"clef" poems
I'm like a song in a clef-less world.
My symphony of blood and tears
have stained my skin of many years.
Duran, Depeche have carried me through
until that day when I meet you,
but don't be long because I need
my happy sunshine song.
Poetry by Kaydee.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro, singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining—I think a thought of the clef of the universes, and of the future.
A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets, comets, asteroids,
All the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual upon the same,
All distances of place, however wide,
All distances of time—all inanimate forms,
All Souls—all living bodies, though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes—the fishes, the brutes,
All men and women—me also;
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages;
All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this globe, or any globe;
All lives and deaths—all of the past, present, future;
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann’d, and shall forever span them, and compactly hold them, and enclose them.
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The Morning after Woe—
’Tis frequently the Way—
Surpasses all that rose before—
For utter Jubilee—
As Nature did not care—
And piled her Blossoms on—
And further to parade a Joy
Her Victim stared upon—
The Birds declaim their Tunes—
Pronouncing every word
Like Hammers—Did they know they fell
Like Litanies of Lead—
On here and there—a creature—
They’d modify the Glee
To fit some Crucifixal Clef—
Some Key of Calvary—
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Chords of expression fray into the misty atmosphere of a nocturnal energy field, where hermits display magical arts on the cliff-tops of allegiance.
The application of force is intensified with heightened awareness, as it will produce the desired effect.
Are you willing or able to acknowledge that there is a resonating vibration which surpasses timeless universal parameters?
My cat is watching me.
Therefore, the question arises around whether the concept of perception is defined by conservative projections or unbridled liberty?
So, if we meander down those narrow and solitary roads of Andalucia to the small village of Pastelero, where snakes discreetly writhe into the fields of golden grain, we will find that an exploding teardrop is more powerful than a sonic boom.
The sickle is an astrological formation which compels me to ask: Where have all the flowers gone?
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Gaining wisdom,
Listening to Mos Def
Not to be boxed in by the quadrant of the bass clef,
Because I like the melodies of the treble.
If Eye am to live a life to be confined, then call me a rebel.
Letting out all that was repressed
Counting blessings instead of stresses
Picking up messes &
Preparing for the test
To invest in myself,
in you
~
Diving below the depths to see what's true~
The interest accrues
But there's no use -
in paying these taxes to factions
When they should be subtracted from the equation
For exacerbating trivial situations
til we see the answer is One
You have the control, a full mind\body/soul collaboration
Sort out ya chakras and rebuild your nation
Plant seeds and reverse the deforestation
Let creativity fill your wounds and be captivated by fascination
Follow your own soul
Guided by sensation
Close your eyes and breathe, if ya need, some quick elation
...Away from frustration or the contemplation on the
"right" choice.
Just share your innermost genuine voice,
Keep the soil moist,
& the stem strong in order to stay poised
Lose the armor
For you are formless
In a state of vulnerability,
We are never dormant
But rather, open to the occupants
that we can't even see
Let your heart explode with love and you'll know what it's like to be free.
Don't open up though, and we'll be doomed to repeat
Be not afraid to call upon the Youniverse
Disperse what you rehearsed
before your vessel is within another in the confines of a hearse.
Weird to hear, but we can't wait for one more day.
It could be anyone's last grain of sand,
So by all means,
Say what you have to say~
You have a gift,
& It's called the present
Living with the ability to lift,
and make others' lives pleasant.
Muster every ounce of love and drift,
Right into another's essence
You hold the power in your hands, reach out~
..You'll never go hungry..
Giving vital lifeforce to those experiencing drought
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
I want a nobody.
A faceless commuter swearing as the machine ignores his credit card. Or the guy two tables to the left who isn’t checking his watch because he isn’t waiting on someone. Any hoodie-wearing, adidas-laced, prospective english major rambling along the sidewalk.
I want a nobody.
‘Cause there’s never a somebody that won’t say “I love you” because it’s numbed by too many mouths that don’t form their lips the right way. The somebodies slide it off their careless tongues—
because little words are pennies in tip jars.
But Nobody, he’ll say
I love the way you put on a jacket
like some kind of whip-snap in the lapels and collar
tipping your chin up and
hooking your silver-ringed thumbs in the pockets
and I love how you flip through books
eager to break the spine but not fold the pages
holding your breath to hold the focus
propping open a paperback between long tapered fingers
and how the barista at the coffeeshop knows your face!
and blush rises like foam on your cheeks
because it’s so ******* incredible how
when you drum your fingers
you don’t drum you press
into a phantom piano
the treble clef of Linus and Lucy
or The Entertainer
or, if your eyes have already gotten deeper
—in a mossy well of thought—
it’ll be Augustana’s Boston
dancing C-E-C-E-G-E-C-E
in the jumping tendons of your right hand.
*
oh darling, I’m in love with
your clumsy movements when you fall into bed
wrapping a thick comforter over your bare shoulders
curling your legs as you settle on your side
hair fanned out on the bedsheet because
the pillow’s too close to the wall
but lovely, I don’t love you
because I’m not real at all
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
~
Violins sing of purest flame,
alluring harmonies warm the air
Heart beat crescendos keep time
as ember’d flutes whisper beauty
and misty cellos lull wondrous dreams
on the aria of our love
Treble clef desires
curve softly upon your tender heart
while clarinets breathe amorous
melodies of soothing affection,
enchanting serenades
caress our every silent sigh
Forever playing an eternal
symphony of fire,
burning euphonious,
heated temptations
in ever lasting
orchestral bliss
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
Communication technology recognition
Reformation in monopoly contortions
Feel the attuned tunes from satellites
Setting light like an antenna televised
Usher prolific hologram vised in vision
Bid manipulation bye to new world neon’s
Motivation from free thought movement
Commendations cemented in another time-zone
Complement to comment for extra terrestrials
Electrical vibrations moving from wired modems
Floating up above the skies, a heaven end
All life become a past tense lie, come lie
A dead fantasy for the oars ain’t tacky
The most surreal reality, the stability, an ability
Congeniality, this is an alien evasion, adaptability
Figure a boxer on the ring, trenching victory
An agility the accessibility to the victorious flag
Tracing admissible tunes, planking in a cool challenge
The heroic and not hectic hologram check the angiogram
Its not a diagram, but a radiant heart an earthy soul
Am a do anything, buffing myself to do anything
Ain’t a deal rocking the crowd in crazy clouds
Breaking the underground like a Fujita F Scale tornado
Ronaldo tormenting the ball in a field with F clef societal
Social control and orders, tormenting the ****** to extraordinaire, an extradite
Streaming live make you believe like you can live for real
Stratifications, ****** classes and sewn mobility
Chasing dreams in the winds deeply wheeled in a well
Be well as we sink so deep to seek and hold the dense
The essence of the whirlwind, it’s a seep through static
This rollercoaster an aspiration to inspire then perspire
Ever higher, from the root to crown charkra, a tantra
Annata,the ascending holographic magnetic hero
Tuning visions to dreamers and travellers
Hold my hand as we sink underneath the stratums
No sputum, just headphones.... a culture, it’s the new age soul
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Strong vibrato
Mezzopiano
Your crescendo has me
Wavered
A rabbit in your headlights
Staccato
Fixated on vinyl love
(Asphyxiated)
So lucid your lips
Treble clef
Tremble clef
Tenor rumbles
Eyes/river overflow
Incessant whine
Of heartbeat(bass)
Languid pretty song.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
Through purple-greyish smoke billowed from lips both mine and yours,
our eyes glazed, blacklight seen reflecting on our silver ores.
Dark purple painted walls with red designs keep calm the folks
on leather couches billowing with eyes like silver ores.
Oh you and I, the strangers here, all have our many reasons,
some came with them, some made them here, eyes glazed like silver ores.
An Artificial Reason calms our minds in this Mad Season,
crucified on G-clef staff, eyes glazed like silver ores.
This sanctuary, whispered 'round, and found through word of mouth,
somewhere, we've all forgotten in the glaze of silver ores.
Our therapy, if long or short, time counted by the songs,
recovery is measured by the glaze of silver ores.
As one leaves so another comes, replacing on the couch,
the glaze of one with glaze of other's eyes like silver ores.
(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
If hip-hop is the night club of music,
The place where everyone wants to be,
Then, metal, you are the abandoned trainyard,
The gritty reality of close friends,
Bonding over empty cans.
Bluegrass might be a picnic,
With blankets in the park.
And rap might be the ghetto,
Urban streets,
Perpetual fear.
However, you have a different touch.
Sure, phat dubstep beats sound great,
When blasted by waves of bass.
But what of the feeling,
From uncountable bass pedal strikes.
Creating a wall of hard-pressed consistency.
And when the bass drum stops,
You know you'll hear a well-practiced,
Well-executed,
Well-written fill.
From the snare, to the toms,
To the chinas and splashes.
32nd notes all around.
And if punk is a bunch of teens,
Landing one out of twelve tricks,
At the local skate park.
If reggae is a house party,
The place your parents don't want you,
But where you feel happy.
Then metal is where you feel REAL.
A darkened elementary school,
Yours for the weekend,
Reminding you where you came from.
Years and years of practice,
All leading up to a perfectly nailed arpeggio.
You don't even hear the pick as it sweeps,
String to string.
You only hear notes and scales,
Arranged just so.
Pure dedication,
Displayed by the clean solos,
And harmonies,
Which fall back into downtuned chugging,
Rhythms,
Simply rhythms,
True unison,
The brotherhood dynamic,
Of a lesser-liked genre.
And the sounds of the world,
Are the way you go to school,
To work and home again,
And silence,
Is nights spent alone,
Silence is the absence of passion,
Silence is suicide,
Death.
Metal, you are my resonance.
My threshold.
And the words,
Repeated throughout my mind,
Are not shrill notes on the treble-clef.
They are not auto-tuned, worthless.
The words I feel,
The words I live,
Are the common words and phrases,
That no one can understand,
The deep grating and churning,
Of vocal chords that learn not to ring,
But to shout.
To scream.
To growl, like the guttural and primordial calls.
Of our wild side.
This growling echoes,
From throat to mind.
Metal is my flag,
My skin,
My pyre.
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 7:51 AM UTC
Just when I thought my muse had left
a splintered staccato formed words on a page;
seems I still have a taste for the treble clef.
Haste in the morning fuels the morning breath
for two lovely dumbstruck lovers looking young for their age
just when they thought their muse had left.
I’m not sure I remember the rest;
The words stop like drumsticks dropped in rage,
but I still have a taste for the treble clef.
Desperate to try as my cousin suggests
burning through candles, tarot, and sage
just when I’m sure my muse has left.
I vote for stripping this verse and shredding the rest
Getting in with producers and out with the wage;
We still have a taste for the treble clef.
Tequila sunrise and a Mumford sunset;
Is freedom a ***** once you’re out of the cage?
Just when I thought my muse had left,
seems I still have a taste for the treble clef.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 6:57 PM UTC
Enfin ! seul ! On n'entend plus que le roulement de quelques fiacres attardés et éreintés. Pendant quelques heures, nous posséderons le silence, sinon le repos. Enfin ! la tyrannie de la face humaine a disparu, et je ne souffrirai plus que par moi-même.
Enfin ! il m'est donc permis de me délasser dans un bain de ténèbres ! D'abord, un double tour à la serrure. Il me semble que ce tour de clef augmentera ma solitude et fortifiera les barricades qui me séparent actuellement du monde.
Horrible vie ! Horrible ville ! Récapitulons la journée : avoir vu plusieurs hommes de lettres, dont l'un m'a demandé si l'on pouvait aller en Russie par voie de terre (il prenait sans doute la Russie pour une île) ; avoir disputé généreusement contre le directeur d'une ***** qui à chaque objection répondait : « - C'est ici le parti des honnêtes gens, » ce qui implique que tous les autres journaux sont rédigés par des coquins ; avoir salué une vingtaine de personnes, dont quinze me sont inconnues ; avoir distribué des poignées de main dans la même proportion, et cela sans avoir pris la précaution d'acheter des gants ; être monté pour tuer le temps, pendant une averse, chez une sauteuse qui m'a prié de lui dessiner un costume de Vénustre ; avoir fait ma cour à un directeur de théâtre, qui m'a dit en me congédiant : « - Vous feriez peut-être bien de vous adresser à Z... ; c'est le plus lourd, le plus sot et le plus célèbre de tous mes auteurs, avec lui vous pourriez peut-être aboutir à quelque chose. Voyez-le, et puis nous verrons ; » m'être vanté (pourquoi ?) de plusieurs vilaines actions que je n'ai jamais commises, et avoir lâchement nié quelques autres méfaits que j'ai accomplis avec joie, délit de fanfaronnade, crime de respect humain ; avoir refusé à un ami un service facile, et donné une recommandation écrite à un parfait drôle ; ouf ! est-ce bien fini ?
Mécontent de tous et mécontent de moi, je voudrais bien me racheter et m'enorgueillir un peu dans le silence et la solitude de la nuit. Âmes de ceux que j'ai aimés, âmes de ceux que j'ai chantés, fortifiez-moi, soutenez-moi, éloignez de moi le mensonge et les vapeurs corruptrices du monde, et vous, Seigneur mon Dieu ! accordez-moi la grâce de produire quelques beaux vers qui me prouvent à moi-même que je ne suis pas le dernier des hommes, que je ne suis pas inférieur à ceux que je méprise !
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The happiest I've been in a while. Still pretty sad.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
What does it matter,
When I sit stiff in the dark
Music pricking through my eardrums;
Every single little strum
of guitar string
or a piano note;
Swimming along through the bass clef lines
The bassist, often undiscovered
No person hearing his low, warm notes.
His name is not on any
Cover
Not even in the 'artists' thoughts.
But his every strum gets through
Accompanied by a yelp
from my throat
The swirling snail in my ear
Curls up tighter as the waves near,
Fear. Paralyzed.
in fear.
The surge. Surge of thought
No time to breathe No time to stop
No time to think No time to drop
No single remaining train of thought
To listen to the bassists' notes.
Instead, it's the dreaded screech;
Singers voice racing through
my head is too loud
But my vocal cords never loud
enough to make a pleasing sound
A belching hound.
May 14, 2021
May 14, 2021 at 2:13 PM UTC
Lilly is a flower by any other name
She follows her group and she is the same
Exterior like metal
Interior like lava
And a heart that is melting magma
She’s never felt anything other than hate
Ever since the grim reaper took her mother on the date
Her father drinks
Glasses clink and crack and
Break like her bones under metaphysical weight
And the constant worry that she will be late
This month like last
Pregnant teens are trash
Lilly is a flower in a garden of weeds
Smoke leaves her lips in white satin sleeves
Leaves bruises on her hips
As his anger seethes
And the high in her brain will never leave
But pesticide is poisoning
And despite her broken voice she will sing
A song from the garden
Her heart will harden much like her exterior
Metal
Treble Clef
Tattooed on her wrist
Treats her skin like a violin
Sawing at fictitious stings
Screams cry out like a canary sings
She hangs by her neck like chains on children’s swings
Lilly is a flower that unfortunately
Wilted
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
Could you contain my sighs of solitude
by harboring the anxiety in this fragile sea?
On your streets lies the tenderness, aging,
incandescent wind shelters and recalls
them in the distance
the flame anchored in your colors.
Habana,
Lucid, shadowed reminiscent garden
in an infinite insomnia
harnessing the dawn.
Throbbing uniquely,
uniquely understanding,
following the beat, freshness,
watercolor eyes of the city.
Giraldilla, proclamation, mystery,
chaste voice in a calm urge.
I consecrate your vitreaux,
sensing your baroque capitals,
Dusty, unraveled.
I'd like to talk:
Game, rainbow, love,
People, noise, cars;
Essays on flavors.
A captivated rumor,
your arbor dances a naked certainty:
A park, a cloud, summer, God.
The boundary hurts the clef,
the litany resorts to music,
when the stars nurse your elusive chant.
Far… blood calls for your passion,
Languishing, nobody edifies it,
in the absent dwelling of your sun, your moon.
The corner dwellers come to my mind,
the adjacent towns, trembling bedrooms.
I seek within you, dear city,
that home, The Cathedral,
that childhood, concrete flesh,
mother's kiss fading goodbye:
upholds my venerated memories.
Translated by Vanessa Cresevich
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
My body is a place of tunes
The perfect set list
My living band
SCREAM!
The warm blood fills my worded heart
Wrap it in the pointed wire of the treble
Embody it with the empowering bass
CLEF!
Breathing deep lung drums
Power grabbing
Boom Boom
BOOM!
Pull the strings from my lyrical soul
Flick each tiny cell I have
Create the harmony of my world
LIFE!
REALITY!
…music
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 8:24 AM UTC
soft acoustic plucking
reverberating strings
buzzing tones flutter
freely creating visions
differing from space to space
occupied between my ears
twists whole majors into 7th quarters
altering the landscape from within
bleeding fingertips hide broken verses
note for note we lie to the sound
expressing pleasure in the mundane –
gently strumming with loving caresses
melodic to the point of melancholy
old tears sit on a stained floor
eclipsing the smiling children
that hide just beyond the glass pane
glossing the pain with symbolic imagery
a crucifix dangles
swaying to and fro
barely audibly tapping the fat statue of an enlightened oriental
in the shadow of a dream catcher
made not by native americans
but instead by undernourished brown waifs—
bending tones for a better view
I shed the physical and go incorporeal
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
Tear drops fall
between silent lines
carrying the tune
of this weeping melody
written on my heart’s
faded sheet music
Scales cry in sharpened flats
twisting treble clef sorrows
Candelabras drip pain
on withered fingers
roaming ivory slivers bleeding
out of tune syncopation
Unheard choruses
in three quarter sadness
wasted on black and white keys
played long after
the lid was closed
on our love
Where is that sustain pedal
when you need it?
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
Broken sleep and unfulfilled dreams
caught in the middle of a cacophony;
a neighbours wife in exalted ecstasy
so loud I now know all his names by memory
and an early morning mobile car wash
high pressure jet stream like a jet engine -
a non-stop bass clef low key in E;
the worst drone gig in history.
Today I will undoubtedly
look unfavourably
upon the the world.
Lets just hope there's a dearth
and a paucity of screaming children
in the speeding tin can to work.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
The vinyl record just rotates
in circuits of unforseen loops
queued in the unending circles
revolved strains of melodies
Yet every song remains the same stamped of a watered down clef
rooted fragile moments of numbness
gated inside notions with bricks
Even if the sun roars in a trumble
she remains that inhibited builder
a human, that fragile sort of a woman
a protective rooted architect of life
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 11:59 PM UTC
he doesn’t play the piano
the piano plays itself
through the dextral treble
and the sinister bass clef
he doesn’t lift a finger
the ivories press back
the ebonies go up and down
without a single clack
he barely presses downwards
his fingertips suffice
the music plays the piano
he’s merely its device
Jul 22, 2022
Jul 22, 2022 at 11:58 AM UTC
Darling,
our truth that we inhabit under
its crystalised sky is
masochistic
undenying, tameless
thriling
Shattering above us.
Don't
be afraid
of the eyes that
stare at us
through fields
- flowers of cruelty
For tonight,
I will take your
mind
tongue
flesh
all.
you
are an octave without lines
Synchronicity
A treble-clef tattooed upon the skin of my
heart
Notes like bloodcells in my veins
I can never play you.
lie
yourself inside
and breathe inside
what I am
what I will become
neverending
&n
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 7:16 AM UTC
Panic-stricken melodies escape your shaking lips
Moving through eternities of other people's grips
Penning every note like it were your only bread
Seasoned with the salt that has fallen from your head
I am but a song that society can't sing
A tune within a key that is carried on a string
Tie me up in knots, I may choke but I will live
For I am not in ******* like the ones who can't forgive
I might exude frustration when I try to hide my pain
But even in my weakness I can drink impartial rain
It falls upon the earth, though we may not all deserve
The world that it restores in its travels far, to serve
And thus I have decided, though my clef may not align
Write instead upon every bone along my spine
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC