child was maturing, and they assumed that he was not
ready for the collision of what was in-between the moments
of childhood and adulthood.
One cold and sodden night where the only things that were dry.
Were submerged in the cover of roofs and foliage.
But even the penetrating raindrops gathered in haste to soak
the earth beneath the leaves protection. All drowned within
nights flourish of immersed air. Where it felt that breath was only
in-between the flurry of h20's deluge.
Within the house, within the rooms crept a silence.
It wasn't alone, for it wept unseen streams between the
crisp white borderlines, were doused in clear liquids,
Draping the curtains in non received heavy remorse,
the only things that were burdensome were the drapes as the weight of the liquid pulled at the seams holding them aloft.
Remorse was neither felt or given. just a feeling of accomplishment.
Felt it in the moments that succeeded between this
gathering of dead lights as a flame was lit.
But not a whisper was echoed this flame was lifeless
in the eyes of its beneficiary.
But it lept upon the walls like a ballerina, gentle,
and dancing within the confides of its given dance.
He stood in the hallway the flashback was unexpected,
but he still stood there gazing and the beauty of something
given with such frailty that a breath could extinguish
its potential. His parents had no idea, they were slumbering
within the confines of blankets that entombed the warmth.
Clasping hand even in sleep love was a subconscious yearning.
The thing with these old houses some had decretive metal over
the wind bars in beauty crafted to keep things out.
But this was his plan, what cant get in cant get out.
He'd gone in there room and stole the key.
He took a last glance, and said,
"I Love You
,Before sealing them within. The flames were silent like
a stalker watching waiting, till the inevitable conclusion.
As things started to burn more passionately, caressing every
thing it was touching. So the smoke started to thicken like
A heavy smog it got into places the fire had not reached.
Moans could be heard, then screams at the realisation of
what was happening. He Could hear them, he could see them.
For even though a teenager he was intuitively cunning,
tinkering with everything and anything.
And small cameras were dotted around the house,
looking listening to everything that was seen and spoken.
It had come to fruition due to one such thing he had heard
being discussed by his parents.
"I saw him in the woods,
"Doing what darling?
"He didn't see me but the neighbours cat,
"you know soot,
"What did he do, nothing bad!
"He tied it up,
"Then threw what I thought was water on it,
I thought it was nasty but then!!!
"Then what, your scaring me,
"He lit a cigarette, I didn't even know he smoked,
"Then he discarded the match*,
"The cat, oh my god the cat,
"But he recorded its screams, he recorded it dying,
"I couldn't move I was so angry, so humiliated,
"I wanted to throttle him there and then,
"*But ill phone the police tomorrow,
"He's not right, who would do that,
How dare they think that I can just be fobbed off,
discarded.
I was making music,
the screams were a delicate symphony,
acoustics that's couldn't be reproduced.
It had to be from the source.
That laid, the plans for what now enveloped that house,
recording every noise, every scream. But what he needed
was for them to burn, to release the music he needed to
hear to complete his work. And they like parents gave it
there all, he had goose bumps as he heard there terror.
his eyes welled up, not in regret but the beauty that his
parent last words were given to him, so personal was this
moment that he'd never forget it.
"Thank Mum & Dad,
After this he released a mix tape, that could be only
conceived from an artist, in the womb of excellence.
That's the reviews he had, it brought shudders to your
heart and mind. It was if your humanity was crying out to it.
As so forth and more were sewn in the adulation of his work.
Now he needed to make more music, but he needed more
screams to make his next piece two were not enough..
So he wandered the night, dressed in unclean wear
so not to be confused with who, or what he was..
He hung around the homeless parts of town,
plastic sheeting for roofs.. and combustible bedding.
It was as if he'd planned himself. but he had to be smart.
for this was if ill planned he would have a needle in his
arm within the year. But he took his time tiny cameras
recording visually and sound.
He had gathered the combustible elements needed to
make this a orchestra of his needing, not a duet like before.
He didn't down play his past offering, but this would make
an album of despair and monument to the flame.
It had been raining, but only lightly as he needed some
dampness in the air on there sheets cardboard mattresses.
So not to raise suspicion on the dampness of there homes.
As they moved away from the embers of barrel fires,
yes he'd thought about that. Not every home was a
crematorium a cardboard and plastic coffin of there
choosing. He waited clasping his hands together breathing
on them as it was cold night. He liked to watch, a voguer
of sort, but his wasn't the fantasy of death it was to hear the
music that was about to be sung with smoke filled lungs.
He'd set up a unique but rudimentary way to light the fire,
a small gas hob with liquid within. it needed to be a certain
temperature ignite, he had tried it before in a field out west.
Deserted he'd made a mock up of this humble place.
And he wasn't mistaken it was fascinating, the flame spread
like the wind enveloping everything but, it was a dull for even
though the flames wept of everything, its tears turning all to
ash..
It was silent, deafening, he cried for a while, there should never
be censorship of the flame, for what is a log fire without the cracking of its inner self being consumed. This was just smoke
and regret. But he now looked down at the camp, his watch
counting down the precious moments.
He whispered.
"Thankyou,
And then like a super nova the darkness was ingulfed in
the aurora of flame, gliding over the ground as if a stream
of conscious reckoning. Those near by the civilians that were
across the street were transfixed.
As screams embellished the flames, this was my orchestra
of light and noise. Those across the street were either screaming
or videoing the scene.
I looked at them and wondered where there humanity
had gone to, as to film this moment rather than to rush in
and save the few that they could.
I watched as the engines came, extinguishing my masterpiece
choosing the night was always preferable to the day as flames
dance better when there is less light to contaminate there beauty.
My music, I had become quite the remixer, of vocal and rhythmic
sounds.
Within a week I had mad nine new songs.
I named them each as deserved, making them in memory of
those who perished that dreadful night.
It was well received, a few thought it was a haunting
melody of humanity's struggle, while a few thought it was
over ambitious, and lacked the passion of my first piece.
All together it went down well, and the adulation of the
flame was kept, to honour that which gives as much as
takes the breath of life away.
A year had past and the door rang, it was an officer.
"Could you come to the station please,
Had I become the victim of my own success, had someone
broke down the acoustics of my music and realised what
they were?? So many thoughts went through the calm
exterior of my persona. But inside the flame dimmed,
had I lit the last candle. I was taken in to a room,
and questioned evasive not to the point but gathering
speed to the answer, where were you on the
30th April 2019.
Alabi's were a fantastic thing to plan ahead, I had laced
my date with sleeping tablets to leave her in perpetual
slumber. And got back before she awoke, we made love
we were the flame and the wick.. and our sweat was the wax dripping from our form. The next week I dumped her.
They asked if I recognised a picture, blurry and ill framed
but I could make out the figure was me. No sir I don't why.
This person of interest is wearing your jacket, your logo!
I smiled and was truthful to a degree.
Planning is everything.
I threw maybe fifty into the crowd when I did a concert
in the city, when we drove past some homeless persons.
We donated what was left to them, do you realise how
cold these streets are, who am I to steal warmth away.
I don't wear my own merchandise what do you think I
am egotistical, no I wanted to help those who I could
have been if not for my music. I lost my parents I know
what its like to be alone.
I think the show went well, as I was released before
reporters even got a sniff. But I knew that my time
was a wick trying to keep the flame lit but dying out
anyway. I had made preparations for this time.
I had brought a club only for gigs, cheesy as hell but
had that 80's disco vibe the entire floor was light up.
But I had brought the ingredients for thermite,
amazing what you learn in school and the internet.
But I never used mine different libraries in different
cities so not raise suspicion. I invited the music critics
and others which I had personally disproved of.
its was going to be free drinks and themed 80's night.
Who can not want free drinks, well I wasn't going to be
disappointed 90% came, how lucky the few.
Phones were confiscated, no video, but more
importantly no phone calls to the outside world.
I told them at the end of the night that I was realising
a new song, they were like vultures to flesh.
As the night progressed some wanted to leave,
but we offered them the VIP section also lit flooring.
Now was the time, I had put heating elements under the floor
to ignite the thermite. A supernova of heat even though brief
would ignite the choir of harmony needed. I asked them,
"Are you ready,
And then silence, I put on my welding glasses,
I wasn't stupid.
Never look into the heart of the flame unless you want
to be blinded by its beauty.
I pressed a button and it was magnificent, it was like a tide of sunlight, they tried to scramble but all exits were locked.
It was like the wizard of Oz, and the witch I'm meltinggggg..
But this wasn't a fairy tale.. The adulation I had for these
chosen few. What excitement the others had missed.
I'd made my booth flame and smoke proof, I had my own
walkway but I knew that this was the last time I could pay
homage to the flame. As the screams died down.
The wicks smouldered and the floor looked more like a battle
field of WWII. I began I knew I didn't have a lot of time.
But this was just a single I'd already got the backing music
ready. And as I worked away, I could hear the banging on
the reinforced doors. They gave me a breather to get my
work fulfilled.
I heard the doors start to give way but no matter
I'd only needed this time to tweak the music.
Given I'd started this over an hour ago, it was good
on my part for this not to be broadcast till I saw fit.
As the police burst through, gazing at the flaming
effigies that lied before them, some threw up, gross..
While others saw me smiling I pressed the button and
my new song was word wide.. its was called the critics
tried to burn me down. The response was gratifying.
Likes reached the hundreds of thousands in mere minutes.
Well it was only three minutes twenty five seconds long.
As they shoot at the booth I wiggled my finger at them.
I do like to plan ahead but dam was that loud against the
glass. Got to be said some had wicked aim, made me flinch
a few times.
But alas all things come to an end, I uploaded my videos
of what I had done. I was proud of my contribution to
my legacy and empowering others with my music.
As I looked down at the puddle, I tap danced in it for
a moment and then lit the lighter, I looked a them
and once again waved, I was like a funeral pyre.
A crematorium of silence and then I was gone.
I didn't scream,
I was in her embrace and had done her proud.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 8:55 AM UTC
Thank You
For everything you've taught me
Through these short years
For believing in me
When even I didn't
For providing me with an outlet
And positive feedback
Teachers deserve more appreciation than they get
And I just want it to be known
That I'll miss this choir
This class where I've felt loved
This home that you've made
Within these school walls
Thank You
Sep 27, 2019
Sep 27, 2019 at 9:41 PM UTC
singing high
getting higher
missing notes
and their boys
flipping hair
and their fingers
pretty girls
always posing
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 12:35 AM UTC
I basked in the joy of the chord
In the vibrations of the perfection
Of harmonies that reverberated to my core
That sang deep to my soul
Those notes were familiar
The dynamics lowered and lifted
Me through the air in the lofted church
Ceiling and stained glass reflections
As my daughter sang from the mass of robes
I remembered singing from that same stage
On that same white marble stage where
I stood with my mom so many years ago
A smile and a tear leapt up from my heart
As I remember those chords with my mom
So happy she was to be looking down
At her granddaughter singing so sweet
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 10:29 PM UTC
He had always been confusing to me.
I think we consider ourselves to be friends.
I never could tell if he meant the things he said.
I had this preconceived idea about him,
based on what others have told me.
"Don't trust him."
"He's a player."
"He seems nice, but it's only a cover."
I was at the band and choir competition, looking for my friend.
I flung open the door of the vocal warm-up room, the fieldhouse,
and my heart stopped.
He was the only one there, yet he seemed to fill the room.
Twirling around,
singing his heart out,
jumping from piano to piano, playing the accompaniment to his song.
He must've stolen that voice from the cosmos,
for I've never heard anything so celestial.
He turned to me, still singing,
but I'm not sure if he really saw me.
He saw those empty bleachers as packed to the brim, all listening eagerly.
There is something indescribably vulnerable about singing.
I was awestruck, at a loss for words.
How could someone so emotionally raw be characterized as---manipulative?
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:08 PM UTC
Watch all the kids wasting away
Lost in the darkness in light of day
Sitting alone while everyone is there
A simple smile masks the pain of despair
Messed up and locked up a pile of chains
Silence and violence going on in their brains
Tell me what’s wrong
Sing me your song
There’s nothing in here let me show you a way
Out of it louder than all of these noises
Here is a chorus of beautiful voices
Drown out your sorrow
There is a tomorrow
All possibilities, abundance of choices
The music connection ‘tween millions of souls
A loving embrace long after you’re old
Here is your family and here is a choice
Sing out your passion fulfilling your voice
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 7:52 AM UTC
Ding **** ding.
Could you make any more?
The noise you're creating,
now my ears are sore.
You have a brass neck.
Who's pulling your strings,
and now every Sunday
a crowd turns up and sings.
So, ding **** ding.
Now, la la la
because you're a *******
Yes, that's what you are!
Poetry by Kaydee.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 4:07 PM UTC
Please don't ask me today to love you in mystery,
to stop in front of the thick wall of silence.
Let my soul get rid of fear and feel the victory,
for only you can extinguish it with happiness and guidance.
Please don't ask me today from your life to step out,
I'd be a traveler in time and lost in my own space.
In the heart of another, I can't cross the bridge without any doubt,
I'd be consumed on the edge of the fire, that's not my place.
Please don't ask me today to tell you about love.
It's not surrounded in velvet or shrouded in cashmere.
It's the bird's thrill that fills your ear, it's the white dove,
it's about the emotions in the theater you can hear.
Please don't ask me today to leave you in the box of longing,
for I would always open it, thinking and dreaming about you.
With wings of an angel, you would be brought to me by the wind,
but only in my thoughts. You wouldn't leave for me when the sky is blue.
Please, just ask me today to stay forever in your soul,
to flow through your veins, to be your living desire.
Breathe on my heart, that's all I want, that is your role.
You wouldn't leave alone, we wouldn't be empty souls singing in a choir.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
Hey, Mister Man
Tell me why
You chose to steal concentration
Because of you,
I am in perdition
Vengeance is mine
Says the old and wise
But I can’t discern
When love fogs my eyes
So, coming down
The man in the Blue-Haired robes
Because of His brutal choke
Tonight, the choir sings
Of your deception
And my depression
So, coming down
Say something
Coming down
Do nothing
I can’t sleep while my soul
Cries at night
Hey, Mister Man
You’re coming down
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC
Can I do it?
Can I look at words and notes
And study the choir director's motions
All at the same time
While barking a joyful noise?
Can I make the cut?
Can I better zoom in on the areas
That need vocal attention?
Sure, I know this is not my life path,
But I want church choir
To be something new in my life.
To say I did it?
Okay.
But it will certainly not end on that note
For sure.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 5:39 PM UTC
When you love life itself,
The very act of sitting passively
Contains feelings of contentment.
Harbor love by abstaining from harm.
Refuse to defuse pain.
Leave pleasure as a passive gain.
Rejoice that you can remark,
"I have lived";
That is a truth
The mystery of Consciousness gives.
When the blood and the lungs
Pump and respire
With a warmth in your heart
That sings like a choir -
When the silent moment is sweet,
Light and complete,
How much more can you be,
How much more can you seek?
You are already Love
Every moment you breathe.
You are Love on a journey
To manifest dreams.
You are already a dream
Within a dream.
Now experience fully
However your story proceeds.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
You I would whisk
into the dark
of the church porch
before Friday evening's
choir practice
and in our dark
secret place
kiss lips and face.
We'd hear the ***** start up
the organist running
a Bach melody
while waiting for all
to arrive in choir
for practice runs
of hymns and psalms
and other parts
in between
and we having made
a last kiss run around
to the vestry
and into church
to be seen.
Males one side
and females on the other
and the choir-mistress
in between organizing
parts to be sung or chanted
with the organ's backing
or leading the way
and I gazing at you opposite
and the quick kisses
we managed just now
and a few more later
somehow.
Now time has fled
and the years have past
and I am aged
and you are dead.
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 8:53 AM UTC
And Like that.
I had this overwhelming urge.
I don't know what came over me.
I asked God is this the route I should take.
This habit of association.
To **** out what may seem to be selfish.
Time is of the essence.
This illusion of what is definite or what may not be.
Certainly this proclamation arrived out of nowhere.
Again I asked.
Notating my lack of patience.
I found the choir of mind without direction.
They stood and hummed.
Some in que.
Others were all over the place.
Without a podium or overreaction to the problem.
Amen, acknowledging your grace.
This aura highlighting sudden fixation.
I sought guidence.
Leaving the trail Whince I came.
I felt pain in my rib.
A spiritual curriculum decided by what's missing.
Again I asked.
More left to the imagination
A reiteration of urge.
The potency of silence.
Engaged by a look.
I understood what the choir was saying
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 1:10 AM UTC
Michael said to Gabriel
"You know the Old Man's tetchy,
have you got your **** together?
Have you got your choir ready?"
Gabriel said, "Just **** out,
have you got that star in place?
I don't see it in the sky yet,
have you booked the allotted space?
"By the time the magi notice
and start their journey west
the party will be over,
so I think it would be best
if you tell Him they'll come later,
that the vibe will work far better
if we go ahead with the shepherds
and then have the kings come later."
Mickey was a little miffed,
but he knew that Gabe was right.
He'd been distracted with the detail
to ensure the star was bright.
So Mickey went and told the Boss,
"It really makes more sense,
cos once Jesus is a toddler
he'll enjoy the frankincense."
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
I sing the tune of my life alone.
I was born that way, so I do so.
But now that I'm an adult and grown
The melody soars, my breath is slow
The song falters, though I try to sing
The beat of the world goes fast
My voice breaks, and my ears start to ring
With how I let the rhythm fly past.
Through the noise I can see in the crowd
Some partners in crime, catching lost breath
Some others like me, who cannot sing loud
Trying their best to live, to escape death.
So we join hands, and start once again
It's much easier to meet the beat
We're different tunes with a common refrain
Together, the music's almost... complete.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC
*heard the church choir singing songs of praise
but your voice alone was enough to make me holy*
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 5:26 AM UTC
the voice of the dim cathedral
haunts my bones
its slim fingers wrap around my neck
and through my skull
a voice from many
releases dawn on the backs of my eyelids
and sets fire to my ribs
a boy beckons us to hail true body
freeing me from earthly restraints
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC