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"oscillations" poems
Heartstone is a reflection in music on a ‘lost’ poem. The poem described in its two short verses a summer’s day, a landscape, a fossil found and placed in the palm of a child’s hand. The poem inspired a seven-movement work for wind, brass and percussion with solo piano. Here is its poetic programme note. Chert The piano draws an arc of rhythm rising then falling. Above two choirs of wind and brass exclaim, fanfare, mark out shorter, determined gestures of sound. The procession, almost a march, becomes a dance. Alone Two choirs of wind and brass become four couples whose music weaves from complexity a simplicity: Chromatic to Pentatonic twelve becoming five. Prase Four stopped horns, five extended tonalities. Together they wander a maze of Pentatonic paths; alone, and in pairs, as a quartet they discover within a measured harmonic rhythm. Tension: resolution . . . and surrounding their every move the piano insists an obligato, a continuum of phrases, absorbing into itself the warp and weft of horn tone. Sard Oscillating in perpetual motion the full ensemble occupies a frame of time and space. Flutes, reeds, double-reeds brass, piano, percussion mirror-fold on mirror-fold layer upon layer overlapping. Yarns of threaded sound. Tuff Without a break the mirrored oscillations patter pentatonics on tuned percussion of marimba and vibraphone whilst a batterie of drums lays down shards of beaten rhythm against this onward folding of tonality change. In the background a choir of winds flutes and single reeds waymark this recursive journey gathering together cadential moments and the necessary pause for breath. Marl Relentlessly, the motion is sustained, piano-driven, a syncopated continuo, rhythm-sectioned amidst layers of percussion. Adding edge, a choir of brass and double reeds amplify the piano’s jagged rhythms providing impetus for phrases to become longer and longer, ratching up the tension, ever-denying closure until the batterie delivers a conclusive flourish. Paramoudra Pulse-figures of winds. Motific cells of brass. Both negotiate a stream of fractal-shaped tonality expanding: contracting. A blossom of fanfares folding into pulsating layers of tuned percussion, flutes and reeds. A dance-like episode absorbs a chorale. Four horns in close harmony against the continuing dance. A duet of differences flows into a cascade of chords in closed and open forms. The piano supports brass-flourishing figures before a final stillness. Heartstone In gentle reflection the solitary piano – a figure in a landscape of collapsed harmonic forms - presents in slow procession the essence of previous music.
0
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
Heartstone
Heartstone is a reflection in music on a ‘lost’ poem. The poem described in its two short verses a summer’s day, a landscape, a fossil found and placed in the palm of a child’s hand. The poem inspired a seven-movement work for wind, brass and percussion with solo piano. Here is its poetic programme note. Chert The piano draws an arc of rhythm rising then falling. Above two choirs of wind and brass exclaim, fanfare, mark out shorter, determined gestures of sound. The procession, almost a march, becomes a dance. Alone Two choirs of wind and brass become four couples whose music weaves from complexity a simplicity: Chromatic to Pentatonic twelve becoming five. Prase Four stopped horns, five extended tonalities. Together they wander a maze of Pentatonic paths; alone, and in pairs, as a quartet they discover within a measured harmonic rhythm. Tension: resolution . . . and surrounding their every move the piano insists an obligato, a continuum of phrases, absorbing into itself the warp and weft of horn tone. Sard Oscillating in perpetual motion the full ensemble occupies a frame of time and space. Flutes, reeds, double-reeds brass, piano, percussion mirror-fold on mirror-fold layer upon layer overlapping. Yarns of threaded sound. Tuff Without a break the mirrored oscillations patter pentatonics on tuned percussion of marimba and vibraphone whilst a batterie of drums lays down shards of beaten rhythm against this onward folding of tonality change. In the background a choir of winds flutes and single reeds waymark this recursive journey gathering together cadential moments and the necessary pause for breath. Marl Relentlessly, the motion is sustained, piano-driven, a syncopated continuo, rhythm-sectioned amidst layers of percussion. Adding edge, a choir of brass and double reeds amplify the piano’s jagged rhythms providing impetus for phrases to become longer and longer, ratching up the tension, ever-denying closure until the batterie delivers a conclusive flourish. Paramoudra Pulse-figures of winds. Motific cells of brass. Both negotiate a stream of fractal-shaped tonality expanding: contracting. A blossom of fanfares folding into pulsating layers of tuned percussion, flutes and reeds. A dance-like episode absorbs a chorale. Four horns in close harmony against the continuing dance. A duet of differences flows into a cascade of chords in closed and open forms. The piano supports brass-flourishing figures before a final stillness. Heartstone In gentle reflection the solitary piano – a figure in a landscape of collapsed harmonic forms - presents in slow procession the essence of previous music.
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112
Your are a flavour of mystic flow and justice Resounding effortlessly in vapoured divinity A channel spinning within your furling crux Cheers to our cups of leisure and pleasure I turn around and your warmth embraces I'll wait holding the gaze of your bright eyes I'll wait touching this revolving total eclipse I'll wait as I sense our forbidden mind-scapes I have sensed your whole when we are apart A near leap to meet,cuddle and feel the vibration Uncovering the glistening gem that penetrates heat Fondling the electric ******** oscillations under the bridge Here is my cup, holding a rapture of your breath Here is my cup, melodically swirling in fine entertainment Here is my cup,exhuming and exhaling our magical essences Our cup it is! Cheers! As we sprout and bloom pleasantly
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Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 4:59 AM UTC
Cheers!The Cup of Leisure and Pleasure
The wind rises in the courtyard baring extraordinary imaginings faithful oscillations of space time evanescence of life and death always mutedly move side to side the wind rises the whole range of experiences of a flower-like butterfly venturing through the damp and dusty it makes the bronze in the night cry in its reply a rustling sound woke me up its the sycamore castle outside that carries the burden of dawn the tree is just like a book opened birds, insects etc are inserted in the pages i walk into the bones to eavesdrop on the breath of this minute to learn its calmness and indifference towards the coming and going of multifarious clouds.
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Mar 15, 2023
Mar 15, 2023 at 11:00 AM UTC
The wind rises
People - so many bodies… Some seem to engage for but a moment, of course, before bustling past on hot sidewalks, with varied smidgens of mind and heart; collections of vibrating chemistry, moving to specific oscillations. How to make sense of it all? We can be drawn to warm embers, avoid icy slaps on our cheeks reddening. Grey shapes pass us by, hardly registering a blip - are they nothing more than the flotsam of flailing limbs echoing our own caustic needs and wants pending? Yet we all want much the same things in life: to be noticed with kindness by the benign, safe from the razor-blade elements, find our slot in life that counts, and leave something good for posterity, if it comes… For dots of humanity of which we are a part, in some fashion or another, keep floating giddily past us… Are they up for what will come with stoic resistance, or neglect? Do they expect some dystopia and the terrors of a dark night? Ask the fretting little children, who can’t sleep for their fright! They too need a river of peace ~ the Promise to be fulfilled made by One wiser than all else… ~~
0
Mar 16, 2023
Mar 16, 2023 at 7:58 PM UTC
The Promise
What are we, really? For as long as we have been able, Humans have looked skyward and wondered. Wondered about the timbre of our voices About the pastel shades of our skin. When we are cut, why do we all bleed the same red? About our origin. About our purpose. About our murky past and our luminous future. What are we, really? As a species we are collectively stumped. We have journeyed far. From trepanning the ill, ventilating their skulls to drive out malevolent spirits, To carefully calculating the oscillations of distant stars. And yet, Despite our ingenuity, despite our ambition, despite our progress, The truth still escapes our inquisitive grasp. What are we, really? Are we god's chosen flock? Are we simply another infinitely random arrangement of carbon atoms? Flesh and gristle and calcium deposits? Are we overgrown simians with overgrown egos and obnoxious sense of importance? Or are we a simulation? Ones and zeroes on the motherboard of the cosmos? What are we, Really?
0
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
ponderance
Ever decreasing circles Tessaracts And mine fields Hindsight blind sided Ostensibly this funneled Tunnel vision OCD in oscillations The vortices surround me Gravity On my event horizon The memory of sunlight thins This meridian Soul and spirit intersect At the latitude of foolish intentions Emotional circumspect The absolution of revolutions Pull my fatal focus center Enter in To end Where I begin *aufero vestri cranium ex vestri **** whispered litany reverse reverberation In that space between statis And 360 degrees Stretch out my arms And I am free….. Ever increasing circles From the epicenter To destiny TL Boehm 092809 *remove your cranium from your ****
0
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
Circumspect
The frequent phenomenon of this empty place, Gathering energy it cannot replace, Submerged in darkness, foreshadowing night, Paroxysm shook, stirring up light, Out from the chaos four beings stood, Together infused, singular brotherhood, Light blends them all mistaken into one, Thirty-five times stronger, than the power of our sun, Welcome to the dream; a death omen quartet, Witness the rider, perceive his regret, With a single companion, and a crown forged in death, Perpetually doomed to a violent last breath, Pioneering our concept of constellations, Bent at the handle, insidious oscillations, Corruption was constant, like a plagued medallion, When he collared his confederate, a maniacal stallion, Couriers of desecration, colonial devastation, Oxidizing nations, burning depredation, Lord and auxiliary, imperial arrogation, And with a single voice, they declared themselves king, Welcome to the dream; a death omen quartet, Witness the rider, perceive his regret, With a single companion, and a crown forged in death, Perpetually doomed to a violent last breath.
0
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
Mizar and Alcor
Capacitor plate ల  మద్య  insulation  లా  నీ feelings దాచేసావే. Diode forward bias లా  నీ  మనసు  చప్పట్లు  pass చెయ్యవే . Zener reverse bias లా  నా  voltage stabilise చేసేయ్యవే . Transistor regions లాగా  ముచ్చు  మూడైనా  stages లో  ఉన్నావే . Cut చేసే  వీలుమ్డే  cut-off నుండి  బయటకిరావే. మితిమీరే  అవకాశం  ఉండే  saturation నుండి  తప్పుకుపోవే . Universal Acceptance లా  active stage  కి  చేరిపోవే . Amplifier లాగా  నీ  ప్రేమను  సైతం  double triple అవ్వాలే . ఎ  input లేని  స్పందించే  oscillator నా  heart అది  chese beat ఏలే  . Infinite oscillations తో  నీవెనకే  నేను  నాతొ  నా  ప్రేమ . నన్ను  control చేసే  feedback loop ఎ  నువ్వు . నువ్వు  చెప్పింది  చేసే  circuit నేను . Transistor లా  Switch అల్లే  మన  ఇరువురి  ప్రేమని  connect చేసేసే .
0
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
203. Transistor లాంటి Love
There is a Soldier I know Her short cadence with military precision is always careful At every bridge she breaks step to avoid foolish oscillations a peeking midriff jog pounding shoes on asphalt pavement hard could these send infatuated hopes to destructive swing Who knows what chasm fantasized are crossed Who knows what war wages and what broken battle of bulges lost Why burn another Leader ego living in some Downfall Bunker There is a Soldier I know Her short cadence in boots bare run faster than legged strut Every night she comes through a backroom window protected by a silver Spoon at best and every morning she survives as golden tongue poetry written on our wired cages There is a Soldier I know Her name is Eden and her hands are hot with Dante's inferno Her adolescent face is cool and on each ear a ring of Blue Herons Every day her short cadence brings rouge life to our clay complexion and every night her milky whey lips wonder lost in our King Lear kabuki song
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Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
The Cadence of She
You are the snake charmer mesmerizing poisonous slithery creatures spellbinding them with your undulating hips gyrating ******* nimble graceful hands lulling lulling the predator into a limp drowsy posture until its rapid oscillations dull until its spitting hisses silence and glowing yellow eyes milk over you drape it over with your red garment it coils into infinity as darkness spreads.
0
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
I've seen more than enough love songs That say the the same thing in different ways Too many hearts don't reflect the meaning of their names. Her name means "promise". All I see is pain. Rejection Hate Distaste Disdain Why are sad stories so difficult to tell? The oceans in my skull have filled enough wells. I'm thirsty for love, not sirens and liquid salt. This cistern of sadness will not parch the thoughts that won't depart. I'm sitting on a sleet covered street bench And I only wish the city was as dark as the sky, But oscillations of red and blue clarify The night and who it belongs to. Christmas colors aren't these There's no green, The same absence as the trees. Hearts as cold as this arctic breeze.
0
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
From a Bench
She held my hand, so that I can turn on the romantic oscillations; Amplify them via kissing her; Taken aback by her vigorous desire I did as directed!
0
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
Taken Aback
When you think you know, that’s you losing it. When you write this down, that’s you erasing it. Moments pass empty like the wind. Oscillations are left. People fear base oscillation. They fear the quiet of the world. If it gets too quiet during the night, we might just slip away. If you are too loud in the morning, you won’t know what to say. So the prophet sits alone. On a mountain top and is shown A larger picture Reflecting his own. Walking towards the mountains are saints Unified sacrifices are made. The God’s blood is paid, As the Devil digs the grave.
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Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
Mountainous Delusion
Everything keeps on flooding into this associative mesh, It all reflects such involved significance I ache to grip the essence, but settle for metaphors pining after describable meaning. Stretch my fingertips far, and further still try to cradle the lattice it escapes me, ever extending Leaves me in a daze, wooly and jumbled. Obscurity is thick and difficult Her true depth shrouded in a coolness The perfect touch of rugged to rouse baseline beauty compelling, titillating Just like the divine bitter edge of dark chocolate —how it aggrandizes the taste, stretches it beyond mere sweetness— she imbues my life with ***** full-bodied awe. dark, deep Terrifying Fantastic. A moment- She steals away my peace comfortless, deserted. Cold and abandoned. Shriveling at sheer confusion Cant seem to understand this whole thing I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to but it’s all a bit much the compulsive need to know plus innate knowledge that I can’t A bit cruel Another-She invites me into warm, multicolored awareness, acceptance Free of cosmic heaviness Forgetting the weight of existence and filled with bliss I’ve got it I’ve just got to do it Just got to Live my life Not try so hard to understand it all. The oscillations make my head spin.
0
Mar 7, 2023
Mar 7, 2023 at 12:50 PM UTC
Obscurity
I'm a man who has a lot on his mind Trying to live simply Love does not allow such a thing ****** by mans needs to attain, achieve, and assimilate. Love provides the highest goal. A roller coaster of magnificent proportions. A soaring 90 degree drop that shoves g forces into a person. Just as elusive as gravity's hold and an astronauts fire to break free of it to fully explore the universes mysteries. I never swore myself to an easy life. I want a full elaborate being interlaced with another soul. I want to just to set the table with all that composes me and have it laughed upon just to see a smile, a crinkle in soft complexion; a curving imperfection with the oscillations that could reverberate above a symphony because you'd be seated next to me and I would take your hand and feel the basic life giving energy that keeps us alive and I would know we exist for each other and that after the orchestra has struck it's last chord we would leave together for another night and I could listen for another day's sigh of happy existence.
0
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
Primal Needs
Just as waves pass through, My mind races of you Third eye open So my deepest dreams came true Anew are they now And still just a few Things I need to keep And I find them in my sleep A dark haze is all I can gaze When blazed the forest seems to end phase Shifts from a daze to confusion Or a craze, what happens when fusion Of two hearts take place Now I'm back here in this race Driving on the Interstate, trying to prove That this new state we created Is something not to lose A bruise or two shall surely Make waves out of ripples But ******* happens purely For reasons, none but learning I'm earning back the empathy Feeling the telepathy, heart beats in clarity The charity you gave me was clearly in the way But you held true, like the pacific being blue And you held me like a hugger holding trees Even three blind mice could see your love for me And they could judge me for churning our to be To be we still shall, a gal of name Lovely, And lovely she remains Even after all the pain She refrains from judgement or disdain And the truth be known still Our journey up this hill A mountain with a view So long as I climb it with you
0
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
Oscillations
Their faces blank, They quietly study her features, Bathed in the fluorescent glow. In **** she is copied With brush stroke and oil on canvas Meticulous hands emblazon her Onto the surface of mediocre masterpieces. And she stands, shivering Her body slightly tensed Under the oscillations of the ceiling fan.
0
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 9:23 PM UTC
Nu (Naked)
Our brains are, immense antennas. They listen to "The Source" Harmonic oscillations singing. all the time. You may think I have gone lunar but this bio-crystal tuner, works best when we invoke our inner mime. If we tweak our "thought-in" buffer down to one breath, we'll discover a silence that can hear our planets hum. The music of the orbs, spheres is ointment for our sore ears. A soothing salve to heal us from "the numb". From the rapping and the tapping, from the repetitious yapping If there is PEACE OF MIND to find I'll take some.
0
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Mega Hertz That Don't
we'll feel- as collegiate corners are filling the pages of our tragedies. i attempt to seek next century's repose: the motion of a thousand spinning conjectures. your restlessness holds junction and duration, consciously screaming of our former years. i'll seek- you in oscillations and what little you left of memory.
0
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
what little you
bass palpitations and neon fragmentations briefly deflect the cruelty of your perceivable emptiness a rainbow of sweat, anonymous stems encompassing sauntering spirits a fully elevated identity identifies the rationale behind the soul's existence. THERE IT IS, dangling before doped surveillance; can't you taste its sweetness? and before you grasp it, the crescent wanes pacing shuffled steps tracing fleeted memories. nights with beautiful intruders terminated with sonorous ears, oscillations of the frame, and you, crashed on pillow-top. how did you got here? recollections excruciating tattoos of a misleading reality.
0
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC
Musings After Benny
Pouring out of the face of the air the unquestionable certainty of sight Oscillations of pure terror at every street corner oblivion's door - opening and shut & underlying all-rightness The new cycle of the new year - one year off threatening to impose unknown change & though some who claim to know themselves may reject nature & the dynamo of the galactic wheel all will break before the turning planets & cast no doubt upon the strength of silent gods all electricity dead - a silent, dark world Recalling our bare-bone truths when we were once all born into darkness & roasting calf thighs as tribute to the stars who told our stories
0
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 5:43 PM UTC
A Return
Felis catus is your taxonomic nomenclature, An endothermic quadruped, carnivorous by nature; Your visual, olfactory, and auditory senses Contribute to your hunting skills and natural defenses. I find myself intrigued by your subvocal oscillations, A singular development of cat communications That obviates your basic hedonistic predilection For a rhythmic stroking of your fur to demonstrate affection. A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents; You would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance. And when not being utilized to aid in locomotion, It often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion. O Spot, the complex levels of behavior you display Connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array. And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend, I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend. -Data
0
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
Untitled
Un port est un séjour charmant pour une âme fatiguée des luttes de la vie. L'ampleur du ciel, l'architecture mobile des nuages, les colorations changeantes de la mer, le scintillement des phares, sont un prisme merveilleusement propre à amuser les yeux sans jamais les lasser. Les formes élancées des navires, au gréement compliqué, auxquels la houle imprime des oscillations harmonieuses, servent à entretenir dans l'âme le goût du rythme et de la beauté. Et puis, surtout, il y a une sorte de plaisir mystérieux et aristocratique pour celui qui n'a plus ni curiosité ni ambition, à contempler, couché dans le belvédère ou accoudé sur le môle, tous ces mouvements de ceux qui partent et de ceux qui reviennent, de ceux qui ont encore la force de vouloir, le désir de voyager ou de s'enrichir.
0
715
Le port
I. gravity helps me realize where exactly you are. and newton, well newton for all his hang ups on the temptations of eve, i guess got it right first: what separates me and you and the rest of the world is not hope or magic but rather the pendulum swings of chance (arbitrary force) the oscillations maybe of a rickety train platform on which our footprints converge, diverge, and resonate like naturalized frequencies. II. frankly, i don't want to talk about the physics of it all. i just want to sit alone, on the steps of this train station, and gently soak in the clickety clacks of these intersecting lines. i just want to watch as their doors open and close, and feel the rhythms of their machinated dance, and sort the footsteps that sift out according to shape, color, distance. III. as we speak, i have already begun to count how many stops still separate you. and i.
0
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
halfway between a train station and a physics lesson
How many bridges have we burned How many lessons never learnt Try and do but then we don't Say we will but know we won't How many flames have we shot How many mysteries never caught Reveal but then very well refuse Admit but still confuse How much more can we take How many do we blame for our own mistakes We know what we need to intercede But how far do we take that belief? How many desires we breed How many sins we commit Though we know for what we aspire Still we keep on fits with betrayed trials How many years have flown by How many tears have we each cried Far too many I believe to count From lips that move without a sound How many theories never understood How much head we put How much we neglect The oscillations of solace..
0
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 9:42 AM UTC
How many..