"tunings" poems - Hello Poetry

I just don't understand why so many Guitarists, and moreover Musicians, so disdain drop tunings; Just because that technique may well differ from yours does not necessarily mean either is inherently inferior.

0

May 29, 2013

May 29, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

Stylistic Diversity [Drop Tuning]

I just don't understand why so many Guitarists, and moreover Musicians, so disdain drop tunings; Just because that technique may well differ from yours does not necessarily mean either is inherently inferior.

8

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

0

Sep 27, 2015

Sep 27, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC

ormond

Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

62

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

0

May 5, 2015

May 5, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC

ormond

Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

62

Why the **** is there all this disdain for varied techniques? So what if I like altered guitar tunings? Sorry that all my guitars are in D Standard or drop C. Yes, even the ******* Classical guitar. *I never meant to inconvenience you, your Eminent Prestige!* Maybe it's a problem on thy knavish behalf that you can't cope with variation within the Sacred realm of Art. Don't ******* tell me what to do or how to do it. Don't ******* tell me my approach to my Art is wrong. Don't ******* crawl to me when you want to learn how it's done and I won't say I ******* told you so when you confess your perspective lacks variety. I will still teach you, though, that is, if you will listen. I will still teach you, though, if, indeed, I can. I will still teach you, though, but only if you can teach me, too. I will still learn from you despite your rigid adherence to traditionalism. I will still learn from you if you don't ******* condescend me about how I decide to do it about how it feels most natural about what I like or why; just ******* deal with it like a true Artist; accept it and bask in it, that everyone's technique is unique. Besides, be it not that very variation that lends itself to the plethora of Art that has been, could be, and will be made? Be it not that very variation that leads a school of thought away from being so incestuous that it kills itself off? Be it not that very variation which makes Democracy feasible? If Art be neither democratic or anarchic, then I guess I'm no Artist. Just ******* deal with it. If you can't: then shut the **** up, and let us, who can deal with it, just ******* do it.

0

Apr 23, 2014

Apr 23, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

Art [Prose/Rant]

Why the **** is there all this disdain for varied techniques? So what if I like altered guitar tunings? Sorry that all my guitars are in D Standard or drop C. Yes, even the ******* Classical guitar. *I never meant to inconvenience you, your Eminent Prestige!* Maybe it's a problem on thy knavish behalf that you can't cope with variation within the Sacred realm of Art. Don't ******* tell me what to do or how to do it. Don't ******* tell me my approach to my Art is wrong. Don't ******* crawl to me when you want to learn how it's done and I won't say I ******* told you so when you confess your perspective lacks variety. I will still teach you, though, that is, if you will listen. I will still teach you, though, if, indeed, I can. I will still teach you, though, but only if you can teach me, too. I will still learn from you despite your rigid adherence to traditionalism. I will still learn from you if you don't ******* condescend me about how I decide to do it about how it feels most natural about what I like or why; just ******* deal with it like a true Artist; accept it and bask in it, that everyone's technique is unique. Besides, be it not that very variation that lends itself to the plethora of Art that has been, could be, and will be made? Be it not that very variation that leads a school of thought away from being so incestuous that it kills itself off? Be it not that very variation which makes Democracy feasible? If Art be neither democratic or anarchic, then I guess I'm no Artist. Just ******* deal with it. If you can't: then shut the **** up, and let us, who can deal with it, just ******* do it.

56

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

0

Feb 8, 2016

Feb 8, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC

ormond

Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.

62

We are stardust, we are golden and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden. Joni Mitchell November 7, 1943: Happy 70th birthday, Joni Mitchell! The Canadian singer songwriter had polio as a child—the illness weakened her left hand, which made many traditional guitar fingerings difficult to execute. It led Mitchell to develop her own signature tunings.

0

Nov 7, 2013

Nov 7, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC

kt

Joni Michell

We are stardust, we are golden and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden. Joni Mitchell November 7, 1943: Happy 70th birthday, Joni Mitchell! The Canadian singer songwriter had polio as a child—the illness weakened her left hand, which made many traditional guitar fingerings difficult to execute. It led Mitchell to develop her own signature tunings.

3

*Scordatura refers to the tuning of a stringed instrument in other than the usual way to facilitate the playing of certain compositions. A scordatura (literally Italian for "mistuning"), also called cross-tuning, is an alternative tuning used for the open strings of a string instrument. Use of alternative tunings allows the playing of otherwise impossible note sequences or note combinations or can be used to create unusual timbres. The technique can be described as an extended technique. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scordatura* ~~~~~~~~~~~ no, non parlano italiano, né ** conoscenza della musica! no, I don't speak Italian, nor do I have knowledge of music but words, words I know how to love, how to let them roll off my tongue, onto yours, seducing you helpless... Scordatura, slow say, you can't help it, as you spoke it aloud your hand opens,, your mouth too, irresistible, irrepressible. wet finger petals of the flowering hand. I want you. I want you, in my mouth. I want our mouths to make Scordatura. speak impossible note creations, speak in unusual timbres, but, as one instrument. I want our mistunings to be the tune of us. Scordatura, admit it, my seduction, accomplished, our tongues interwoven, strings, X crossed, and our tune, extended. I want our mouths to make Scordatura, speak impossible note creations, speak in unusual timbres, as one instrument, tune combinato. Scordatura!

0

Jan 27, 2014

Jan 27, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Scordatura

*Scordatura refers to the tuning of a stringed instrument in other than the usual way to facilitate the playing of certain compositions. A scordatura (literally Italian for "mistuning"), also called cross-tuning, is an alternative tuning used for the open strings of a string instrument. Use of alternative tunings allows the playing of otherwise impossible note sequences or note combinations or can be used to create unusual timbres. The technique can be described as an extended technique. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scordatura* ~~~~~~~~~~~ no, non parlano italiano, né ** conoscenza della musica! no, I don't speak Italian, nor do I have knowledge of music but words, words I know how to love, how to let them roll off my tongue, onto yours, seducing you helpless... Scordatura, slow say, you can't help it, as you spoke it aloud your hand opens,, your mouth too, irresistible, irrepressible. wet finger petals of the flowering hand. I want you. I want you, in my mouth. I want our mouths to make Scordatura. speak impossible note creations, speak in unusual timbres, but, as one instrument. I want our mistunings to be the tune of us. Scordatura, admit it, my seduction, accomplished, our tongues interwoven, strings, X crossed, and our tune, extended. I want our mouths to make Scordatura, speak impossible note creations, speak in unusual timbres, as one instrument, tune combinato. Scordatura!

46

“No, I said the song was stuck in my head”. Well, maybe your just trapped in an entire melody. Chained to a wall of harmonics. Pinned to the floor by the tetra-chord. Sequenced and submissioned in a pool of Lonian Mode and Aeolian Mode notes. Your brain corresponds to a numeric ratio responding the principal intervals of a scale. Hail to the symphony, to the orchestra. Give your all to Pythagoras, the Greek philosopher of such discovery. This ongoing evolution of stringed instruments and major and minor scales, forms, interprets, co-exists with one another, forever. If you were to associate yourself to the modern tunings of ancients temperament, you’ll see that just because they have ultimately derived, does not mean that they have all died. The song you are stuck in reaches way back in time, when world knew no hymn. Any song is a reminder of a world that once was dim.

0

Sep 20, 2010

Sep 20, 2010 at 1:26 AM UTC

meb-1

Perhaps you're stuck in a song?

“No, I said the song was stuck in my head”. Well, maybe your just trapped in an entire melody. Chained to a wall of harmonics. Pinned to the floor by the tetra-chord. Sequenced and submissioned in a pool of Lonian Mode and Aeolian Mode notes. Your brain corresponds to a numeric ratio responding the principal intervals of a scale. Hail to the symphony, to the orchestra. Give your all to Pythagoras, the Greek philosopher of such discovery. This ongoing evolution of stringed instruments and major and minor scales, forms, interprets, co-exists with one another, forever. If you were to associate yourself to the modern tunings of ancients temperament, you’ll see that just because they have ultimately derived, does not mean that they have all died. The song you are stuck in reaches way back in time, when world knew no hymn. Any song is a reminder of a world that once was dim.

12

New musical sketch/work in progress thing!! If anyone is so inclined, check out my newest musical sketch for a track called "Within": https://soundcloud.com/apexparadigm/within-theme-1 It's an instrumental track with 3 guitars, 1 piano and drums. Guitar is me recorded by me, effects are done with Guitar Rig, from Native Instruments piano and drums written by me and synthesized with Kontact, also from Native Instruments. - I've been messing with playing in the 5th position in drop tunings, and thus was the riff born, then I adapted it for several things and wrote in some drums in a sort-of hastily fashion. (that's why I call it a sketch) If anyone wants specifics: it's in F# harmonic minor at about 93bpm. with the guitar tuned to Drop C# (Drop D but down half a step: C#, G#, C#, F#, A#, D#) Harmonic Minor means that you take the minor 7th scale step, in this case E, and make that sonuvabitch a major 7th instead of a minor 7th by raising it one semitone, or step. The result is a step and a half gap between the minor Sixth and the major Seventh, and the major Seventh makes the dominant chord, C#, into a major chord rather than a minor chord, increasing it's functional harmonic resolution potential, and thus "Harmonic" minor. Harmonic minor has some interesting flavor; it's rather exotic for how similar it is to the natural minor scale, aka. Aeolian mode. I think it's rather ******* sweet, personally. Spanish classical music plays on this harmonic structure thoroughly, as do many other things. Anyway, there you have it. Feedback is appreciated, if you listen, I shall be honored to hear what you honestly think. It may not be your style of music, but I implore you to think about listening. As always, thank you for your time.

0

Jun 29, 2013

Jun 29, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

To whom it may concern! [Within]

New musical sketch/work in progress thing!! If anyone is so inclined, check out my newest musical sketch for a track called "Within": https://soundcloud.com/apexparadigm/within-theme-1 It's an instrumental track with 3 guitars, 1 piano and drums. Guitar is me recorded by me, effects are done with Guitar Rig, from Native Instruments piano and drums written by me and synthesized with Kontact, also from Native Instruments. - I've been messing with playing in the 5th position in drop tunings, and thus was the riff born, then I adapted it for several things and wrote in some drums in a sort-of hastily fashion. (that's why I call it a sketch) If anyone wants specifics: it's in F# harmonic minor at about 93bpm. with the guitar tuned to Drop C# (Drop D but down half a step: C#, G#, C#, F#, A#, D#) Harmonic Minor means that you take the minor 7th scale step, in this case E, and make that sonuvabitch a major 7th instead of a minor 7th by raising it one semitone, or step. The result is a step and a half gap between the minor Sixth and the major Seventh, and the major Seventh makes the dominant chord, C#, into a major chord rather than a minor chord, increasing it's functional harmonic resolution potential, and thus "Harmonic" minor. Harmonic minor has some interesting flavor; it's rather exotic for how similar it is to the natural minor scale, aka. Aeolian mode. I think it's rather ******* sweet, personally. Spanish classical music plays on this harmonic structure thoroughly, as do many other things. Anyway, there you have it. Feedback is appreciated, if you listen, I shall be honored to hear what you honestly think. It may not be your style of music, but I implore you to think about listening. As always, thank you for your time.

27

You are like a paisley sunrise - A tapestry of gorgeous spirit. Your sheets radiant with laughter Are patchouli spiced dances In the sweltered tunings of cooling dusk. Now Eros' altars wafting incense; Sepia backbones stir spectral sighs. Poised for splendid primal reckonings Back door brains melt lucid minds For in fluidity we thrive. Through eyeing eternity the prophecy is absolved By monastic deflection I Gained what the animals saw Gypsy moth set your passion in plaster Metamorphosis looms wherein Wings strive thereafter

0

Feb 20, 2013

Feb 20, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC

connor-smith

42 Lumens

You are like a paisley sunrise - A tapestry of gorgeous spirit. Your sheets radiant with laughter Are patchouli spiced dances In the sweltered tunings of cooling dusk. Now Eros' altars wafting incense; Sepia backbones stir spectral sighs. Poised for splendid primal reckonings Back door brains melt lucid minds For in fluidity we thrive. Through eyeing eternity the prophecy is absolved By monastic deflection I Gained what the animals saw Gypsy moth set your passion in plaster Metamorphosis looms wherein Wings strive thereafter

17

Rotator cuff strung across tea leaves, Or “Spring” Knights the Dream with Letters conscript To brandish, burnish sleepy drifts With tinsel brass tunings and wit In the key of youth Diluted With whiskey rye; bell jars; vermouth The brute is Bell’s Palsy comping white thighs And salt air choking the night

0

Oct 25, 2016

Oct 25, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC

robert-c-ellis

'Night, Ruth

Rotator cuff strung across tea leaves, Or “Spring” Knights the Dream with Letters conscript To brandish, burnish sleepy drifts With tinsel brass tunings and wit In the key of youth Diluted With whiskey rye; bell jars; vermouth The brute is Bell’s Palsy comping white thighs And salt air choking the night

12

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light. .

0

Jul 25, 2017

Jul 25, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC

ormond

Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light. .

63

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light. .

0

Jun 26, 2019

Jun 26, 2019 at 3:27 PM UTC

ormond

Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar

. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light. .

63

I want it to feel like a post rock song, like Mono, Pure as Snow —Raw life force energy— Pulling the very life from the listener To fill her up with this one thing: “This is a story • this is a lesson • this is a promise • you have and always will have this beauty living inside you.” Delicate, but well planned notes, Tuning those tightly wound heart strings and release Inciting a part of her she could never quite leave behind.

0

Aug 2, 2018

Aug 2, 2018 at 12:42 AM UTC

TheEscapistPoet

Tunings

I want it to feel like a post rock song, like Mono, Pure as Snow —Raw life force energy— Pulling the very life from the listener To fill her up with this one thing: “This is a story • this is a lesson • this is a promise • you have and always will have this beauty living inside you.” Delicate, but well planned notes, Tuning those tightly wound heart strings and release Inciting a part of her she could never quite leave behind.

10