Shakespeare
the master of the sonnet
once wrote:
“If music
be the food of love,
play on.”

If that
is the case
then I would
starve.

I’ve had a cornucopia
           Of
many truly fine
playing
musical instruments.

But at the banquet table
of the soul
None were tasting right.

I wondered if the same
immortal bard,
Pictured me
when he said:
“The man
that hath no music in himself.”

On my journey
of musical discovery,
The banjo was my thing.

I picked
and pulled
and waited patiently.

I travelled up
a foggy mountain.
On that mountain top,
Covered in
grass of blue,
I met a man
who said his name was Scruggs.

For a while
I kept his
company,
but he just was not right for me.
We shook hands and departed
immediately.

I travelled back down the mountain.
I heard a ****** of music playing.
The sounds of 4 strings frailing.
Old time music
was now for me.

There I stayed
playing
The song of
Soldier’s Joy.

But the soldier turned around,
And pulled out a horn,
and started playing Reveille.

I retreated rather quickly
And waited for my orders next,
For that next big thing.

Further down I marched
and spied
something
playing.

Wafting in the ether
were
Keys of
ebony and ivory
dancing lazily.

I bowed
to a piano
And asked
“do you
want to
waltz with me?”

Up and down
the scales
I was dancing.

Reading merrily.
Theory I was getting
But nothing
Musically.

Many a song
I was collecting.

Finger techniques improving
Exponentially.

But rote learning
was not for me.

Music in the fingers
But my chest was not
a beating.

I found a stethoscope
and put it on my heart.

No music was forthcoming,
No ad lib beat
heard for me.

So, I travelled to
A distant shore.

Went to Hawaii
musically.
Over the Rainbow
I met a uk-u-lele.

Such a beautiful queen,
but I could not
get her to sing for me.

She turned
and looked at me
and declared
“Aloha ʻO-e.”

I let out a big sigh.

Everything I tried,
Music
was not in my soul.

I wondered
if Shakespeare was right.
And he was pointing at me.

But then
someone said
to me
“Why don’t you try
po-e-try.”

I ummed
And I
Erred.

Maybe not for me.

Poetry
was not for me
at school,
As no muse
was in the room.

But one minute later,
My soul started shaking.

No active thought was present.
An emotional chemical reaction was brewing.

Then I heard a knocking.
A shelf began to appear.

My soul
began to open.

Words were appearing
magically.

I reached into the shelf
and pulled out
scores of poems
of sorrow
and of hope.

Not invited
just excited,

Waiting to come to life
adlib easily.

My heart told my brain
“Please go catch a plane.
And stay away
from here.
Emotional baggage allowed
only here.”

No wood,
no bone,
no skin required.
Only soul music
from within.

Then the spirit of Charlie Parker appeared
and played his Saxophone.
He stopped and declared:
‘“Hey Daddy O,
adlib is finally here.”

Now
no rote for me.
Only what comes
naturally.
Yeah Man.

Thoughts upon an empty sea.
Waves crash down; nothing here.
No land, no harbour,  just rolling seas.
Thoughts adrift; no net to catch; no birds to see.

One wooden boat of white.
Speck so small.
Cast adrift on that boat,
One wooden soul.

That soul so hidden.
No friend to see, no alliances sought.
One person adrift in their thoughts.
No island needed; No friend required.

Dark skies; Dark seas; Dark night;
Dark ink of velvet black.
Black of sea
And soul of black.

On the ocean, two objects felt.
One wooden heart; one wooden boat.
On a velvet blanket
Made of sea.
Made of sky.

Look now upon that sky of black.
A jagged tear, a bolt of lightning.
One silent bright golden bolt.
Fluttering to the sea.
A jagged tear both seen and felt.

Upon that bolt a face is spied.
A face so fair; so morning bright.
An angelic face upon that bolt,
looking down on one white boat.

Seas do part.
Harbour found.

Words do leap,
Like flying fish,
Upon the sea.

Bridges formed.
Island seen.
Potential hope.

Oars are gathered.
Quick now row;
Hope does gather.

That face upon the mighty bolt
Will you shine a light to see?

Will you guide that timbered boat?

The guiding light now shines a path.
Let that boat come to ye.

Row that boat: intentions changed.
Steer the boat upon that light
Let that light be a guiding beam.

One soul changed upon that boat.

Shore is met; one hesitant step.
Two souls seen.
One of wood
One of hope.

Silence broken.
A gentle breeze; a friendly chatter
Talks of poetry are thus now shared.
Luminous verses - heard and felt
by one soul of wood
and one soul of hope.

A garden is forming,
A fertile paddock to plow.
Seeds of friendship to be sown.

Dig the ground of experience shared.
Plant those seeds of comfort found;
Share the plough and till the soil
of relationships past and present.

Let the soil be soaked with tears.
Of grief for loved ones long ago.

Now hear the Bobolinks upon the tree.
Singing the song of shared joyous glee.

Harvest ready, bounty plenty.

Seas are calm; sanctuary now found.

One wooden soul now shifts and stirs.

Now from the wooden heart does tendrils sprout.
Upon those tendrils buds are looming…

Cracks are heard.
Splinters found.
Wood now parting.

That wooden heart gives way.

Blooms of roses; flowers bright of hope.
Red like blood of siblings made.
Green leaves of friendships do appear.
Born of land, not of sea.

When two faces meet with joy.
Strength unites.
No waves can break.

Those thoughts that once adrift
Now moored on ropes of thoughts of hope,
and haven.
Entwined with love.
And anchored with understanding.

My dear, you know one plus one equals two.
it's Universal law.

No, it's three - as  I say so.

Please.
One plus one equals two.
See, here's a book.

Who needs to look?  
For I am that book.

Surely I can explain that one and one is two.
Then you will know.

Universal laws aren't for me.
When I know, I know.
One and one is three.
It's as simple as one, two, and three.

Oh, my dear, you see - it's truly two.

Look, I said three.
No logic or law for me,
No tome for me,
For I am the judge of  what suits me.

One Land of many, many islands of one.
Granite mountains of divide.
Build upon opinions not shared and stones thrown of hate.

No connections made.
No empathy shared.
No voices heard.
No stories spoken.

Anger and darkness reside.
A flood of anger and despair builds.
These things crash down as waves of black stain upon the ground.

One sad face looks up to hope and pray.
A drop of water falls upon his face.
A baptism font is a calling.
One source of water to be found.

The staff of Moses held aloft.
Blue skies of topaz and soft cotton clouds do split and part.
One single small cloud now sparkles.

That cloud  is spied.
The sad face does see a gentle thread of cord of spiders’ silk or Gossamer wings floating and cascading by.
One end of silken thread is held upon high.
The other end finds its mark upon that one lonely heart.

The centre shifts.
I become us.
Empathy found and stated.

Now that ethereal cord does glow.
It starts off slow, but the wick does brighten.
White upon white.
Glow upon glow.
It burns with love, but no heat is found.
Just understanding from above.

A divine spark is received.
A heart is melted.
An ancient message is delivered.
A connection is founded.
A gentle smile upon the face.
A greeting of Hello.
Like a baby a new dawn is delivered, a purpose founded.

Those cords grow strong.
They splinter from the man
Whirlwinds of cord play and dance.
The dance they play like a flicker of a flame on a paschal candle.

The whirlwind departs to receive a master.
The cords go faster to save a soul.
A rush of wind is heard as the cords do play.

Those granite boulders are meet as shields of hate.
From those cords fine fingers shoot out.
They smother up those symbols of hate.
As a blanket on a fire.

Those rocks start to hum as the smile grows brighter and the cords grow tighter.
Noise is heard.
Trumpets are blaring.

Rocks of despair quiver and quake.
At last, those rocks do break.
See those rocks fall asunder.
To be replaced by
one more lonely face.

Look of doubt upon the lonely face.
A fear of them is felt.
A fire of hate is fuelled.

That happy man.
The golden man.
The common man stares and smiles.
He waves and greets the lonely stranger.

The sad man.
The angry man.
Meets that happy stare and begins to chortle.

Quick now see that cord it shines so bright.
One cord splits and hews in two.
A new mark is found.
A new home is needed
Another connection is received and granted.

Strangers no more.
Two connected by a cord.
Another heart is melted.
God's grace is granted.

From connections do cords grow.
Build upon man, Grace and empathy.
Like double helixes these fine chords bourgeon.
The silken chords grow so bright just as neon lights.
Once again they dance.
To seek out hatred.
To seek out despair.
To replace with care.

More granite hums and disperses.
More sad faces are a found.
More faces set apart.
To see only us and them.

Joyous golden voices are heard ‘come join us’
Once again a connection is stirred.
A sorrow departing.

The Gossamer cords burn oh so bright.
To shine with God's grace
Cords split and join.
More joy to seek.

Stains of blood upon the Earth are washed away.
Upon these shores islands stand no more.
Replaced with green grass of emerald hue and mirrors of dew.
Bridges now formed.

Voices now sing.
Shared respect like fragrant Flowers of yellow and blue is now instilled.
Agreements are heard.
Disputes still occur.
Yet those cords still build and bind.

People share who may not agree.
But respect is upon their lips like sweet honey.
One cord still up on high but joined to all.
God’s Grace is known and empathy shown.

Pink lips
Pink Lips that are small, soft, and sweet.
Pink Lips silken as to touch the night sky.
Pink Lips speak words of love for mum and dad.
Pink Lips which crave the taste of sugary sweets and kisses from mum.

Pink Lips who no longer shout to play but speak to the pains of youth, boys, and bands.
Lips which speak of the allure of growth. Now the taste of sweets fades and dims.

Lips who brush upon them their first drops of adulthood.
Lips now blooming but not yet a rose.
Pink Lips no more.
Pale peach and bold of gloss are now upon those lips.

Peach Lips who hastily taste their first crush and feel their innocence lost.
Peach Lips seek mum no more.
Peach Lips upon who speak of promises of forever but turn around and whisper possibilities.
Peach Lips that yearns for more and a single call.

Peach lips that found the call.
Peach leaps seek no more.
Peach lips taste God's Love on Earth.
Peach transforms to red of rose and alliances are a called.
Red lips that say yes and I do.

Red lips that embrace the earthly love.
Red lips that mature and grow.
Red lips who taste upon them nature calls.
Red lips that pray for more.

Red lips that kiss their baby welcome and anew.
Red lips that who sweetly feels tender skin and bonds so true.
Red lips which feel so much more.
Red lips that cry for joy.
Red lips who swear by God and proclaim to nurture and protect.
Red lips that found love so true.

Red lips that linger bitterly and kiss their child goodbye.
Red lips upon which drops of tears are shed of melancholy for childhood past and days gone by.

Red lips that crack and dry.
Red lips that grow dim and pale.
Red lips that feel the press of time, who yearn for slumber and of eternity.

Red lips say no more.
Red lips love upon this Earth no more.
Red lips taste the kiss of God.
Red lips no more, now torn.
Pink lips of futures to be, cry out and yearn for more.