"coalesces" poems
THE SAXOPHONE STORY
BY RAJ NANDY
The Saxophone is perhaps the most expressive
instrument next to the human voice.
Was made by Adolphe Sax, a Belgian, through
a deliberate choice!
He wanted to offset the tonal disparity, -
Between the string, wind, and brass instruments,
with musical clarity !
He felt that the strings ones were overpowered
by the wind instruments.
While the wind instruments got overblown by
the brass ones instead !
Now what would happen if the best qualities
of these three instruments types,
Could in a fusion blend and coalesces into a single
instrument type ?
So finally at the age of 20 years, in March Eighteen
Hundred and Thirty Four,
Adolphe Sax created a magical instrument for the
World to hear and adore!
It had the power of the brass, the flexibility of the
strings, and the woodwind’s variety and tone;
Which got christened after Adolphe Sax as the
SAXOPHONE !
Adolphe’s famous composer friend Hector Berlioz
in Paris City,
Gave this new instrument wide publicity!
In 1844 the Sax was presented in the Industrial
Exhibition at Paris;
And subsequently got patented on 20 March 1846.
It soon got adopted by the Bands of the French Army.
Making other instrument makers to become green
with envy!
The Sax was 80 years old when it became part of the
musical instruments of the Jazz Band.
A small bore mouth piece was created to suite the
varying tonal qualities required by Jazz.
Initially, 14 different sizes of Sax was created by
Adolphe.
Today only five types are in use for us to hear and
see;
The Soprano, Alto, Tenor, Bass and the Baritone
Saxophone.
They now form a part of our Jazz music's backbone!
- By Raj Nandy
FOOT NOTES :
Adolphe Sax (1814-1894) , son of famous musical instrument maker
Charles Joseph Sax of Belgium. Woodwind Instruments = Flute, Clarinet, Bassoon etc. Brass Instruments = Trumpet, Tuba, Cornet etc. String Instruments = Violin, Guitar, Harp, Banjo etc. The Saxophone today has become the very backbone of Jazz Music!
** ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE RESERVED BY: - RAJ NANDY **
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Why do poets and photographers love fleeting things?
Angled shafts of sunlight piercing a mass
of clouds. A rainbow flashing from dragonfly wings.
Water drops beading like shards of glass.
The fluttering shape of a sycamore’s shade.
The sun sinking into its reflection
In a purple bay. Smoke’s shadow. The rayed
Curve of a finger reaching for perfection.
Whatever churns, bursts, rocks, flies,
Foams, flickers, roils, evades
In pigments of impermanent dyes
We try to fix before it fades
Once I mourned the endless dying
Of here and now, the present always past
Elegized each moment, sighing
Beauty is loss and can never last.
But now I think I had it wrong. In fact
(I learned this from an artist’s eye)
Fleeting beauty reappears faster than we react,
At the speed of a daydream flashing by.
All around, light coalesces into form,
Form explodes into light,
And we live lavishly inside this storm
If we can learn to see it right.
Beauty multiplies, tapering, swelling:
Reshaping, reforming, now familiar, now strange.
This gaudy blur in which we’re dwelling
Is the permanence of change.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
An amorphous cave hides behind a cascading flow of crystalline blue, sparkling and shining like radiant glass.
Inside the incandescent cave, an effervescent and ephemeral scent of dulcet cinnamon coalesces into the air of the inside of this seemingly halcyon cave.
The feelings, the emotions, the sights, all too inexorable in it's ineffable reality. It calls out, with it's mellifluous and beautiful, languid and sirenic voice, incandescent with epiphany,
"Come child of man, meet me, greet me, welcome me, me as the idyllic felicity some dare to even dream of, and then let me embrace you and enrapture you and encompass you in my incorporeal and frozen, evanescent tranquility."
This ephemeral and serene cave now even murmurs and sings a tranquil symphony suffused with rhapsodic zeniths.
It... It truly was ephemeral...
A horrible shriek, a shrill and a repulsive and repugnant and rancid smell. A decrepit cacophony of hollow, anguished wailing and screaming. Pain at my soul, and a harsh, hoarse and coarse voice filled with slaughter and cataclysm. A grotesque, hirsute maladroit leech, visceral and shunned from everything and everyone, even the Earth itself...
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
Mirrored silver
tag me blue
reflective sky
widgeon, merganser
blithely sail
broken ripples
foretelling
storm
raucous
cawing crows
assemble
anxious ducks
explode airborne
duly warned
silent drone
fateful wraith
Eagle
glides over
the settling
surface
razor eyes
seeking
the meek
the weak
fleeing flock
coalesces
white bellies
exposed to the sun
banking hard
return to serenity
certain death
deferred
in nature
alliances are clear
predator
prey
vigilantly
warning
relentlessly
defending
Shrieking
crow-beleaguered
Eagle
retreats
no match
for those
united
against him
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
In dire straights
the human being's
collective
conscience
coalesces
compassion.
Always to create
in those moments
nothing short of miracles.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
i belong to the daybreak
when humans with sleepy eyes
and mousy morning hearts
are brave enough to face
the scarily mundane world once again.
i belong to nature
to the hidden wonders of the world
there's unknown modern hanging gardens of babylon
and the secret sanctuaries
where the teenagers of the megalopolis
go to rest.
i belong to the ocean
in the deepest trenches
no man has seen
where it is quiet and still
and darkness reigns supreme.
i belong to outer space
in the galaxies who are
strangers we'd like to know
there's dark matter that swirls
space dust coalesces
and stars are born to die all over again.
i belong to the rain
when the sky cries and
the typhoons turn to drizzle
the water runs through
empty houses and thrift stores in the gutters
and on and on, to underground,
to God knows where.
i belong to the night
to the time when the busiest people
submit to slumber
but a few who are not
bothered by lightyears
sit by their windowsills
to watch the stars.
*i belong to the world
and the world belongs to me.*
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
Silence
At first a void
Then sudden burst of energy
Forces collide
Atoms split and divide
From nothing comes forth something
Radiance breaking free of abyss
Hot gaseous ball coalesces then cools
To form a planetary sphere
Which orbits a citrus giant
Giving off golden light
And warming touch
To embrace a world
And allow the basis for life
All this by chance and happenstance?
All complexity born from
Random motion and chaos?
How vast and unnumbered
The twinkle in the heavens
Yet all alone?
Oh I gaze up at yonder skies
And marvel at wonders
My eyes have never known
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 8:35 PM UTC
The yucca plant from my mother’s garden sits
unattended and on the verge of death next to her
eldest rose bush, now wildly overgrown and lightly
blushing in the cosset of the midmourning sun. Its
withered rosettes droop down to its bed of maroon-stained stones
in crisp, harum-scarum patterns as if the plant is spending its life
like currency trying to touch its toes. I oftentimes
find myself wondering if the reason behind this
slow rotting of mother dearest’s garden is hidden within her
five-year absence. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say
her nursery missed the d
i
g
g
i
n
g
of her weathered hands.
She was the biosphere of my world; I suppose that
it only makes sense for the earth to match my thirst. We
sit side by side, that yucca plant and I, as we struggle to
nod our heads towards daylight while we rise on
the side of the house that is more or less
cloaked in shadow; the side that she would sunbathe
on during scorching late afternoons. Perhaps without her
body giving shelter, all her garden is doomed to
atrophy like muscle in the sunlight.
I find irony in the way that my mother’s favored plant
was the “ghost in the graveyard;” a perverted parallel
to the game that she never wanted us to play. I think it to be
sort of sardonic that her pride swallowed the possibility of
a cure being found within that ****** plant’s roots. She,
a third generation American girl,
had blood as muddled as the mud
that buried that yucca’s heart.
The boundary line between Mother and
nature coalesces into one:
Gaea
six feet under
melting into soil
I hope she becomes seawater.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
My brow furrowed as she read my palm
and whispered of growing interest.
"What?" I asked; I had my qualms
about the foretelling of a future
I haven't decided to live.
But I smell the darkness in the incense.
I trace the tendrils of the incense
with forehead firmly within my palm.
The streets below are live
with persons of little interest,
hustling toward a fuller future.
Renew me, my qualms.
Not that I had qualms,
banana-flavored incense
replacing patois in my future.
The lurid waves slide over my palm.
instill a touch of colder interest.
With each sandy step, I live.
And as the water fills my shoes, I live.
When I quietly lose interest
the ocean shows it too has qualms.
The brine coalesces like incense
as my nails dig into the skin of my palm.
For I seek a better future
than the unforgiving future
that chose not to live.
The salt stings the holes in my palm
and instantly I have no qualms,
just a lingering fleck of incense
arousing mild interest.
The ocean betrayed not the slightest interest
being the shepherd of my future.
Rivulets of water became the incense
That I would breathe to live.
Instinct expressed fervent qualms,
as I pressed my mouth with my open palm.
It was the incense in which I held the most interest.
Her finger traced my palm, mumbling of a better future
ahead for me to live, free from petty qualms.
Nov 25, 2010
Nov 25, 2010 at 1:17 AM UTC
This isn't the remedial rhythm your grandfather told you he listened to when he was a lad
This rhythm is the sole possessor of unfathomable depths
A melodic perception of what awaits at the steps of cognitive pools
Each bubble coalesces at the apex and pops with a reckless flush
Liquifed sound scatters and turns to dust
You can hear it on your skin
It's slight
But you can almost decipher what that muse was mouthing before you took the dive
Warning: Contents under forever
Sand does not absorb these notes
Infinitesimal grime only shocks and provokes
Until the boiling point is reached
The clock will strike half past infinity before you can even see
Your reflection's hymn ripple across the well of eternity
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 5:15 AM UTC
I feel the curve of your palm
Like a phantom ache,
And know that this impression
Has permanence.
Pondering the dust devils
In mid-fall
Your presence coalesces
Like those phenomenal vortexes
That spring up unexpectedly
Swirling pieces of a world
That is slowly falling
Asleep.
Snowflakes drifted in winter
Occasionally catching mates
To dance to earth with,
And alone I traced
And remembered patterns in the ice
With initials scrawled.
The world was a contradiction
Of flowers and ice
And I marveled at the strength it takes
For a tiny seedling
To briefly break through the
Weight of the World.
One more glimpse,
One more chance, when the sun bathes the earth
And children robed like a flock of crows
Take a stretch of paper
Relinquishing them
To the real world.
One more moment to see
How the span of seasons
Can change everything
And nothing.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
The moment when time coalesces
When every futile aspiration succumbs
And fragility becomes the armour of the arrogant
When scars are beautiful without a lens
And angels are able to stop crying themselves to sleep
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 8:48 AM UTC
chill in the stars
and the brightness
in the air
cloudy skies
clouded vision
cluttered thoughts
and inhibition
surrendered
to the ascetic force
guiding my
shaking hand
to-and-from
the ashtray
& in the smoke
and the doubt
mind and soul
became one
rationality resists
fantasy but
coalesces into
lust
and on this night
so black and white
You stood;
serene and from a dream
casting over
every ray of light
You
lovely
merciless
enamoring
thing
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 5:31 AM UTC
Can't we choose the air that coalesces with our blood?
Can't we decide the only time to let our lids shut and unlock?
Can't we pick the only lumps we want to sprout from our structures?
Can't we select the parts we would rather have blemished?
Can't we prohibit the leaky drops of saline our eyes secrete?
Or forbid our visage from exposing an out of control kaleidoscope?
Can't we stop our pumps from thrashing and throbbing and telling on us?
As well as command our malfunctioning extremities to quit giving away our state?
Can't we instead just bring out our insides without dissecting the outside?
Can't we just emit what we mean to sound off by just lip-syncing?
Can't we really do anything without a swad of nerves tell us no?
While having every stretch of muscle and vein say yes?
Can't we just...
Can't we really?
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
and when at last I rest
I will
forever hold
the mystery of your life and love
close to my heart of hearts
at one with the universe
and as I think of all the things
I failed you with
in so many ways remiss
yet forgiven
the bulwark of that state of bliss
will be to know I loved you well
not perfectly
but well enough to be
the deepest satisfaction
of my life
If such repose is
as they say, eternal
then eternally i will love you well
and when time itself collapses
and the universe, in a reverse big bang
coalesces back into its birth
my matter will rejoice because indeed
the new physics does predict
parallel infinite worlds
that side by side
coexist
lucky me, reborn in an infinity of ways
to infinitely love you once again.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 11:16 AM UTC
i let light trickle down:
thoughts of a life i
could stand to
be less weary,
to
have some sweet smile,
in the doorway,
or on all sidewalks,
or between the sheets.
some sweet something,
like you.
finally, grasping an idea,
a want;
your gravity
coalesces, in small bundles about me.
i am inevitably drawn,
in tightening circles,
to the thought
of my mounting resolve to
give you
all of the world,
the skin of my lips,
point eight litres of oxygen,
all stars, all nights.
and, so,
i tie strings to your fingers,
in dreams.
i bide these two weeks,
in hope.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
Would not then the Law of One be the Law of Love. No rules just nature within the infinite (I call it the deep and dark, dark referring to the unseen yet it is sentiently known and most readily embraced) deep dark sea of love from where all is sprung. Not only suggesting that all manifest is descended this way but more is available on the demand of our real needs. Yes love is responsive reactive willing in infinite facets this way!!! So I prefer to say love is all there is rather than love is all you need. I call the wild cards the X factor that is our individual willingness's which All are and is interdependent upon. Yet too I know this X factor is a fractal spawning too of loves nature to share All and so All feels for All when otherwise fragmented inwards into obscurity. Love is not obscurence of one another, love coalesces it's own essences. You know I invite All to tell the greatest story here by being bold in meekness. All love All, Ra!!!
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 10:33 AM UTC
There were ripples of the sparkling stream.
The crystalline water was mirroring the blue sky.
That befriended with the sun’s wonderful beam.
Beams of the dazzling looking golden eye.
The background was overflowing with mountains.
Mountains with snowcapped peaks,
Their attainment of such exquisiteness is a real arcane.
What is it above the sky that they seek?
The eagles were gloating about their wings.
O! How marvelous they were to glance upon!
Thrushes flew above the river as they sing.
Grazing on the grassland was a cluster of fawn.
There I saw the elderly yet strong fisherman.
Flinging his lure in an elegant technique.
Attracting catfish and trout as much as he can,
While sitting on the boulder beside the flowing creek.
The loveliness of the lotus was luring me,
Positioned silently on the cerulean water.
The white arrowhead was charming as she could be,
Her petals were diminutive as they always were.
Far away, I saw a grandiose tall tower.
Its peak was reaching for the high heavens.
He stood there taking delight over his power,
Amazed all travelers every now and then.
The heavens above exposed a band of colors.
Little time, after the floating dark skies cried.
I then assumed that our life is filled with squalors.
But don’t worry because later they are all bright.
After the drizzle, dews sat calmly on the grasses.
Scarcely and leisurely moving towards the ground,
The sunlight coalesces with the dew with tender caress.
How luxurious they looked wearing the golden crown!
The children played alongside the river in pleasure.
Girls were collecting flowers to make tiaras and garlands,
While boys were skipping stones on the tranquil water
Their little footprints placed themselves on the loose sands.
And I was assembled comfortably on the greens.
Beside flowed the river without paying any notice.
It cleansed all of my hopelessness and spleen.
Therefore I slept on the nature’s lap with internal peace…
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
No longer connected to the ground
the ultimate ascension is triggered
eyes open as time slows, the feeling
of eternity coalescing.
No longer obstructed from my condition
everything is revealed,
turning all sight upon itself
subsumed in the realization of being
the bridge manifests, and the two shores appear
now at the brink of what joins man and the divine
the convergence of every challenge and disillusion
spurs me beyond the very state of grace
I step upon the bridge,
exhaling one last breath
before air turns into light
as before me the world vanishes
eyes open as the currents bend before me
I look upon the world with perspective
never before imagined. I reach out to touch them
and so, in the hand of God, eternity Coalesces.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
I look upon a web that hangs gently
Before me, I look deep within the beads
Of morning dew, I see reflections
Of each part of me.
Each strand was a part of me, I
Was woven of many pieces, Some
Held many dews of water,
While others vacant, the thread
Is clean no dew no spiders
Motion nothing hangs there.
But others a collection of movements,
Dew coalesces there, where would
I spin a new thought, what part of
Me is hanging in anticipation, new
Thoughts to be caught and fed upon.
I wondered upon a Web, I looked in
To its intricate design, I saw many parts
Of myself within this elegant creation,
Thoughts were the dew coalescing
Upon silken line, I was empty in
Parts waiting to be filled.
I looked and smiled, touched silk with
The tip of my fingers, vibrations fed
Through like thought, and with that
I walked, I wondered silently on.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
There is a certain unplaced quality to the whole thing
Like it was never planned to look as it does
And the fact that it is the part that we aren’t supposed to see has always appealed to me
The ripples and cracks
Fissured by time
As a clash between flux and permanence
And will bent by entropy
A rusted staircase like a lonely island dangling and looking weak and unsafe
And who knows maybe it is
For the paint is chipped black frosted like ice
But it is hot and the air is heavy
As it always feels in a place like this
For there is rapture in a place that feels like it does not belong
And like you do not belong there
I contemplate the number of feet that stood right where I stand
I think about the installation of such things
I think about the man who stood and wrote his name in paint
About how that got bent like that
About when that wall fell down and when that glass broke
The stories that touched this particular spot only for that brief moment
The stories in which this is not even a footnote
Where the organic flux meets the rigid industrial
And all coalesces into a barren scape hidden away
And forgotten for it fits in neither picture
As the romance of the days that it saw beautifully have long been realized as nostalgic and useless
And a brick may fall and hurt someone
Or they may just tip their hat and continue on their way
But despite all these things I have a sense of blindness
And sublime captured by a world of temporary distinction
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
Rubble and dust
spinning in swirling disks
around the fire
until one place
of greater attraction
draws debris to itself
and coalesces into an incandescent planet.
Earth and sky begin
full of promise.
Nov 12, 2024
Nov 12, 2024 at 1:29 PM UTC
I hate it all so much.
This hatred burns and scalds my skin
from the outside in and rips away flesh
like picking rotted flowers from my bones.
My clothes
are no longer here.
They left ashes in their place
a slow wake of fire dust
encircles me
like its digging out a tomb.
I hear the cackling of the
sturdy floorboards beneath
my feet begin to snap.
I hear the laughter breaking free
from the splinters and feel the spike
of their railroad pike skin pierce me
ripping away failing flesh
like train cars
until I am just cooked bone and hate
and spilled muscle.
My blood begins to soak into the oak
of the earth’s soil.
I hear it boil.
It funnels down through dirt like drain-o.
I peer into the hole like an open casket.
I see the soul of the planet so like me.
All cooked bone and boiled blood.
All rotted flower and liquid muscle.
It coalesces into an ocean of metal magma.
It looks like it knows how to hate like me.
The wakes wave like an invitation.
I feel the gravity of my skeletal frame
pull back into an arched bow
and let go.
I fall like an arrow on fire.
My cooked bone crashes into an alloy ocean
and shatters like fine china
I am fire dust in the form of crashed skeleton
and rotten flower.
I fuse into this lake of burning wakes
until the flames of our hate
soak into a bonfire of failed flesh and metal
I am home here
There is no armament of wood and laughter
There is only hate, blood, bone, metal, and rotted flower
It looks like heaven.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC