"musicality" poems
Profound, that he lost his sight.
He couldn't get the harmonies to blend quite right,
So he gave up seeing,
For music was the life and the fiber in his being.
He didn't need another soul
To change his note from half to whole,
For he had something else to hold,
And music couldn't make his spirit old.
So, he wed the chord, he played the piece,
And he dubbed musicality the worst disease.
Funny that a musical obsession
Would correspond with loneliness at life's discretion.
--Emily Rutledge
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
Hi, below I copy a humorous hiabun, which I shared as an exercise to mentor enquiring and inspired poets to learn, so they might adopt and try different techniques and then give critique together with awesome comments... Yes, I used the words *** ****** and **** for context the rest was left to an individual imagination as in good poetry!
It included reflective commentary encompasses innocent classification terminology used in the critique, reading, examining, appreciating, understanding and writing of poetry for example: POETIC DEVICES (enjambement, duality, keriji, images, collocation, semantic, oxymoron, repetition, listing etc.), STORY (personification, characterisation, subject, context, voice etc.), IMAGERY (synaesthesia), STRUCTURE ( lineation, breaks, syntactic etc.), SOUNDS (syllables, rhyme, alliteration, pace, musicality, phrasing, beat, assonance, onomatopoeia, mouthed rhythms, patterned) and WORDS (preposition, determiner, verbs, adverbs, lexical, nouns, adjectives) used by poets, critics and academics...
And here it is :
**** tongue-in-cheek haibun - a reflective commentary on writing a popular tanka
Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile
My first inspiration was *** passionate life squeezing screaming *** the thumping wall musicality of *** exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.
I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.
Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.
I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.
I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.
So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!
Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite
**
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
*My first inspiration was ***
passionate life squeezing screaming ***
the thumping wall musicality of ***
exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet
I wanted to make it a senryu
but for duality the female characterisation
demanded two more lines
each extending to seven syllables
Arousing images captured her moaning
splashing loneliness in unusual collocation
I was first excited by the placement
of a hovering extended enjambement
to give life to my final line
whilst also considering the satisfaction
in using noisy mouthed rhythms
I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context
with a watery semantic field
suggesting she would choke and drown
So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’
as a cutting keriji to make clear
the dominating ****** context
having previously used
a preposition and determiner
to maintain duality*
**Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite**
.
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 6:29 PM UTC
Ruby red slippers, rich with passionate love
for you, dear state, as I search your land,
grazing the colors, the life, and the mystery
of weeds choking gravestones, tangling the dead.
But you, dear state, yourself is so gentle.
Kansas, you stretch to ****** my curls;
to stroke my tender cheek with a
flock of sunflowers, blooming vivid gold and
a mizzle of musicality, too high, too loud for me.
Your screams of country overwhelm me.
Why you, dear state, never treat us to
tangles of concrete nor mazes of glass?
Kansas, your heaven gives me migraine.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile
**My first inspiration was *** passionate life squeezing screaming *** the thumping wall musicality of *** exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.
I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.
Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.
I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.
I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.
So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!**
Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite
.
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 11:25 AM UTC
My Lucifer, unwitting Muse, dog-eared Vonnegut,
afrobeatnik third eye, howls escaping
from your headphones, wailing about secrets, about infidelity,
about analyzing life until there ain’t nothin’
left. Then you shuffle by in your black and white Adidas,
hair in twists, wearing the striped sweater
of nihilistic intent, quoting the rants of Holden Caulfield
in your blog like you never didn’t know him.
I never asked to know you, to want who I can’t have
when I can’t even love myself. And every fiber
Of my being yearns for reciprocation. What is there
to return? What is there to feel, you meditate on truth,
fallen angel in the parlor of rebellion, blasphemous goodbye,
bright and morning star simpering like crickets in the palms
of daybreak. Your musicality radiates from subway chatter
and overheard profanity down El Camino Real.
I take in your ballad at my post office mailbox,
in the abandoned echoes of daydream monologues.
You’re a philosopher, exploring theory of mind, a cartographer,
mapping the labyrinth of your deepest desires.
Tell me again about desires, demonstrations of divine sadism. Tell me
about human empathy, the animated faces of wordless expression,
the metaphysics of free will, my beginning and my end,
alpha and omega, my fortress in the land of chic.
Blasphemous hustler, let your idealism simmer, your wit, your mojo,
I come to you an amateur, a neophyte, a lowly scab
in the strike against ignorance. Give me my melody, my song,
my one-hit-wonder of all that is cliché and unknown.
But I can’t be the other woman, your girlfriend, your aspiring
Playboy bunny only 10-bucks-a-throw. Your highness-who-yells-
his-ideas-into-the-ears-of-echoes, your every quirk spellbinds me.
Each day I wake to your entourage vibrato.
I am held captive by your brooding stare, empress of liberal
doves. You visit in my dreams when the sky is a force of darkness
viewing light through peepholes, your flaws an aphrodisiac, a love drug,
a fast hit in the basement from the ecstasy of words.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 5:37 AM UTC
Pub poetry is a form of performance poetry consisting of the shouted word which has developed in UK urban pubs, dating back to the 1940s and 50s. Words are typically yelled over ambient haphazard rhythms which are not especially chosen for the piece of poetry, rather the poetry is performed over the generic sound of empty bottles and part filled glasses and live samples of patron conversation that will be familiar to those frequenting hostelries around the UK.
Sometimes the audience will employ call and response devices to distract the poet, such as calls of "W##k-er!', with the traditional response of "F##k-You!" before the pub poet continues with his yelled out verse, often read from the beer stained back of an overdue envelope.
The pub poet usually appears on a chair or table, surrounded by immediate family or work mates cheering him on.
Invariably inebriated, the pub poet may not appear to make any sense to the uninitiated - but once you too have availed yourself of your 4th or 5th pint, the words become clearer and easier to appreciate.
No musicality is built into pub poems and pub poets generally perform without backing music, delivering chanted speech with pronounced modulation, broken-rhythmic accentuation and dramatic, though random, stylization of gestures, often resulting in the pub poet losing balance and sustaining a head injury thereby losing consciousness and bringing the evening's entertainment to a premature, but often welcome, end.
It is often noted that many pub poets are remarkably shy and retiring when sober.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
*He is
My Azure Dreambird,
(The Sovereign of Songbirds)
That soars upon
Skies of Resonance.
His sapphire wings
Weightless by valor,
Hallowed every doubt
That
Cursed my shadow
Until credence reigned.
He is
The Musicality of my Soul,
That I climbed as
A stairway
Into
Gates of Aether
Upon
Porcelain keys
Of an impearled
Grand Piano.
His sound emittance
Ascended in frequency until
Pitch became subliminal
For height
ceased to be
Height,
And depth,
Ceased to be
Depth,
It was
Ineffable harmony
And resolution became effortless
With
The touch of his hand.
He is
The Wings of the Dawn,
A Sweeping Rapture
That raised
Me
Beyond the stratosphere
Until graced by
Untarnished embrace
Of the Baptistery of the Sun.
I burst
From Light’s Intemerate Womb,
Renewed and
Gazed upon Terraqueous Gaia
Then for once,
(Yes, for all eternity)
Succumbed to
Faith in the Transcendence
Of his tender affections.
Woe was existence
Before His lightwaves radiated
Within my heart,
For when I purged my pulse
Of that quaking rhythm
And
Hollow cries
Upon his ears,
He stood moved
And remained
Doughty in his devotion
To me.
In that moment
I fathomed his soul
Glistened
O, for he had not forsook me.
I bear a pilgrimage.
One sought to be
Heard,
Seen,
Felt,
Breathed,
And
Divined
By my
Once
Somnolent spirit
Been
Roused
By the incendiary thew of
His ardor.
My revenant soul
Hath emerged from
The Chrysalis of Time as
The Apotheosis of Astral Flame
(A Reverberation of the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
That since
The Days of Time Immemorial
Guided by the
Whisper of the stars,
I now cleave
To that celestial susurrus:
To the solace buried beneath
The Soil of Afflicition
(For anguish was all I knew)
In repose
Yet yearning to be
Resurrected
In The Dream of Acquisition,
To for eternity behold
The timeless fervor
That doth layeth
In His heart*
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
*I breathe in your essence
the musk of morning ardor
mingle of last night still lingers
heat permeated somewhere
between pearls & lace
lust, the scent of you
ignites the longing flames
I feel the blaze building
hot musicality beat in our *****
waves of ecstasy wash over me
eagerness of nether bliss
wet warmth should be a clue
sans lace should be your cue
wrap these pearls
around your ardency
lavish me with
your male machismo
I'll fervently submit
to ravish your firm desire
tune you like my saxophone of love
play that instrument
all the night and day long*
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 5:37 AM UTC
Attentive student of the songs of birds,
No beakèd beast hath e'er more sweetly trill'd
A pair of notes or call'd in major thirds
Or minor with musicality more skill'd.
Adaptive linguist, practic'd in the tongue
Of wingèd feather'd creatures, thou hast writ
Into "The Birdsong Songbook" songs unsung
By birds which yet harmoniously fit.
And though the book began in higher throats
Diversely tun'd by Nature's artful hand
Ere measur'd were the times and tones of notes,
(Which often rest them now upon a stand),
Its finest lines (o'er which I now do rave)
Witness thy penmanship on every stave.
^ ^
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
Pining to be loved
I sought asylum within these pages
Every line, every word, every rhyme
Was a reflection of the sorrow that ruminated
Beyond the looking glass.
Yes, I fathomed I was alone without a
Guiding star, without a lodestar to lead the way, O, but now I am liberated
By The Sovereign of Songbirds
Who solaces me by his mellifluous musicality.
(Yes, I am free)
Soaring beneath the stratosphere, thermosphere, mesosphere, and exosphere
I saw all the suffering underneath the sun
And remembered what it was like to slumber.
Rest is something I took for granted
Feeling it was only forged to flee lament; oh, but that is only half the freedom
Of truth: Yes, we are reborn when we slumber.
So lull me and lead the way; furthermore, I am liberated.
The Sovereign of Songbirds enspirits me
By the clairron lullaby, by His voice.
(O, I am free)
Dreaming, I lost sight of all that made me human;
Limitations forgotten, I drifted heavensward. I forsook
All I held beloved.
Why must phantasy mean sacrifice? Must the fantast
Be sundered in order to claim transcendence, ascendence?
Yes, I was burned by The Incendiary Sun but
My heart has survived. It leads the way to liberty.
I am risen by The Sovereign of Songbirds who resurrects me.
I am summoned from the ashes like a Phoenix Rising.
(O, I am free)
(Se’ lah)
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 7:49 PM UTC
Perverts
Perverts
Every single one of them
Their bright, lustful eyes
That needy, clingy smile
Desire reeks from every part of their body
Without them I cannot work
Without them I cannot sing for my supper
And yet I want to punch them all in the face
I want to disown them
I can't describe that awful feeling
That they don't want you for your voice, your musicality
They want you for that unnamed act
And although they've never tried
You are deathly afraid of giving them the opportunity
The polite consent
I wish I had the work ethic, the talent
To leave and find great work
Beautiful timbres and songs
New music all the time
Competence and prestige
I must endure their constant attempts to get closer
Even if just by a few steps
It makes my blood boil
My heart pound with utter rage
It's more than I can stand
And they flatter and flatter
Until their throats go dry
Until they can no longer hold their giant grin
I wish something would physically stop them
They know my insecurity
And they manipulate it
They invest
And they play the cruel game of time
Wait for their golden opportunity
When the time has come
I flee like a gazelle on the savannah
I'm tired of running
I'm tired of holding back the scream of rage
The shriek of frustration
Someday they won't be able to push me around
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
The streets, plain
The scenery, new but unchanged
The city, now black and white
The candle that failed to ignite
The crisp morning air
The usual affairs
The same unheated ground
Then there was a faint sound
The leaves started to sway
There was a presence of warm sun rays
The grass and flowers danced
The prospect, enhanced
All because my ears have found
A vaguely familiar and new sound
An enamoring explosion of melody
An enthralling harmony
A beguiling musicality
An enslaving euphony
A perfect array of notes
Flowing with a hypnotic coat
A piercing tune
Resembling a rune
It's rhythm, throbbing
It's tempo, moving
The sound was too perfect and strong
That it seemed like a torturous song
Nonetheless, it was a beautiful beat
Beautiful enough to move my feet
What I heard was an alluring sound
That eventually made me slide through the ground
I closed my eyes and followed what I heard
Walking, searching, to clarify the blurred
The faint sound, grew louder
Eventually I was overpowered
While seeking for the source of the hymn
I turned into a willing victim
My feet have stopped moving
When I saw a man, the man who was playing
My eyes settled upon his silhouette
Which was in contrast to the sunset
There he was, sitting on a wooden stool
Unknowingly making all the listeners drool
His fingers fluttering atop black and white keys
Creating color through a musical breeze
I saw him, that man
Still playing, talking through his hands
I followed a sound and saw a pianist
And then my heart was kissed
Not because of the music that made my ears fuss
Not because he splashed paint all over the dull canvas
But because of how he looked at the instrument
It's as if, for the piano, his eyes were meant
How he gazed upon it with those eyes
As if the piano was his only prize
How he goggled the piano with those eyes
As if for that instrument he was willing to agonize
As if he can only see the piano
As if there was only him and the piano
It was that look that little girls dream of
It was that look that symbolized love
That look that little girls wished were for them
That look that would give little girls contemn
That look that was only for the piano
That look that was pure as snow
That look was colorful and honestly warm
That look that entrapped a celestial swarm
That look which was gentle and intense
That look which was passionate and immense
That look which was alive, painful and afraid
In that moment, I longed for a shooting star's aid
As if a little girl, I wished for what little girls wish for
I wished for him to look at me like that, nothing more
But none can compare with his instrument
Nor to the reason why he plays it with such intent
To the new girl he plays for
To the girl he currently adores
I hope his sound reaches you
I hope you listen and give him value
I hope you look at him as he plays for you
Look at him like how he looks at the piano when he thinks of you
Like how the crowd looks at him as he plays like this
Like how the little girls look like when they wish
Like how he used to look at the piano
When he misses and plays for the little girl, not too long ago
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
Their metaphors and smilies
didn't strike no chord with me,
For the language lacked musicality.
The words written slowly drifted
Across the page and died silently.
I was about to give up
When notes began to appear
And flutter delicately
Across the page,
Rising, rising to create a symphony,
Filled with awe and meaning
Until they sang
brilliantly, resonating,
Haunting me beautifully.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
You spirit me away to Greater Eden, /
In the redolent throes of /
Ethereal /
Romance. /
Reverie is magnified in your absence /
As I wonder upon /
Your /
Towering arms. /
Your heart is an impearled grand piano, /
Singing to me symphonically. /
Each key, weaving a tapestry /
Of the sonorities in amour. /
Beauty is your cadenza, /
As your radiant moonbeams /
Whisk me away to /
Twilight En Amour. /
May you be mine, /
Until the stars evanesce /
From The Charred Canvas of /
The Night Sky. /
I am yours, /
From sea to shining sea /
Uttering one-thousand words in solemn prayer /
That our union may ne’er deliquesce. /
May these words imbue you /
With the ardor of ages /
That we might procure in the heat of romance, /
The silver wings to soar heavensward. /
You are my forevermore, /
You are my swansong, /
You are my euphony, /
You are my musicality. /
You are my poetry, /
You are my eternity, /
You are my whimsicality, /
You are my Ivory Knight. /
(—Se’ lah)
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 8:11 PM UTC
Lust is the study of dance and retreat
The chase and the beat
Where souls move together, collide and complete....
And musicality crawls through our skin
So transparent and thin
Like the breath of a kiss that has yet to begin.....
Just like the thunderous beat from the drum
We pulsate and come
Apart at the seams like your cat's got my tongue.....
The music fades down so the silence can start
It's own form of art
And all that remains....
All that remains.....
Is the stone steady beat of my percussive heart.
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 6:16 PM UTC
The Sovereign of Songbirds
Has been roused
Emitting layers of harmony
Borne of exultation, borne of woe, and
Reverberating in the Key of Elysium
Let your dreams guide you.
As the fulgent daystar
Dawns upon your starry spirit,
The musicality, the euphony of amour
Will abide within.
Soar unto the stratosphere,
For the limitlessness of flight
Belongeth to
The earthen vessel waxing ethereal;
Furthermore, it is only achieved through self-transcendence.
Ye are Children of Manumission;
Therefore, fulminate from sea to shining sea
Until the obsidian of hate
Descends into Magisterial Oblivion
Arising anew as The Element of Freedom.
The Requiem of the Revenant shall rise,
The Maw of Darkness will fall;
Ultimately, the Paean of Light will
Resound upon the four corners
Of the Terraqueous Mother.
(Se' lah)
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 4:22 AM UTC
He:
Oh, how I beseech to woo
From the moment I laid my eyes on you.
Who wouldn’t wonder of such that Fate
Brought unlikely souls like bait?
Here comes Cupid’s arrows flying
To our innocent hearts as its landing.
It is not something I wished
And child’s play can be suppressed.
But the tempest had to appease,
So I made Poseidon to please.
Bacchus, enough is that merrymaking
That I may be spared by the king.
Far and wide I had to go,
Lo, I’m surprised my love is just here so…
Come, hold tight to my hand,
Let our musicality form a band.
She:
Hug me to your heart’s content
That warmth can be competent.
Go, you have me to carry,
Just don’t let your piggyback hurt me very.
Let us hither under the stars,
Wish to shooting stars that never scarce.
I hope you don’t mind my long hair,
Perhaps the wind can move it, not tear.
Can you smell the breeze of the meadow?
Oh, I like to lie on it like a shadow.
Make haste, for time is to burrow,
Kiss me like there’s no tomorrow.
Salute to this allegory!
Be this love’s hymn of glory;
Here’s for my boo long before I’ve met
From your dearest, the poet.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
A legion of children enveloped us that day, /
Their presence transparent beneath rays of sun baptismal. /
As the chirp of laughter infiltrated the air, /
There enclaved in their omnipresent mist, /
Passion blossomed in this juvenescent heart. /
Gleaming these eyes sauntered your luminescent skin, /
Pining for that rapture that lay betwixt your arms. /
Although roving within for clarity in words, /
This burgeoning vessel trembled in loss, /
For fugitive they stood in my subconscious. /
Yearning for more than the caress of your voice, /
Its musicality enough to serenade for all time, /
And the flawless rhythm of this heartbeat /
Whispered intently of something divine /
For this keepsake of yours -is immortal.- /
Even now nostalgia cleaves as an arrow, /
-Piercing to the soul- /
And it screams to be nurtured. /
Blooming in reminiscence I conjure dreams immemorial, /
Returning to that hallowed sanctuary. /
Your countenance is a distant glint, now untraceable; /
Marred by elapsed time, that insidious decay. /
My agony has become a vast sea, /
Besieged by the maelstrom of lament /
For my undying piety is all that remains./
A language too grand to be deciphered /
By such an infantile mind, /
Yet now I pensively ponder, "Will you ever return?" /
I would relinquish my soul to gaze once more /
Upon your grace my Materialista. /
Life has become a heavy haze, /
Occupied by a discordant melisma of pain. /
And this memento -without you- is my torture stake, /
For the moment we held hands has bound me forevermore; /
And I stand here everlastingly, yearning for your arms. /
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
I have read your words, O Poet of Pain,
Their musicality is bliss to ears,
A taste of sweets to mind when each one hears
About the lonely stars, about the rain.
The urn, the nightingale have stayed the same,
Since the moment they were written down, fears
Of loss and of decay (because of years)
Are not to be found – nothing gone to vain.
Your life and sacred love is stated clearly,
For beauty and the truth, who I can see
Although, like springs, it's repeated and old.
O Bard of Bright Letters! I thank you dearly,
That you have written lines of poetry
To us and yourself; their worth 's more than gold.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC
one crisp morning commute
driving down Rodeo Blvd.
I came across a cloud of leaves
a city block long
hovering like hummingbirds in the street
jiggling to the beat
of each passing vehicle
caught up in the car's drafts
rush hour traffic
would not allow them to fall
hundreds of small green and yellow dots
standing at attention
waving like beauty queens
twirling like dervishes
leaping and spinning in pirouettes
doing cartwheels and somersaults
each tumble tickling my delight
as playful patterns emerged
you could see their musicality
fallen foliage dancing to a silent symphony
suspended in mid air
out of sync with reality
as I, in turn, drove through in slow motion
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 1:46 PM UTC
I hear him /
I see him /
I fathom him /
From afar /
Knowing that love looms over the horizon. /
He gives me the wings to soar /
Into the dreamscape /
There I find stillness, heartsease & the resplendant, radiant moonbeams /
The mellifluous musicality /
—He spirits me away./
La voce de la luce, /
La voce de la luce, /
Miramos, /
Escuchamos, /
A la voce de la luce. /
What do you /
See /
When you look at me? /
What do you /
See? /
I see a cosmos: /
I see the moon, the sun, the stars, /
A luminary, I see the trajectory /
The path of someone doubtless, /
Of someone indefatigable. /
Wombed skies, the aethers, /
Someone, something, /
So pristine, crystalline, intemerate, /
Unmatched, in formosity. /
—It's you. /
Dec 27, 2023
Dec 27, 2023 at 8:59 PM UTC
Your religion is
an earworm, curled around
my feeble brain. All day I
find myself singing praises of
your god, my
former salvation. Your religion dances
around my tired mind, enchanting
my ears even as
my heart rebels. I am
in the shower, trying
not to sing my love to
the cold tile walls, the
streaming hot water, the
house as my family listens to
the notes pour out of
my open mouth. טוב
להודות ל' ולזמר
לשמך עליון they
sing in voices like
brightly feathered birds circling
the light of
His countenance. Your god
is strong, and gives of
his strength freely to those
who can follow him faithfully. I
find myself incapable, and yet
your melodies ensnare me. This blessing
of musicality, gifted directly
from hours of sitting rapt, in
your house of worship, is also
my curse. I cannot forget
the source of my love affair
with the rise and fall
of your adoring exaltations
and all music.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
i distinctly remember
your admirable smile
and the serene look on your face
blushing in the warm summer air
and how that smile
seemed to embarrass the stars
and the overall brightness of it
humiliated the city lights.
i distinctly remember
the sound of your laughter
euphonic and melodious
ringing like joyous church bells
and how that laugh
put all symphonies to shame
and the overall resonance of it
mortified the musicality of this world.
i distinctly remember
your face in the midst of a crowd
staring back at me, a ghost
with a gaunt, pitiable look
and how that face
seemed as despairing as the ocean
and how the overall sight of it
stirred jealousy in the oppressive rainclouds
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
*Iridescent wind sailors , bursting Silver Maples
Wild Daises caressing red clay trails
Yellow Locust are submariners diving then reappearing in freebooter informality
Dragonflies are strafing the Crimson valley
I find precious fuchsia bearers in sunlit strained vision
Wren song to nurture my condition
Rainwater clinging to Sycamore Trees
Musicality ... Connection .. Solidarity*
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC