"notation" poems
I can't wait till I'm awake..
Plugged into the wall.
Nothing noted until the shell of the capsule
collapses under the weight of your trembling hands.
No there is no notation for what was said between us, just figure-less voices and a strenuous pain that strained our throats for the fear of nothing being communicated between the exasperated gasps of what was less than incommunicable silence.
Ugly is not a word but a feeling applied with meaning, applied to a certain truth about that metallic taste in my mouth, that tearful pain jostled in my chest and that consuming fear.
I know little of what this ugliness could mean other than it harbors shame in my corners. This shame is not inborn in anyone, but it builds it's presence as a drunken braggart who shouts obscenities and believes he is a prince of highest regard.
His ugliness is in what he slings from his tongue and his criticisms of all who in his mind toil about. But he is simply a angry troll with no heart and delusions of grandeur, frittering away time.. for time stands as an eternal judge and measure.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
study, cram, call, make plans...
power point, presentation, speech, rewrite...
theory, materialism and idealism and the difference,
Marx, Freud to psychoanalyze...
on to polynomials, linear equations, I make a scientific notation...
take a break. (eat)
ham sweet and thick
with lots of pineapple and some cherries
potato bread and cheese
PowerAde to rehydrate
little vodca with o.j. and cigarette
after lunch, breathe .
and it’s back to study lab to mentally beat meat.
paper due, final today, did I remember to triple check
and get rid of paper clips, include a cover sheet...
ready to evaluate... I think.
ready to second guess, miss dates and time, "you're late"
again...
95, 98, 3.5 GPA? pre-test, for final, make sure your research is done,
site, source, quote, student rate and double space
power nap, smoke again,
is the day over yet?..
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:52 PM UTC
The dermatologist demands a pre-summer scan of my visual delights fully magnified.
Peering into places where no one else has ever peered, even me, reminds me that this is a potentially "disruptive" process.
Eye don't know what his eyes have seen.
He works in silence pin punctuated by the occasional mmmm or throat clearing rumble.
Snappy removal of neutrally colored gloves signify conclusion, he opines as follows:
"Were you aware," he inquires, "that the lines, the furrows on a your forehead correspond to the life your have lead?"
"You have three, deep deep tracks, and that's a fact."
Yes, eye know,
and each one is a tree ring notation
of my existence.
Each a different year,
each a different moment fearful,
a death and a birth,
a passing, a regaining.
No, not children or parents,
illusions.
Markers of our lives are the
birth and death of our illusionary,
our revelation minutes, that measure and scribe
what dug those furrows is now officially,
no more.
Until we start anew,
a different Pretense,
a channel commenced to commemorate.
Living the dream, they say,
aren't we all, eye think, and so inform him.
The doctor did not bill for this
visitation.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
When two people, so different in taste, look at each other from across the dance floor, a secret sparks out of their eyes like electric rays of romantic notation. Words have yet to be exchanged, but the slow steps towards one another make time slow to an unearthly crawl. Those dancing are nothing more than hues of grey, for the two ash-stricken lovers cannot see more than those they are attracted to. Hearts pound to a rhythm that can no longer be found within the upbeats of the swaying samba. As she longs to be in his arms, he stops only inches in front, his breath caught in his throat. The increasing amount of love being released from just his simplistic gaze makes her want to run as far as she can. With him of course, though it is not a realistic approach to the turmoil surrounding their troublesome secret. A secret that increases as he gently slides his fingers against her cheek, resting the palm of his hand on the back of her neck. Feeling the contrasting temperatures of the cool evening and her racing heartbeat, her head begins to get foggy with the vision of love that is shortly about to engulf her every fiber. The kiss, so gentle and sweet, brings back the times of innocence that was not thwarted by the interruption of time and changed lives. If only they could run away…
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
Stunt ****
He can be your lover lady, ima be your stunt **** He can be your boyfriend mommy, ima be your stunt **** He can be your husband **** ima be your stunt **** stunt **** fluid swap, yep when them ******* drop. Lights, camera, action ,I’m your stunt **** stunt **** Lights camera, action, I’m your stunt **** stunt **** Ima be your stunt **** girl and beat it up, yep ima beat it up, that man there can eat it up. We don’t need no scrip for this act or no monolog, you can adlib, improvise on my microphone. We can do the box spring boogie all night long, we can get ***** coz play like its Comic Con. Tag your girlfriend in, we can do a menajahtwa , pile drive that nannie, Macho Man Wrestle Mania. Petting that ***** Doctor Claw, go go gadget pennies, working your equation *** notation like a mad genius. If I nut prematurely , don’t you worry I got ****** it’s not superman, but stuntman with all the stamina, Ima beat it up like Van Dam at the Comitia ,finger, lick and kiss each other while I ********* It’s ocean spray ,whale watching like in Monterrey.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
an old familiar,
an adversary of the first degree,
when we wrestle,
me and this god
disguised as an angel disguised as man,
the door to where we tangle,
clicks shut with a perceptible oval sounding,
a trumpet announcing commencement of the festivities,
that we are
Occupado
no stray observers permitted in,
the room entrances locked,
someone's two hands upon each temple,
(cannot be mine, for)
inside we combat literally,
"mano-a-mano"
hand to hand,
word to word,
gradually, continuously,
up close and personally,
one on
One
over the course of a lifetime,
each battle named,
famously borrowed and thus recorded,
Agincourt, Waterloo, Gettysburg, Leningrad, Ðiên Biên Phú,
for the record keeping purposes of our unforgiving ******
historian
the rules of engagement somewhat flexible,
biting, choking, eye gouging,
kicking when down, not just legal,
encouraged, no holds barred,
when we wrestle,
the dirtier the
better
take turns declaring a victor,
for that matters little, truly,
just a record keeping notation,
the battle and its aftermath,
the waves of pain inflicted,
the casualty count engorged,
is the greatest glory,
dans une manière de
parler
though sent away the children,
our earthly goods,
designating them purportedly,
non-combatants observers,
yet 'no rules' meant
they could be accidentally drawn in,
non-combatant status does not prevent them
from being freely captured or
killed
the conflict ongoing,
no one ever calls for a truce,
for both unequal adversaries know,
no quarter will ere be given,
and though the tide shifts,
each individual battle produces as always,
a winner and a
loser
noisy affairs,
long after the battle,
the slain yet scream,
perhaps I am confused,
perhaps it is the day's survivors,
announcing that sadly,
they are still
alive
it must be the latter,
for here I am writing and recording,
and though alone,
I hear an ever growing louder,
gouging sine wave scream piercing,
daring my soul to leave my wracked
body
for though mortal wounded,
I am therefore
both dead and alive,
but which more so,
none can surely
say
this conflict remains
unconcluded
the pain in my hip, now
everywhere,
my Jacob, now, Israel,
marker
so visible even if itself,
unseen
3:59am
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
Boolean Logic
you say it isn't logical
if it's not black or white
it's either positive or negative
either day or night
can't be 6 of one
half dozen of the other
you know what I mean
know what I'm sayin brother
make up your mind
just give me the truth
don't wrap me in a cord
in a telephone booth
is it “A” or “B”
it's gotta be part of a set
I work with truths
before I place my bet
binary numbers that intersect
ands or nots or or's it can be
part of the superset
the limbs of the tree
true or false
you just gotta decide
algebraic notation
proves if you lied
could you be wrong
could there be areas of gray
in matters of love
it's not just what you say
sometimes it's what's missing
that matters the most
no salty or sweet
like a piece of dry toast
is science perfect
how the hell would I know
can only go by
the factors that show
but I got this feeling
it's more than neurologic
in matters of the heart
it takes more than boolean logic
Gomer Lepoet
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 12:54 PM UTC
Words are like melodies.
Without notation,
rhyme
or reason
they mean
nothing.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
She caught on to algebraic notation, as if,
she'd been born in the 64 square matrix,
whose precise logic spoke her mother tongue
They discussed, at length, the fianchetto formation ...
... how the defensive fortress of the castled King
was akin to the monarch's personal Masada
... how the power of the doubled Rooks and Queen
in the latent lance of Alekhine's Engine
gored the other position in thermodynamic dissipation
When he pointed out the cloaked irony of
Queen being strongest, but King paramount,
she shrugged, as if it were to be expected
Shaking hands, agreeing to the draw,
she smiled, joy precipitating from her face,
knowing there could be a world without losers
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
***A Woman's Reflection on Her Reflection (Valence and Value)
one poem, written by two authors***
~~~
**Ever the analyst,
A mirror functions as surface to
Parse the fleeting constant
Of youth's beauty.
From genetic gift
Of symmetry and bone,
To technological tampering,
Until the equation is solved,
As experience and character
Models and maps the result.
The answer, a reflection,
Of individual valence and value**
(written by S.D., a woman)
~~~
(written by N.L., a man)
unbidden and unannounced, a
"not fully formed poem,
but a simple reflection"
inbound missile arrives inbox,
armed with silent power,
the lethality of the
Holy Unexpected
the man reflects
on her mirror-on-the-wall's
fulsome reply,
parsing the words of a
woman's reflection,
while gazing on her own
every human's momentary glass notation,
but an instance of summation,
a human poem, whose editing,
unceasing
a comma here,
a period inserted,
an eye shadowed, an eyebrow tweezed,
a eye dark circle line added,
to tree-mark time's authorship
all these
but a person's
excerpted extraction,
notarized,
then auto-erased and revised,
as out of date,
instantaneously compromised
but,
***it is upon the conceptual,
valence and value,
more that the man reflects perpetual,
less on transitory morphing changes of
exterior mortality
while overlooking her
glassine realization from behind,
he concludes:
every reflection,
no matter how oft the snapshot,
the unfleeting constancy
of the combining of the
princes of principles,
valence and value
that he witnesses,
in the calming pool
of her eyes,
(those borrowed windows into her soul's well,)
so well reflect
her unchanging greater finery,
her character
this reflection,
metamorphosis transformed.
into a planetary permanency poem,
high placed in his the firmament
of their conjoined sky***
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
From my head to my toes
My inner self glows
Feeling like sunshine
On the inside
From my head to my toes
My inner self knows
Just like migration
An inner gyration
From my head to my toes
My inner self shows
When I am creating
A loving notation
From my head to my toes
My inner self grows
Like a beautiful plant
Stretching so elegant
From my head to my toes
My inner self flows
Like a babbling brook
And new routes it can take
From my head to my toes
My inner self echoes
Reflecting a harmony
From deep inside of me
From my head to my toes
My inner self crows
Sharing a voice
Of loving choice
From my head to my toes
My inner self sows
A peaceful future
For all to nurture
From my head to my toes
My inner self bestows
A heavenly surrounding
With love abounding
From my toes to my head
By inner self I am led
A divine connection
In this dimension
Excerpt from: Poetic Expressions (Awakening Our Inner Dimension)
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC
it is done differently - more is not necessary - more of this -
is too much;
the kissing is an exploration - to a polar destination of
virtual whiteness -
to discover more than this. the kissing is not an end in and of itself - but a fjord unexplored leading to what? yes there are many different kinds of kisses - adaptations to a changing terrain - but the face, the face, the face (not just the lips),
the head entire -
is the first battle in a world war where the
opponents strengths and weakness are
literally uncovered and shape the nature of the war of the worlds
yet to come.
more than kissing, it is a speech and an interrogation;
an ********** revelation
of fine lines and small scars, a writing of a history, a history that existed unbeknownst to the explorer and thus interesting and dangerous - a history composed in a different time and place and almost in a vacuum - for kissing is impactful - outlines of footsteps on never before trodden lanes - but who prepared these paths in advance of my arrival, and was my arrival forecast or just imagined?
first time kissing oft portrayed as excited glee - but this is a grievous error - a wild display of wasted resources - it is not to meant to be pesky single shots of damp I was here where next? it is a drawing, nay, a sculpting of map to be reproduced in limited quantity for only the map rooms of the greatest museums.
each individual kiss is more than an act, but a marker
connecting the previous
to the future next -
exactly a map drawn by an explorer - meant to be shared with others who love history, discovery and women creatures.
be wary of unmarked crevasses and pools where
no one has measured the depth -
novice sailors without proper charts upon unfamiliar faces -
too oft drown or are somehow sail as lost forever.
but the notion of being the first, even if you are not the first,
is so intoxicating
for the brainstorming it provokes - the envisioning of
more than kissing but of unlocking
a new nature, creating a creation born in the intersection of two waters - where fresh waters joint the brine of the ocean -
and there are untold different kinds of waters and no two terrains though similar - are ever exactly the same.
here does my entry in my log - my journal - end - though the notation of than
is comparative and therefore unending.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 9:46 AM UTC
*
Yes, it’s a poem no matter who reads it,
worded conclusions one line at a time
Splattering ink on the pages of reason,
whether or not you can sense any rhyme
Searching my dreams for the perfect notation,
picking and choosing what I hope she sees
Gathering leaves of our tomorrow seasons,
falling to earth on the breath of a breeze
Echoes I’ve whispered in words used so often,
carved in the essence a float in my mind
Wandering footsteps through valleys of wishes,
happy endeavors in phrases I find
Till comes the day when she sits here beside me,
sharing the beauty her smile does inspire
And of the views framing skies of forever,
promising visions of windswept desire
I write these verses of heart felt emotions,
all of them true in the fashion I send
For very soon I’ll be rounding the corner,
penning her poetic love once again*
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
fresh orange clementines on a
white kitchen counter,
incongruous with a windowed view of
white winter's barometric pressures.
eye illusions,
making no sense,
like me drinking
ice coffee in NYC on
New Year's Eve.
New Years Eve too,
a nonsensical notation,
an illusory line,
imposed upon us by
calendar salesmen and astronomers,
for profit and seals of good timekeeping.
There is no solstice,
no verifiable, demonstrable,
celestial line of demarcation,
just a box on a calendar
of man-made paper,
man-dating
fresh thinking,
de-man-ding,
we gaily clad ourselves
in suits of optimistic armor,
heavy with good cheer,
so much so,
we list to one side
under a burden
of greater expectations
the starting line is
worldwide, continental.
a ball drops
to signal the beginning of a new
human race to
another artifice in future time.
with inebriated staggering starts
over staggered time zones,
thus creating a continuous,
rolling wave-eve of resolutions.
I say to myself,
what the heck,
why not!
if the whole world
must share
but one
global illusion,
this one,
fresh starts of fresh hearts,
is not a bad one,
maybe, perhaps,
as good as it gets?
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
I am not confused simply busy
Now leave before I get grizzly.
Whatever do you mean?
I am here under strict orders
Of spontaneous curiosity
And I demand to know your work!
There is no work, only pieces.
I am a man of completion, not creases.
You are a mule molding in mire!
Old as rules and just as amusing.
I can see very clearly that this is
A pile of stones playing with
A pile of paper!
By my own universal exclamation!
I could not find a greater quotation,
If I remain as rocks, this is my notation.
One stone for each adoration.
Adoration? I see nothing of the sort
Only lines and space and ink and air
And breath and fire and ash and an
Old man with far too many abandoned
Projects.
Where do you see this fire?
Of yearning and burning, I do tire.
I have wheeled through many a choir,
Each lie is a life and each man a liar.
Now, do you understand my profession?
Not in the slightest,
You could be a blacksmith for all
I want.
My young vision has cast fishnets
On your old hands and we find you
Are not a sea creature,
Not a fish
A bird
Trash
A man
An oracle
A mortal
Nor a machine.
How am I to pull together this puzzle
When the only pieces i may use,
Are the ones that were never there?
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
My mind seems to wander aimlessly
As the clock ticks away
Chips away at my shame that was built up from yesterday
It pains me to see you this way
But if time is our only healer
I'll see you in the future
And hope that your pain has washed away
But until then let me introduce you to today
He is my dear friend
The last of his kind
I hope you don't mind that I'm taking the time to write this out
I only have one doubt
And that's life in it of itself
But why not take the time to thank all of the haters
It sounds cliche but you made me greater
Took every ounce of hope I had and destroyed it
You wanted to feel 10 feet tall
But ended up demoted
So you can take my words to heart
Better yet
Take your words and shove it
I write better when I'm sleep deprived
But with the dreams that I'm having
I'll be eaten alive
Never waste time sleeping when I can be forming words that help bring meaning to everything that had no explanation
Sign this form its a written notation of everything you've taken away
They're not special rights if I'm fighting for the same ones that you already have
It's called equality idiot
As in equal
We're all the same
We might look different but our blood runs the same way
But you must not get enough to your brain
It's sad isn't it
When people would rather be exactly like everyone else in order to be accepted
They give up feeling in order to make others happy
I remember when I was like that
Here's a secret fact
I grew up being told that if I did everything right
The man of my dreams would one day find me
7th grade I looked at a girl and thought I did everything wrong
What was going on in my heart
Was not okay
I didn't know what people would say
Punishing myself
Thinking I could change fate
Lead me away from my faith
And brought me nothing but pain
It's safe to say I didn't understand anything about life
Or that caring about what other people thought only brought people to their knees
So please
Just be you
I'm through trying to make excuses for why I'm not happy
I accept the fact that I've let life drag me down
But look at me now
I can say out loud that I love a girl
People say that when you find yourself you will know it
I think I'll go to bed now
Wake up and look around
Because I've figured everything out
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
wouldst you in the mist of my confusion
have me become a white mosquito boy
that by a grafted tongue would
mould powerful changes
around bliss and ecstasy
that by garb and candor grafts defying gender roles
causes by his spaces openness
a sexuality, moulding, mounting new and explosive intimacies
and yet my fevered brain
hotter than the hottest summer
wishes to embrace a white mosquitoe boy
become the cannibal of his dimensions
be subject to his unremarked experiments
Oh, will I become a native of these everyday practices
a white mosquitoe boy
evolving into a public ethic
a dangerously obscure central truth
the ink lies still wet on y confused thinking
while the white mosquitoe boys call me ” Le Mome”
shall I enter their grand boulevards
the ink drys, it speaks
its beautiful wondrous notation
says “YES”, yes it says, it says yes
you don’t become a mosquitoe boy
YOU ARE BORN ONE
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
An everlasting courtship is what we share
A loving affair of desirable excitement
A perpetual movement of your sweet lips sending out a message
A notation spoken upon my ears with compassion
My heart sheds light upon pathways
Trails of my undying love for you
A passion that which has grown into a field of red roses
Hand in hand we go frolicking through the meadows of our beating hearts
Colliding to the earth’s surface, embracing the warmth of our bodies
Sensually licking and caressing one another
Fireworks fill the skies above
As our sensuous rendezvous explodes through the atmosphere
Sending us on an ****** journey through idolizing romance
As our worlds collide to make one symbolic binding
Oh how I admire you sweet valentine
Sharing our sweet divine love for one another
Gives me the brightest of days to look forward to
Knowing that I am your Romeo to my Juliet
The beholder of the key to my heart
A rose for each of the ways I love thee
I count the countless ways that my heart grows fonder of you
Having you near has decorated my life with pure happiness
Maintains a continuous smile and twinkle in my eye
Sweetheart I give you all my tender loving care
For the rest of our days spent together in perfect harmony
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 6:22 AM UTC
As my thoughts wander,
after a night drunk on you,
I realize I can't remember a time where I didn't love you.
Not since that first conversation
seeing you shimmer
in the movie like snow
that stuck to us as we waited.
I was waiting,
I guess part of me always will be,
For that moment,
when I know it's safe to tell you,
You're the only person in the world,
I'd spend the rest of my life waiting for.
But my fear gets the best of me every time.
So I talk in questions
Sometimes just stay silent
Live in my head,
Swimming in the thoughts you inspire,
Wishing I had notation at the ready,
to get everything down,
but I only get pieces of it,
like you.
Just enough to keep wanting more
but never enough to satiate my need.
I wonder what it would feel like to take the dive,
headlong into you,
to throw caution to the wind
and stop caring what happens to me after.
Simply live in the now.
In the tangible current
that surges between us.
The feel of your lips on mine.
The fear that the world might catch fire,
through flaws in its structure,
or flaws in our structure,
in our inability to follow any rules.
**** the Man. save The Empire."
I'm too tired to function,
but my brain is on auto you.
I wish I could shut it off.
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
for mine own Yocum
<>
a strange parting shot,
that we are are the refuse
upon this island Earth,
the very last item on some being's
weekly grocery list,
a list composed 'illions of years ago,
of things that could be worthy of
"creating"
this thought sticks to my soul,
like a rosé pink colored
NYC street'd, well chewed,
gum piece
adheres to my sole
the musical companion to this ecrivez,
a sinfonia for strings politely begs to differ,
while a hard covered book
dances me over to Texas,
Dudamel conducts Barber,
all making the question of
man as an afterthought
in a divine master plan for a planet,
seems almost recklessly absurdly nonsensical
then
my cell buzzes me back to this
******** hell earth
seven more cops shot, three dead
down in the bayou of Baton Rouge,
on a sabbath Sunday morning
rouge red now assumes,
takes on a different
notation colorations,
to my bleeding eyes,
delivering importations
of headaches confusion rampage,
red rage
the amplification of the worst of we,
afterthought creatures surely,
why "create a destroyer,"
an absurd contradictory term,
so we are gift wrapped
beneath the misleading approbation -
human
there is no nobility in our savagery,
or dare I sneer and say,
in our humanity
you cannot seal a wound with music
you cannot revive the dead with a poem ear-whispered
sitting beneath the tree shade
of my privileged place,
my surrounding world is
bay blue and grass green,
my vision myopic,
I am a self-centered,
microscopic collection of red cells
conceding to you Sargeant,
this designer of the human form,
who wrought it from
soiled earth and excess rib bone,
had a peculiar sense of humor,
a comedian full of
malice aforethought,
for are we not
the final joke,
for someone's bemusement
we must have come last,
because you always
want to leave them
laughing
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC
steeply angled eyes
supported by hollow cheeks
stare from a semi-circular mirror
with a dark consequence of outrage
like a constricted sunrise
that appears to float
a pictorial cryptogram
defying a resisted
notation of gravity
they are eyes that
momentarily fascinate
then frighten
for you can see yourself
falling through a deep hole
in their vision
causing a complete
dissociation of identity
steeply angled eyes
are watching, watching,
watching.....................
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
1+1=2
It’s been proven, it’s always true.
Let’s add some letters to represent the unknown.
Now 1x+1y=2
Please explain how?
This is a linear equation,
When we rearrange its formation.
Now let’s put it in standard notation.
Ax+By+C=0
1x+1y-2=0
What does this mean?
It’s an equation for a graph where the constant is always C.
Now to find a slope for our graph,
We must yet again rearrange to get y=mx+b;
Where ‘m’ equals the slope that we need.
1x+1y-2=0
1y=-1x+2
m=-1
Lets not forget m is also rise over run!
The rise equals ‘∆y’ and the run ‘∆x’.
If you have 2 exact points you can also use them to find ‘m’.
Now the average rate of change is much like the slope.
It is derived from the same formula but now we must develop.
Instead of simple digits we are presented graphical expressions.
We must calculate the average rate of their alterations.
A secant line would be helpful to move further.
A secant line is a line from one point to another.
By calculating the slope of this secant line,
We will have the average rate of change between two periods of time.
Can there be a rate for an exact time?
Of course and that is called the instantaneous rate of change.
Instead of a secant line we shall use a tangent.
Up against the point it will give an approximation.
The x values will be so close,
It will create a limit of ‘x’ approaching 0.
Don’t be quick to leave there is still more.
The difference quotient is an expression,
To find the slope of a secant line between two specifications.
This expression is then used to find,
The instantaneous rate of change or the average rate of change over a period of time.
I don’t mean to scare you,
But this is just the beginning of chapter 1.2.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
We need others to play with us to not feel isolation,
We need to bring joy to others to feel elation,
We crack like delicate porcelain then be viewed as a deformation,
Our minds are more of an aberration,
As we yearn for someone's admiration,
We are viewed as objects by the nation,
We strive to look different by modification,
Ending up with falsification,
With envious glares acting as devaluation,
Although we are each marked by our own notation,
We submit to society's suffocation,
All in all we are the gods and demons dolls.
Artificial, pretend and above all,
just a recreation.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
Crowd begins to rustle
Lights begin to dim
Performers begin to sweat
The curtain fades
The noise of the audience fade
The first act music-student's courage fades
He focuses on the notation sheet
Stage lights focus on him
Spectators focus on the teenager
He plays the first downbow note
The crowd listens to him
Lights shine, never faltering
-
Multitude begins to grow impatient
Lasers begin to blink on
Pop stars begin to nod at each other
The darkness on the stage fades
Distraction fades from the crowd
Sweat on the band's hands fade
She focuses on the expanse of people
Yellow lights focus on all of them
The sea of people focus on the song
Bassist plays the intro
Die-hard fans listen to the heartthrob
Strobe lights shine, excitement escalates
-
Big finale performed by the orchestra
People shiver in their seats
Wood stage vibrates
The curtains are drawn
Listeners sated, their scores are a draw
Philharmonic members draw smiles
Assembly gives a standing ovation
Each student gives a triumphant bow
Curtains give way
Backstage, the people laugh
Stage director laughs from relief
Congregation laughs from witty student's last remark
-
Last verse of fulfilling song performed by band
Top section shivers from air conditioner
Big speakers vibrate on last note
Projector screens are drawn
Crowds draw their phones for selfies
Drummer draws his experience on notebook
Spectators give shouts of, "Encore!"
Band members give their farewell
Coliseum gives back lights
Pianist laughs recalling his slip
Volunteers laugh from crowd's reaction
Fans laugh at guitarist signing for them
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
Within the realm of unplayed instrumentation
a crescendo of specific notes are lost
dangling on high maple branches during autumn leaf change
and only divots below the mowed through grassy soil
throughout segregated quarantine reserves
partitions of divorced land
In the bottom of a child’s backpack
so heart jarring and singularly dedicated to the wandering dreamer harboring any thoughts of doubt about what is and what might inhibit the coming up next
covering over wooden plank necks with strings of primitive notation drafted inside the woods create,
rows of ivory keys and ebony flats,
this includes either screeching or murmuring brass buttons can make
And depending on the blow
Lead based letters
Squeezed together grammar and prose
have no window to grandstand
in a duel verses this one climb of instrumental verse
these missing tones are in tangible reaches
could even be in a soft mother’s dream waiting to be awoken to bring an awakening
Who will seek and find this group of lost tones with striking nuances so spirit soothing
that seeing the mere future is old news
but instilling, feeling, and describing the true meaning of life after hearing what is under, inside and above this crest of colored resonance of tonal pitch...
Or maybe it can insight a minor confidence in the one who lacks it to take that small step forward
Ensuring another step
This is one who will hear this
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 11:46 PM UTC