"accelerando" poems
As
the strings
of a viola,
I am
like an
oscillator,
resonant
with
nervous
energy:
do...
te-- le--
so fa me re do--;
As
a marble
dropped
onto
a piano's
keys, my
pulse, with
anxious
accelerando
strikes:
pitch...
pitch, pitch
now, now
now now now
Stop.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
Despite people constantly explainings music theory
I’ve never quite grasped the concept
Of different keys.
Because to me
Something would feel sharp and
Fall flat but
Be all too natural to you
And I had difficulty trying to articulate what I meant to say
Because we had such an interesting dynamic
And dissonance is positive when done correctly,
Right?
Constantly, you played chords on my heart strings
Like the threads wound tightly against the pegs on your guitar.
Beautifully
But never gently
Rarely slow
With some fascinating sort of
Passion
But not always the kind that I understood
And despite believing that your interest was genuine
I sometimes wondered if you got as much of a rush from
Holding the curves of that wooden body close to you
As you did from thriving on the attention that you got
When people saw that you had the skill
To manipulate something ordinary into something unique.
And I’ll admit
It got into my head
And caused me to fret
Refraining from over-analysis
Has never been my forte.
But somehow we always managed to bridge the gap
That our differences created
And accented the qualities that really made us harmonious.
Hoping you would not hesitate to
Pick me and
Bend me and
Guard me and
Let the notes ring loud and frenzied and
Place your hands
Along my neck
To let me be the fine-tuned
Instrument
Of your affection.
With lungs andante
And a heartbeat accelerando
I’d leave it up to you to conduct
A tempo.
While the melody lead us
In an entanglement of musical phrases and lyrical nonsense
That all came together.
I suppose.
But don’t ask me why,
I never understood music theory
I just know what I like to hear.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
resonate
two minds in sync
two hearts beat
accelerando
love
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
she starts out her dance
with the blanket wrapped
around her body
slow and even
she turns in her sleep
to an unheard rhythm
until the night gets thicker
and her dance hits
an accelerando
one arm dangled above her
hitting the headboard
in time with the music
her other hand searches
all the pillow's crevices
for a cooler side
folding it
turning it
bringing it to her side
the dance slows down again
with her foot hanging out
of the covers
and off the bed
when the sun finds her tango
it goes to a crescendo
the girl turns and turns
spinning faster
like a ballerina
her partner struggles to
hang on
clinging gravely to her skin
eyes almost open
she sits up and falls over
lies on her back
and dances again
until
noon, when the music ends
and the dance is over
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
Music is so much more
Than just rhythms on a page because
I can hear the bass in someone's chest
Or jazz in their laughter
And I can find music
In the way people's voices rise and fall
Or the sound of their lungs
The low trill that comes from the smugness in someone's voice
Or the fast strings of someone panicking
Some people sound like a piano, smooth and quiet
While others sound like the thunder of the brass,
Unable to be missed, but capable of tender moments
Because no one is less than an orchestrated piece
No one notices the subtle parts at first,
Like the vibrato in the solo of their thoughts
Or the sudden accelerando of passion and arguments
The forte pianos of being tired of fighting
Or the single flute of absolute euphoria
But when you return again and again
You fall in love with the way
Words seem to rise from their feet and wash over you like fog,
like a bassoon
Or the quickly improvised comments that fills you with a sense of warmth and safety
play with the strings of your heart like a saxophone
Because nothing compares to noticing the people
Who are made up of nothing else but music
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
*quiero pensar en español otra vez
hablar con una persona nueva
esta persona de mi mente
quien he cambiado
está cambiando
cada día
ella
mi vida
siento que va muy rápido
a veces siento como dos
accelerando los pasos
a la mente formada
según ella
mi vida
yo*
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
The bass fades in, nice and slow,
fading out again for a moment of silence.
The flash of a flute in the distance,
a slow cymbal shaking into existence,
cellos driving out a deep and quiet rhythm.
The tin whistles of frightened seabirds
fly for shelter from the rising and falling
of bassoons floating in the dark sky.
The conductor unleashes a mighty roar
from his orchestra and gone again,
the violins with their staccato
carrying on for a bit longer
before the orchestra erupts again,
playing a few more notes than before,
the oboes constantly playing.
Drumsticks beat down steadily
on a cymbal held in a gloved hand,
rising up in crescendo and accelerando,
harder and faster they fall,
harder and faster they strike,
the orchestra blares again
as we in the wings start to get unnerved
but the storm has used all its power,
the players are tired tonight
and all that is left
is the tambourine man
shaking his hand as he walks off stage.
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 10:52 AM UTC