"tonal" poems
Prescient, her essence
Casts a demure persuasion,
Endowed with verve and vision;
Concept to consummation,
The serenely possessed,
Creator, originator,
Allusion to the eternal azure,
Logos of abstraction,
Word and image collision.
Tonal palette of faith infused reason
Beauty and sublimity,
Serve to season
Verse, canvas and film,
Mediating aesthetic, seminal senses blossom,
Lyrical each permutation,
Seeds of vibrant chroma diffusing the mystical.
Visage and hair, her figure haunted
With perfection - a work of Art
Nurtured and lived invocation,
The canon of taste;
Crystal for the *****
Devotional fragrance ,
Holistic ethos, melodic invention,
Animated, pure -
The embodiment of redemption.
Transcending form, parenthetically
(Merely) the decorative,
Allure, artistry and symmetry
Superlative complexity,
Her erudition satiates, supplanting
Winds of constructive banality.
Purveyor of an uncommon savor,
She collaborates in the peculiar
Pursuit and reward,
Encounter with depth, explored,
Human and divine, prosaic meets sublime
Igniting within an Eros
Passion for truth, being and Telos.
Visionary of grace and peace
Transforming our earthbound dissonance;
Our caprice,
Hope and abundance, the myth of scarcity,
She narrates the Good.
Pen, lens, color and stage
Vulnerable, unrepressed, effusive
Romantic articulation,
The reservoir deep,
Innately primed conduit of Love.
Beyond plebeian, cosmetic, the trite
Woman of substance, pulchritude
And delight.
Effervescent - her smile exquisite,
Eclipsing suffering,
Wordless expression, understood language.
I am transported, my imagination replete,
Sonya Rose -
Art personified; unabridged, complete.
©2008 & 2013 W.S . Warner
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
THE SAXOPHONE STORY
BY RAJ NANDY
The Saxophone is perhaps the most expressive
instrument next to the human voice.
Was made by Adolphe Sax, a Belgian, through
a deliberate choice!
He wanted to offset the tonal disparity, -
Between the string, wind, and brass instruments,
with musical clarity !
He felt that the strings ones were overpowered
by the wind instruments.
While the wind instruments got overblown by
the brass ones instead !
Now what would happen if the best qualities
of these three instruments types,
Could in a fusion blend and coalesces into a single
instrument type ?
So finally at the age of 20 years, in March Eighteen
Hundred and Thirty Four,
Adolphe Sax created a magical instrument for the
World to hear and adore!
It had the power of the brass, the flexibility of the
strings, and the woodwind’s variety and tone;
Which got christened after Adolphe Sax as the
SAXOPHONE !
Adolphe’s famous composer friend Hector Berlioz
in Paris City,
Gave this new instrument wide publicity!
In 1844 the Sax was presented in the Industrial
Exhibition at Paris;
And subsequently got patented on 20 March 1846.
It soon got adopted by the Bands of the French Army.
Making other instrument makers to become green
with envy!
The Sax was 80 years old when it became part of the
musical instruments of the Jazz Band.
A small bore mouth piece was created to suite the
varying tonal qualities required by Jazz.
Initially, 14 different sizes of Sax was created by
Adolphe.
Today only five types are in use for us to hear and
see;
The Soprano, Alto, Tenor, Bass and the Baritone
Saxophone.
They now form a part of our Jazz music's backbone!
- By Raj Nandy
FOOT NOTES :
Adolphe Sax (1814-1894) , son of famous musical instrument maker
Charles Joseph Sax of Belgium. Woodwind Instruments = Flute, Clarinet, Bassoon etc. Brass Instruments = Trumpet, Tuba, Cornet etc. String Instruments = Violin, Guitar, Harp, Banjo etc. The Saxophone today has become the very backbone of Jazz Music!
** ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE RESERVED BY: - RAJ NANDY **
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Hildegard of Bingen
the most musical abbess
of the year 1097 a.d.
met with Jung the unconscious detective
and Ginsberg the howling poet
for lattes at some Starbucks
in a vibrating city
on a shimmering afternoon.
Angelic minuets keep flowing,
effervescing through my chakras
like tonal champagne . . .
the glowing femme declared.
Beams of ethereal light infuse me,
tsumanis of energy tempt me
to dance right out of my habit.
Ignoring the possibility
of seeing a naked nun drink coffee in public,
Alan mused behind his hornrims . . .
I get what you mean
like I have felt the same perfusion of joy
watching cans of peas and ayahuasca
dance with talking bananas
at the A&P; Market near my pad in Brooklyn,
can you dig it?
Still suffering from his Freudian hangover,
Carl reframed them both . . .
Any conclusions or convictions
drawn from such experiences
may not self-verify because
your introspective identifications
attempt in vain
to concretize the amorphicity
of decentralized psychic sensations
which reach conscious awareness
only at the expense of extension.
What did he just say?
Hildegard asked Alan.
I have absolutely no idea,
the portly poet answered
as he doodled an intricate mandala
on his hemp napkin.
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
my polygamous relationship with you distances me from the monotony of monogamy and makes me feel lonelier than the loneliest mundane monogamist. my mere apologies for my misendeavors, the malnutritious morals of my miseducation propose metal mirrors and castaways controlled by cutting carvers, craving crazy letters and loyalty from lengthy lies and lonely lives. lethargy overtakes and vowels reign, raining drops like rainbows and rocks in rivers, rusting relationships, rusty railroads at intense intersections entwined in everything inside and nothing on the outside anymore except these
muscles. we are back at the beginning.
my mind marvels in the magic of the memories, the madness of the morbidity and the hesitations of your reaction. his, I take, is misunderstood as my misfortune, but it is not a miss, my fortune: it is a fox in feathers colorful like friendships 'fore their forfeited and feigned approval, forced for fear of polygamy tho' it promises the purest pleasure, the most personal independence and precious pearls of princes, princesses, powerful, plight-less
poetry. peace surrenders,
souls surprise themselves, surprise their cells, call for curious catastrophes to take place. colorful and calm they coincide with cooperation that can not contain the context of truth, of teases, of teasers and targets and tonal dualities and we endeavor, we endear you, we dare destroy the darkness of the devil in its disguised diamonds.
words lie at my feet like pebbles of poetry and I promise personal demise, deterioration and ridiculous obsessions- there's madness to be had and fragments to be written and I play with silly alliteration instead!
serious and serene you stare as if my sanity has slowly faded and I sternly helplessly smile shyly. I suppose you are sincerely offering me your blessing before parting, so stumbling slightly I surrender…
if this is the prevailing promise of mere mortality, I'm graciously aware I was worthy of words.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Today I wanted to buy the copyright to the process of hallelujah
******* in joy the same way whales eat krill
You just bottle it up inside your lungs until you have enough
Inside my fridge I have vacuum sealed jars of hallelujah
There’s nothing religious about that
Jars labeled things like
Loss of virginity
Rob lived this time
The homework is complete
Hallelujah
It’s the same way prayer works
Backwards
Pulling bits of god like an inhale
I want to hyperventilate on your hallelujah
Like a gospel choir on speed
It collects
Over time
For instance
It was maybe a month in to sleeping at Delia’s and Toffer’s house
Before I realized
I didn’t have to sleep in my car anymore
You go into the bathroom to **** and realize
Hallelujah
A jar labeled
Found a Home for now
I know science can do this
For the sake of all that is a monument to a single life
So that on your death bed, or at your funeral
Everyone there can hold a jar
Cold and warm at the same time
Vibrating in their palms
In violent joy
Like mozzletoff cocktails
They are thrown
And when they shatter there is a song
That has been collecting for years
The same word in different tonal joys
Your life
Every good moment
Hallelujah
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
First name:
A fire red, carrot orange, and dull rust
A dusty-on-the-outside-bright-spicy-and-wet-on-the-inside tuber
A dancer and cartoon
Second name:
Three short letters, one tonal syllable
From my mother's motherlanguage
Joy
Last name:
Hill of deer in German
(Also a Jewish name?)
Sounds like a chocolate sandwich
Makes my name a score of letters long
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
Seven lyre birds sang each in turn a tune
doing their tonal best to hone
the reproductive skills akin to a master
in the art of Japanese calligraphy
but all failed distracted by the majesty
of a high-definition sunset on playback in perpetuity.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
Spotlights on us
seemingly illuminating
and otherwise blinding
can't see the audience
can't tell the difference
between time and space
different manifestations
of each other creating
infinite mandalas
poured into rivers
tones rising out
of and falling into
silence
I trip over words and pick the sounds out of the scrapes in my palms
I make motions to pick up the gravity but my actions are glitchy, disconnected
an abstracted cadence
remote inflection
radio nuance
rhythm break
modal static living in stasis
ants on a screen as grains of rice
with bubbles in a glass of beer
merging like two tones
harmonizing on a
secondary tonal plane
move me like a modulation
end me like an infinite crescendo
I am suspended
over several tones
just let it go
and I am resolved
follow where the voices lead
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
i'm cold
and damply
drowning in
all these
blackish
tones and tunes.
it's hard
to find
a song to
err on the
side of
brighter hues.
especially
when i'm so
frostily
submerged
in these
tonal blues.
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
Well, what now, hey?
I threw the dog overboard yesterday.
The day before, the day?
Where will you go, hey?
I heard the orchestra-man play
The same way,
Sanctum, requiem, asylum
All Latin in his French dog-eared play.
Hear the monkey, playing accordion play
To the whirling whirly-whirly-ghig
Tre dramatique, no? Today
I understand you're just as "tramatig."
I want to hear your Frenchmen play
Play ***** pipes play play
In his dog-eared French organ-man
Play
But I cannot, cannot say
Tears of joy, in hydrant spray
The Hyades triumphant rainbow stay
Cough your little fears away;
Hear the Star Spangled Francis Key play
Frenchmen play, play,
Little piggies counted play
Black white keys with little piggle-plumps play
Atone-al, A-tonal---atonal tonal sounds as if to say
"Getting married here to stay"
All alone and all today
Settle down if for a day
And who will hear the trumpet play
When organ-man Frenchman say
"Where? Home of the free" and stay
Keep your hands away
Never want to let you say
"Hear me, hear ye, all you weary, weary dreamers
But never left your confidence like Russell-rustle leaf-blown willow-white
You fill them up with seventy two pay
Make a kite, to(k)night, allRight
Thank god for the fleas in the right
Hairless creatures for to sway
I threw the dog overboard yesterday
The day before, the day
And if you'd wanted it to stay
You should've say, you should've say
But never let my hand betray
The vein, the line, the artery
Of arterial shells bombastically
Loquacious to a fault, this day
They say "You want another day"
They say "You never wanted say"
They say "You wasted every day"
They say "They say, they say, they say"
But e'er forget, ne'er forget
I'll despise you abandon heaven for earth to get
And leave your money, your millions behind
For mansions with my Lord to find
But in the ceiling never was a god to pray
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
so effulgent
the daffodils of brightest shade
so effulgent
bold trumpets e'er magnificent
they grew along the esplanade
showing a splendid tonal grade
so effulgent
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
Whether it was the sun’s aurelian caress
Or the serene strokes of moonlight lulled
Across its keys carved with much finesse
Monochrome yet its beauty never dulled
A sonata lightly, it hummed, reverberating
Across gently, waves of sound, resonating
The tune seemed to hush the grounds
Effortlessly silencing the cry of hounds
Each tap across the tonal stairs had slashed
The breast of the wounded, whom had clashed
Echoes of nature’s enthrallment seems to linger
The music still bewitching the conducting finger
Corpses waltzing to the nightly sombre dirges
Pleading to allow their rest under the birches
How the sonata tortures all that it imprisons
How the sonata torments all those that listens
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 2:14 PM UTC
Where the river abandons herself to the creek
and the mudbank is cratered with crabclaws
waits the old man.
He doesn't know his years
but his ears are a sonic gift
catching the tonal variations of tides
seemingly for eons
evolving with the mangrove map
into a flawless tracker
of how far the moon would recline
for ***** to be holed out
and what shoreline the water would touch
before the shrimps starlight driven
make a beeline for the net.
I encountered him once
in the absurdity of a time
when I was high
and he lowly crouching
was making art by the creek.
Who was the poet
I could never tell.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 6:28 AM UTC
her strings
had gone untouched
she so yearned
the caress of a man's fingers upon her bridge
the tonal wonders
of her inner core
he'd coax to amor
with his bow gently
gliding over her strings
together they'd assemble
a symphony
of sweet rapprochement
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 9:47 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
this longing is legacy
for a girl cut in half
cold currents of knife
astride darkest path
without stopping for daylight
in somnambulant flight
(your 2 a.m. smile is reason enough)
sheets of sound
somber
the womb of an angel
a war goddess unbound
o
a
stasis seraphic
shrink wrapped
in sweet plastic
((the perfumed fields are elastic
with crowned princes dynastic))
this mortal season
on
this perfect day
strikes the hearts of the stolen
in a fugitive way
the clarified fire
sinew and lean
eats the sins
of the heavens
where the ashes convene
the park with the lake
is wooded and pretty
the sky's on the grass
in an underground city
i'm calling from a
subterranean ocean
the shells are all closed
and the waves are all broken
in a minute the tides
will all swell
the gulls will
pack up
and the moonlight will dwell
say hello to
the girls from the sand
they can walk on the water
but never on land
the stars are submerged
all fallen and drowned
the light from the depths
shines upside down
ursa major
orion's belt
ursa minor
ice water vega
reversed ocean liner
inverted looks like the water
twisted so tonal sounds
mother and daughter
sister and brother
packed in blue ice
from the curves of the earth
and the jaws of a vise
in these dragonteeth winter days
you pick your time carefully
endpoints are delays
the decay of such that
they cannot touch
or remove them
erasing straight thoughts
as a means to improve them
sailing seas beneath
the skin underneath
the unrequited life
just out of reach
i'll nevercomplete it
i'll never repeat it
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
the young egoist licks a blunt blade in the wall
until his tongue bleeds, to feel, yes to feel, feel anything
in these fettid depths where splinters of light
find themselves lost in the subterranean gloom
of his bedroom
where on occasion when it presents itself
listens to grotesques, yes listens with an ear
a plain nasty and unfeeling ear
yet it listens without any phoney, putrid arty language
he hears old irregular clocks
feels the smells under the ground
drinks unquenchable angers
citing their antique tonal ability
to create magic words out of rain and mist
then screaming his voice starts oozing and undulating
creeping through these slow subterranean pampas
compressing and expanding themselves never and at once
he believes it is an unsafe place of frighteningly sincere dangers
then thinks is danger a place, licks the blunt blade in the wall
for even in this desperation
it makes him happy when his tongue bleeds
he tries to perfect conventionally generous impulses
the spit of dreams, his dreams as he dons his mask
his mask of foolscap to write a poem
then encounters angel-devils and demons
who he has the power to deceive
and thinks to himself as he licks
the blunt blade in the wall
finish it, finish it
then realizes it's unfinishable
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
soon the brilliant ides of spring
shall bring such a resplendent ring
to the meadows and rolling hills
making for grand eye catching thrills
floral displays e'er so divine
their faces showing on a vine
of scented aromas in frills
a perfume sweet to breathing gills
strolling amid the colors bright
splendor in their superb highlight
exquisite be these rainbows mills
bursting with shining tonal spills
the news of the season of spring
brings to a winter heart many trills
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
its always sunrise
somewhere
things move in every atoms presence
tonal vibrations power through into tmorows
certian serenity
blissfull melodies
we die daily in our meditational cremation ground of minds past eye had been cast upon building up
or down
spiral, the.sine curve of life
respect the crecendos with ease
the patterns are flexible in form shape and mind
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
~for Cathy Leff, curator~
no bugler blaring ‘pay attention’ to me,
no emergent bad news bearish telephone cell call of an absurd tonal,
no alarm clock retaliating agin a humans daily defying double-slap,
no young children sneaking in, with a guard dog in accompaniment,
joy-ending a deep parental sleep from the exhaustion they induced
but as if shot, the humans burst into alertness,
from prone to moan, they instantly revert, becoming **** Erectus,
gasping from shock troop dreams, and a chest-pounding message,
a whisper growing, an ever increasing crescendo, an unnatural law,
an unsullied foot-stomping battle cry that self-terrorizes, undeniable:
write me, your poem, write me now!
ah, it must be 5:00 am...
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC
I tonicize you.
Though you are sol and I am do,
I've modified my tonal path
to add weight to your presence:
I've written you this leading tone
in hope of upward resolution
and to avoid frustration.
Tonicize me,
for you are sol and lead to do.
Let us modulate through mutual friends;
let us flaunt our perfect consonance!
Let us cadence together
when the music finally ends.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
Do you want to sketch all your life
Or learn to paint a master piece?
Do we not sketch to learn, to develop, to grow?
So why do you still sketch?
What more do you hope to learn?
That people are vulnerable?
That you can hurt them?
That you can leave them?
Are you not tired of sketching outlines?
Don't you long for tonal quality?
For careful composition and a considered pallet?
I know your secret!
That the canvas scares you, terrifies you even.
All that you will be revealed on that unforgiving scape.
That expanse of white which must be filled and not by charcoal and line.
You will be revealed, exposed and displayed for all to see.
You will be revealed in the shading,
In the sensitivity you give to light and to contrast.
Yes, you will be revealed...
But in it you will be filled in.
You will have no freedom to remain as an outline of a man,
With all hidden in fine graphite lines and hastily hatched shadow.
You will have to mature as a man, as an artist of the soul
And set yourself free on a canvas with confidence and brush!
What a liberation!
Will the first canvas be a masterpiece?
In all likelihood no!
But it will be a beginning
And how can you consider yourself an artist if you never paint!
How many sunflowers did Van Gough paint? How many chapels?
Was he satisfied with any of them?
And was each of them worthwhile?
Paint my friend, take up your brush and paint.
Use colour boldly,
Reserve fear and reservation for other pursuits
Or better still leave them from your pallet altogether.
Be sensitive and subtle with your treatment of the subject,
frame her well, carefully
But be bold.
There is little point in holding back.
Do you want your canvas to scream, "Hesitation!"?
Paint or don't, but if you choose not to, declare it to the world!
Do not act like a painter, talk like a painter and look like a painter,
If you do not paint!
Declare "I like to sketch"
And sketch until you bear no longer to leave a subject unexplored in a monochromatic if artistic hiatus.
Be true, be bold, be clear and when you feel the time is right paint with the same honesty and boldness with which you sketched.
Then it will be a true training,
Not the pontification a of a trainee conjurer working above his station.
Complete your apprenticeship, graduate,
And step forth into the world.
Confident, upright, paint brush in hand.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 5:19 AM UTC
the brain muffles itself in fuzzy
screech-fall-flows. writers block,
zoned into oblivion, thought anti
-depressed and always sleepy with
a whistle with a wary worried walk
beyond the words it read in quiet little
head-room office space. hitherto unknown
was the minds capacity for deserted lethargy--
a battlefield full of intuitive feeling gone and
warbling like a bird with no verbalistic functions--
speaking in musical notes and tonal chirp's-- the
reality of things can only be understood as an over
-extended staring contest and our eyes have been teary
since the birth of the
warmblooded
mouse.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
~
smile and weep,
love the shallow for its deep,
finding amazement in the complexity of life
*this prior script-thought
re-arrives but this time,
tonal differences,
a spoken aloud cascading cacophony,
no protective cocoon of silent email,
jus plainest pain masquerading beneath a tensile casual remark
and how you wish you could poetry, write, torrentially in simple lines,
to match the transverse and reverse
the only two gears,
so overcome with anger worry and pain no killer can
****
so deep and swift
its haphazard rambling rambunctious
cursing coursing
and all she said was this:*
this is going to be the end of us
and you, charged to interpret this sentence,
like your namesake Daniel
the invisible handwriting on the
Babylonian wall
that is under construction for which
you will both pay
equally
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
As daylight dreams reach
for dark
under a K-light sky
so must the
world return requited,
kited,
new ,
no one knew but me and you
I will not beg of thee in XYZ
chromosomal hormonal after-tonal
A giant jelly fish ate "To Wong foo with love"
a bit of it's electric lightening flash turned
my skin to glass,
molted down Queen cream
in crock-odor-ium,
it may be a word, it may not,
it maybe your Marshland smile.
I'm going to emerge orthodontia
in crystalline wings and when I do
I hope it won't blind you
like your heart
like your heart forgot
how to pronounce my name and
sunlight forgot to wash the sand
into bleached wood
a drift
from where I cry away
from that small dark part of me
that resembles photosynthesis
in green or gold memories
..of i'll never leave you
even when my tongue has become
a pin cushion for all the things
That get stuck to it
in the dark shifting of
under garments and sleepless
every things
that crawl the endless length of me
as a nightly ritual
of sacred dance.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC