"synthesizer" poems
people drank and swayed as you stood up there
and oscillated your hands over the surface of the synthesizer
Ambience
all I heard was the thereminEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
I heard that as I boarded the subwayEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
and I thought about an orchidEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
You resembled an orchid.
An orchid, save my soul.
And so was I.
I went and saw you again playing the back alley
and you did it a cappella while people shrieked from their acid trips
Sad
and all I heard was your voiceEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
and I heard them as I fell onto the pavementAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
and I thought I saw an orchidEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAA
You still resembled an orchid.
An orchid, save my soul.
And so was I.
I bought the paper because it was routine
I read you had vanished, but your face was on the page
Smile
and all I heard was my voiceAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
and then I pictured the fireworksOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAOOOO
they looked like orchidsAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
You didn't resemble an orchid.
An orchid, save my soul.
And so was I.
I pulled over on the highway, I saw a ghost
He got in the car and it was so cold, I thought about my disbelief
Disappointment.
I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw a ghost
Its hand were big and nimble, its head a large inflorescence
Pretty
and I heard the thereminEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
the fireworks in my headOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOO
and our voices.
You resembled an orchid.
An orchid, save my soul.
An orchid, save my soul.
An orchid, save my soul.
And so was I.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
I send this track
Out to the Universe
Praying its echoes
Reach the farthest corners of the Earth
To reach you
I want the melody
To seep into your skin
The synthesizer
To shake your ribs
Each percussive meter
Synced to your beating heart
And as the music fades
And the ethereal chimes
Tickle the silence
Imagine my fingers
Tracing your lips
Pulling you in for a taste of bliss
I hope this track
Transcends the airwaves
That my light
Enraptures you
And embalms you
In Affection
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 2:20 PM UTC
When you look at me without
speaking like some doe-eyed
Guatemalan selling watermelons
on the corner of Forest Hill
and Military Trail, your
disbelief triggering in the hinges
of your jaw like a hairpin turn,
reaction time looming
as endlessly as a broken synthesizer,
I begin to need you, darling,
like the axe needs the turkey.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 2:15 PM UTC
And then the synthesizer made a come back
And then a supernova. And then anxiety.
Cam over.
I’m out in the desert, studying the meaning
Of rain in the human brain. I’m learning
More about myself that is. How the blood
Talks. How the shade relieves itself.
I’m offering you sunsets. Roots set.
The lonely land and sky
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:59 AM UTC
There is a note that lives between thought and slumber,
That’s when I thought of you today
A harmonica lay in my hand, the reeds looking at me silly,
Play, I imagined it say, and imagined it was really there.
In my mind we are still walking a dusty bluesy road, our jeans torn and worn
In this midday dream the blues is red and wore a hat; I let out:
This, is not the blues from which my hippie son was born.
I sigh, at the sight of a synthesizer kissing a harmonica, the synth in your head, the harmonica pregnant with my heart.
Our blues drove us to momentary madness, because Syd Barrett was always jealous
Like fights that happened on Sundays and when we choose to mock, then cruelness.
Come midnight someone awakes and someone is being wakened,
And outside, nothing is lit, But she's not afraid, just letting you know she was waking.
Your bedside was colored, certainly psychedelic, but was almost always red
I lay there, like a pregnant harmonica making love to a trusty guitar, the guitar thrusting, the harmonica trusting.
I confront salvation with a straight face, a cigarette now intruding
No, I yell, the harmonica sounds the same, still on the key of C,
But by a synthesizer you sat, the harmonica lay there, heavy with child, looking at me,
And as I stare back, I've seen: indeed you have chosen the synth.
A note creeps in between the high and dry of low, I insist that kismet needs a little shove
Just a push, a new pair of eyes, another heart and a memory that knows only love,
Spiralling in Syd's Milky Way, me drowning, me begging in exchange for you,
I tried moaning a tune but the blues have discolored and turned simply blue.
I face the devil now, I try to bargain, but he sings, 'the blues trusts no one, no longer.'
The devil makes a face, sings to me then says, 'you've forgotten that I'll always remember.”
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 10:10 PM UTC
take me under.
sweet surrender.
let me sink into you like my feet in the sand
as the tide pulls it away.
lay with me in silence
on the beaten path
in the cold and the dark.
the light of the cartoon moon
shining through queen anne's lace trees.
the clouds take shape before us, pulsing.
a butterfly.
a castle.
where before, turtles trudged on the side
of the road,
plastic bags.
that ringing sound, inside my head
the bells and the synthesizer pulling,
strumming, stringing my brain cords.
i rest my head on his shoulder, only just.
he used to be inside.
he made me this today,
and he knew id never been happier
than in my "wonderland."
i was my very own alice,
spinning, dizzy with delight.
lost in a fantasy.
"i am not sorry for my soul."
he's distant, but so close.
and i don't even care that he doesn't love me.
he's calm and observant, reading me
while i dance in front of him
no longer on the path in Ohio,
but in the firelight in Bogota'
golden flesh.
twisting and body pulsing
with the beat of the music.
the guitar makes me languid
and you run your hands over my skin,
and we fall into each other,
fall into the heat.
back home. cold and dark.
a boy, not in the same place as i.
he will not cease to be an object
of my fascination.
abstract understanding of him.
we were meant to change each other,
never to love the other.
but YOU. you and i,
we were meant to spin, crazy, out of control.
so right, so wrong.
i fall into you over and over and over and once more.
and i never want to leave you,
though the cartoon moon says i just might have to.
take me under.
sweet surrender.
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 6:42 AM UTC
I hear soft music
haunting sitar riding the low wave of a synthesizer bass
I am perplexed by the choice I must make
be taken by the song
or fight the twisting pain in my chest
'In search of the lost chord'
that Moody Blues title
I've found it!
here in the between space
'Visions of Paradise'
'Steppin' in a Time Zone'
I'm dying
and I can't stop listening
can't stop
the pain subsides
and I am crossed
I think
the music and vision now clear and strong
George is playing the sitar
and the synthesizer is not a synthesizer
but the wave itself
the beach I return to each Summer
Vincent hums along as he paints a wheat field
that fades in and out over the horizon
and the Sun is blazing
there in a white suit I see him
"The Lucky man..."
John says to Marilyn
as he turns toward me
..."you've made the grade"
the Sun suddenly falls behind the horizon
the music fades
I begin moving back to the center of all there was
and for a moment there is nothing
no sound
no light
then a voice
"It looks as if he's decided to return"
I awake to see a man in a very long beard,
dressed in white
with round spectacles staring down at me
"I'm Dr. Wall...Russ Wall"
"You're a lucky man! looks as though it's just another day in the life of...
what was your name, friend?"
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 9:18 AM UTC
Sensational curiosities of quarter-sized universes of human love and human flesh.
Gentle insane thoughtless violence cured in time's long sluice of betrayal,
Rancor, then betrayal, and then the frost. Never did I hear the twigget of the synthesizer max its flare.
Every mouth was a warship, the plumes coming up over the top of the spigot, sampler of the Neverspoke. Worships them, in the Hectares through the dross, the incumbent conflagration
Envelops life from venom thru a stra. Into the hutch the creeper shakes, like the
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
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Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
Save yourself, you insufferable, juxtaposed parasite.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
This was written while I was listening to Horse The Band
Rip n' cut n' though the gut GOES THE KNIFE
Lovely suds in the blood
Of course I am talking about my mind
Torn to pieces
But that is oh so common
Torn to pieces
Be you insane? I think otherwise
Be you insane? I think otherwise
Are you weird, surely you're not
When you say so I say you're so dumb
Of course I've been called weird but I prefer to refer to myself as strange
Unusual in my interests at times or what leads to what
Ere the di un
SPLIT!
Add to category number-twenty
Never mind the numbers and math
YOU ARE A WRITE-R
Synthesizer star saturates the bar with MILKY love
Beautiful scream of hate is therefore silent
ZERO MARK
Leave this unhindered by sentimentality and null feeling seal the reeling sta-sta-stutter into the vast!
Rouge rogue go southward toward the boardwalk crutch hallowed by APOCALYPSE!
Southern mess of strangulation stress stuffing the throat with dairy-wine
Bleep bloop beep slop soup ****
Peeling the head said me or was that an alternate personality?
Can't remember now what was said between us as people or dream
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
His rusty doorknob moaned as it peeked open,
The glare from his synthesizer irradiated through the small crack
Yet trekking into my companion’s habitat, my eyes wander down a path
As I examined:
The creamy-white ‘65 Fender Jaguar strapped to his back, idolized like a son to his father
His scattered Rolling Stone magazines, strewn, across his clearly visible unmade bed
His imitation Bob Dylan wayfarers, rested gently on his nostril, accompanying a mischievous smile
And mountains of flannels that he claimed made him appear ******** and “hipster” at the same time
Obscure in a corner, his preferred foreign films organized in a stack
North of his bed… hundreds of pictures of Lennon and McCartney, signifying his shrine and slight obsession with the 1960’s
To the left, his personalized skateboards, festooned with mainstream company seals and psychedelic band logos
The framed polaroid of us sitting effortlessly on his bedside table
And directly 12 o’clock: his father’s turntable spinning early Lou Reed, beside his collection of dusty records I granted him..
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
I don't understand how
I don't really see now
Eyes are just half-open
I just feel like copin'
I'm indoors to recover from outdoors
My mind's all gone as it's on its all fours
Am I abstract or do people just interpret
Things all wrong? I have to tell them stat
I'm just a tired old man with a young mind
Just getting my thoughts out there, do you mind?
I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so harsh on you
Just stop the praise and go and do what you do
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
wobbling returns to emergence
the sine wave resonates, it is
oceanic, fluid, bulbous
and bobbing, all at once
a whole and not a whole
bleeding out salt
and tropical fish, its
tissue paper curtains covering
the last ruins of
the forgetful earth
a hole, yet not an absence
but a presence of a triangle
a missing number, unsevered
flowing together, keyboard
abstractions, not there
oh but it's melted snow
the opposite of noise
a vague feeling of nothing
and presence, wrapped up in
a paranoid returning
it's like argon -- like chlorine without
lungs, veins without organs,
pain, inert inertia slippery
spine breaking
on the ice. the moon
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 2:45 PM UTC
I am not a creator:
nope.
an amalgamator,
consolidator, a sifter,
a synthesizer, combinator,
employer of words
collect, analyze, repair, modify,
discern the overlapping, intersecting rhythms, the tools,
Drip from my lips, fall from of my grip, from my eyes, salty drip,
and I nail them to my bones,
herein lies my originality....
The millions upon millions of permutations combinations and iterations
That resolved themselves from the madness of my mind, are then attached to my living bones, inseparable, and my living mark of once existence
May 30, 2025
May 30, 2025 at 2:45 PM UTC
The Old man in a throne
The old man with a tone
The poetry of his work
The pillars of the clerk
The insight that is said
The eyes that sees beyond the dead
The keys of the work
The red bird like the stork
The Person that blesses you when you get married
The things in life that you carry
The father that teaches you to be strong
The lessons from him if you have done wrong
The Listening wisdom that sits on a throne
The voice in the mind that comes with a tone
The decisions and guidance
The advisor
The wisdom and Intuition from the synthesizer
Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 5:42 PM UTC