#composer
He didn't compose a cantata,
A symphony, song, or sonata:
The best of his best
Is a piece that's one rest,
Played _f_ and with a fermata.
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 6:02 PM UTC
Despite all my rage
I am still just four minutes
of silence
—John Cage
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 11:03 AM UTC
my veins are the strings of a violin
yearning so desperately to be played
by that sharp silver bow
knowing that every stroke is one more scar
every cry is the music that my broken symphony of a body releases as a call
a call for help, a call for safety
every breath is music that my ears crave and
my orchestra has just begun
the drums in my chest begin to play a tune i’m way to familiar with
the cymbals in my head crash with every beat
my legs shake from every vibration
the symphony has started
i reach for my bow so i can begin
i start with a tune thats comfortable
eager to release my energy i play
and with every stroke my symphony slows
the cymbals stop crashing
the drums fade
and the orchestra has come to a stop
i release my bow and look at what i have created
i read the lines on my skin like lines of sheet music
the songs of sadness have stopped and im finally at peace
i know the consequences of being a composer
but my art is so addicting
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 3:54 AM UTC
Your brain is a little rock-n-roll my friend
Too much guitar solo
For you to think sometimes.
The pounding
Of the bass drum
Isn't any better.
But did you know that words
Spill out of your mouth
Like chords?
Always the sounds
That need to be heard
Even when someone
Dislikes the key.
My friend,
Life is sheet music.
Never forget that you
Are your own composer.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 6:43 PM UTC
He has become a poet recently. He could
not believe it. The pen he had used all
these years had only given words...
and structure. Form and flow. Rhythm
and rhyme.
But the Evening whispers things. Cruel
truths, only he can understand.
'You are not a writer!' she whispers in
a current which almost deafens his spirit. 'Look at all you have accomplished.
Your pen writes life, not imagined folly'.
His soul departs from his body in an
attempt to flee this truth but the evening
grasps it by the fingers and smiles.
She disappears and in the moments
after... her voice in his ears.
'You are the flow of the universe. Be like
those before. Be like the greats ones
who knew no boundaries'.
So he picks up his dagger and cuts open
his finger. Dipping his quill into the
blood he looks at the open air around
him. As he writes on the wind... the world
begins anew.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 2:38 AM UTC
She's the artist of love
She creates every piece of art
By getting a tiny piece of her heart
Every song are words
That echoes from her spirit
Every stroke of brush
Contains a song from within
Every poem she writes
Has the color of her paint
Every story she tells
Has the verse of her soul
She's an artist in love
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
Hope!
In the far off land of Dae-han-min-guk, on a brand new day.
An angel's fingers dance and prance on the ivories.,
So confident the way she plays.
Like magic! Sending the gift of music to me flying though time and space.,
The music flowed out of the piano like birds singing good morning new day,
Amazingly!
Thousands of piano notes,
Filled with elegance and charm travel to my ears.,
This angel sent to me a gift of hope today.,
I have never heard or seen such a wondrous thing,
I must be traveling through a beautiful dream...
© 2014 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC