"violas" poems
Symphony No.9 in d – minor, opus 125
Allegro ma non troppo
The silence gives way gently
to quiet tremolos rustling
beneath the beckoning
call of distant horns.
A melodic cell, nascent in violins,
spirals down to the somber depths
of cello and contrabass.
A sudden cataclysm
shakes the hall like thunder
heralding our universal birth.
Gales of sonic force
splashed like turbulent waves
against the rocky shores.
Drifting sans glass or sextant
on a sea of expanding mystery,
we gaze to the heavens
in hopes for a glimpse
of our father’s aetherial dwelling.
Molto vivace
With hands intertwined,
we dance in a ring
to the capricious airs
of the laughing gods
with Zeus himself on timpani.
So pass the wine and kiss your neighbor
and fill your glass to the brim!
For today is yesterday’s morrow
and tomorrow’s history.
Adagio molto e cantabile
There is no greater and more healing light
than the candles that shine
in the eyes of a friend
or loving spouse -
tenderly lighting our paths
through the storms and fogs
that cloud our lives.
Peace abides in a friend's embrace.
An die Freude
Against raging storms of
strife and sorrow.
we hear a healing voice
A calm cello hymn -
that migrates up to higher cords
of violas and violins -
breaking into joyous song
sung by trumpets, winds and drums.
Casting all shrillness of discord aside,
a baritone lines out Schiller’s ode -
and sings of Elysium’s daughter.
Quartet and chorus enter in
proclaiming hope for the human family,
A tenor raises a stein to valor
in the company of his friends.
The quiet pulsing of horns and winds
ushers in torrents of ecstasy.
Arms clasped in communal embrace,
we gaze to heaven on bended knees
then rise with a majestic fugue
that illuminates our souls
like a blazing Alpine dawn.
In a cyclone of passion,
Schiller's words and Beethoven's notes
entreat us to restore
what custom has rent apart
that each of us may live our lives
as brothers in heavenly sanctuary.
May 25, 2007
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
Flower petals fall from trees
In a kaleidoscope of colours
Red, pink, blue, white, lavender,
Orange, and yellow
Different instruments
Chime out a melody sweet
Harps, violins, and oboes
Fill the air
Along with violas, cellos,
Acoustic guitars, pianos,
And many more instruments
Each one sounds beautiful in it's own way
But Fairies play and create a melody
That sounds so heavenly
Beautiful rainbows
Fill the sky with a maze of colours
And raindrops refresh the earth
Which feels so nice and warm beneath our feet
Dewdrops kiss those flowers
The same dew that sparkled
On the grass like a million jewels
Enchanted by those honeyed rays
Of earthbound sunshine
Dancing and waltzing in the morning air
We walk down those paths
That seem so large to us
And are spellbound by the shade of the forest
We sit down to rest
On those mushrooms that grow
Alongside that forest path
We love to appear
In front of your eyes
And make you look at us
In a dazzled sort of way
In Winter we love to fly
And walk upon the blanket of snow
And play a tune upon the frozen icicles
Hanging from the pine needles
Covered in white snow
We love to fly about
Those falling snowflakes
And dance with them
Through the grey sky
In Spring we love
To fly and dance
In a meadow of flowers
I could go on forever
But here I stop
~Marian~
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
this is a poem about happiness.
this is also a poem about how great life is, see? here's a metaphor
comparing nature to the faultless
form of a pedastalized lover,
here's a description of the
effect of changes in air pressure
and localized temperature
fluctuations
on physical matter in a given area.
here's a bland truism that
anybody can relate to.
here's a couple rhyming stanzas
about the ethereal shifting of
connecting threads which
cause all life to dance upon
the cosmic stage like food poisoned marionettes.
here's an ode to the wrinkles of
my ******** and
the bits of fuzz that occasionally
find their home in my *****
here's a sonette to the drop outs
doing better than me
here's a dirge for the businessman
that hangs himself
and a jubilee for his widow
who earns nothing off his death
because he left his entire estate
to his catamite.
I'm writing a symphony in color,
notes of fermenting wood
dogshit and coffin dust.
the violas swoop and drone
the piccolos trill fast enough
to excise your gastrointestinal system
the barotone sax wheezes
and the timpani drum rumbles
(the flutes sit motionless because
**** flutes)
the pianists fingers are bleeding
hes banging with stumps now
his face contorted in ecstatic glee
as if the face of god has parted
the clouds just to scrape his gums
clean with his dietous ****
and lo faint is the whisper
which climbs and slithers
between the
false,
bash upon life with both hands.
here is life here is death
let me show your life
let me breathe your wretching
like squandered
like roots in the soil,
paint your everlasting cave drawing
in the face of your kitchen
and dance around a fire
let the embers lick your heels
til pagan viciousness overtakes
your quivering form.
gasp it in
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
I came back in Spring
To see my garden had grew
With beautiful, magical flowers
Growing all over the place
Bluebells on either side
Of the garden path
Dark red Taboo roses
Of heavenly crimson
Climb the abandoned house
Wisteria a moonlight purple
Wraps it's vines around
The tall, majestic trees
Daisies grow beside the ferns
Such a lovely, living bouquet
Violas are growing
Underneath the hickory tree
Other flowers, too many to name
Are growing in my garden
They waltz in the heavenly scented breezes
My garden I remember
Planting with care
Toiling away all day long
Now rewarded for my prime of life
Striving to get those seeds planted
Now I have been well rewarded
With those treasured-cherished blooms
That I water each and every day
In my acorn watering buckets
That I use just for watering
My magical flowers
Growing silently
Secretly hidden
In my enchanted
Beautiful secret garden
That I so diligently
Planted with great care
Now they are growing
And I am very happy
Just to see them
Nodding and swaying
Some sweet dance
In the warm golden
Honeyed sunlight
Slanting across the
Whole wide world
And now my own
Little world is rich
With pure ecstasy
In happy golden moments
I can always come here
And think back
While silent memories return
And an orchestra of birds sing
In my own sweet garden
Where the fairies dwell
And keep me company
When I am lonely
And need a friend
My garden shall remain
Until the day when it
Shall wither and die
~Marian~
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
The orchestra of the night
plays in the background.
Sweet rhythms
and soft melodies
fill the dead air space
in this empty room.
The words shape shift
Into the silhouette of your body
moving around
in the room where you once were.
The soft violins, violas, and basses
mimic the tones of your voice.
The sound waves
do a poor job at replacing your touch.
The musicians
sit in the chair
you once sat in.
The conductor
embraces his performance
much like you embraced me,
before the room was empty.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 1:18 AM UTC
When Twilight falls the Fairies
Play gracefully upon their
Enchanted instruments
Celtic harps and violas
Join in this beautiful solo
Double basses and violins
Ring out through the calm Night
The Fairies play from Twilight
'Til Midnight
Then move on somewhere else
And play upon their instruments
'Tis the Fairies' melody
For they love living in
Instrumental harmony
With happiness and smiles
From little pink lips
They play upon the prettiest
Bells and chimes ever
Celestas and harpsichords,
Pianos and organs
Raise their beautiful
But meek and humble voices
Creating a tapestry of music
The mandolin also follows
And lifts its voice
And the flute comes next
Beautiful sounding oboes
Sing sweetly on the Night breeze
Next come the wood winds and brass winds
And their beauty cries out
A bittersweet paradise
The most beautiful music
Played while
All humans are asleep
But when Fairies are awake
~Marian~
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
everything about it
the raising waves of sound
and the pluck of the violin
the fiddling fingers on the mandolin
and the swell of the drums
his voice bows like a singing saw
and curls down into the depths of his own feeling
and art not only in the poetry
but poetry in the very sound
*i want to see the things you see
because i like the way you breathe*
it pulls a soul onto its toes
both of the mind
and of the feet
and sends it dashing down the snowy roads lined by broken corn stalks
and gray buildings
and fairy lights of the city
brings us one with the buskers
and into the hearts
of every other person
who has heard it
my god, it has made us into a pool of humanity
each soul touching
in ways deeper than this
to my dear violins
and violas
and basses
and mandolins
and drummers
thank you for the gift
of sound
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
Sad symphonies still linger on the breeze
And tears like raindrops fall
Memories of yore float back to me
On the dancing wind
The breeze stirs the tall green grass
Bittersweet memories flood through my head
And leave me crying
My tears turn into dewdrops
And wake the world anew
They kiss the silk petals of
Sun-kissed flowers
And make the world
Glitter with raindrops
That had been once my tears
Flowers waltz
To the song of Nature
Played on harps of sparkling gold
And on violas sweet
Violins create a lovely prelude
Of majestic beauty
And suddenly
Little sheer wings
Barely visible appear
And I realize with sudden spark of joy
That the Fairies have come
Their wings flutter and blow my brown hair
And my blue eyes sparkle with joy
Their soft hands gently stroke my cheeks
And their fingers stroke my brown hair
Then their cherry lips
Sweetly kiss my cheek
And then they say goodbye
And I am left alone once more
In that meadow
Where memories returned once more
As they did before
Leaving me sad
~Marian~
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
Crack, a littlesound from the mast
Reacting cordially to the touch of the monsoon
On her old wooden structure
A tender embrace he gives
Stretching wide the black canvas
Whispering tales of the brave
The once beautiful and strong
But now lay wrecked at sea bottom
Harboring souls of the deadCaptain Black and his crew
An old map of the sea
To the lost moving island
Resting the rulers of the sea
The great kings of pirates
Whoosh, gentle waves drifting
Rocking us rhythmically
A musical sensation it feels
Like a fine tune of a classical
Conducted live in the open sea
Trumpets, trombones and tubas
Violins, violas and harps
A symphonic sound for the traveling souls
And as the sea guardians work
Attending to Captain White in his cabin
I stand on the deck
Relishing thecold breeze
Watching the moon shiftOn a midnight sail
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
From atop Chehalem Mountain I heard it for the first time
Like a violin on a death bed
Firetrucks at midnight
Sirens to a sailor
The sunset, it rose that day
Purple fire across the tree tops
Music notes bouncing off of falling leaves
Crickets playing violas
The bats came out - a choir of sonar in the sunlight -
A song meant to welcome the dark
Played in the parting fog of dawn
Morning dew just the right squeak under my shoes
A wailing woman whispering hello to...
...something it feels I should recall
I danced
To the coming of whatever it was she was praying for
I danced
The notes rang from under the trees
And I watched it
Climb from out of the valley
Past my childhood
Swimming through remnants of first dates
First stick shifts
Second tears
Thinking swings
I watched it crawl through the memories of everything I have ever known
This beast
This past
This regret a mosquito to the flame of this song
This
This song
This
This music
This royal procession
This woman
Compelling me to dance to a lullaby I know all the words to
I...I just can't remember how it goes
From atop this mountain I look down upon everything I have been
Every path I have taken
And none of it makes sense
I am lost in the maze of the directions I have chosen
Changed by every mistake I have made
The woman singing a song of past in the air
The notes of this song so random
Every memory changing the song
Each song meant to move me shot arrow straight
Every missed note sending me typewriter reset sideways
The melody a scared cat on a keyboard
Equal parts haunting and nostalgic
The tune a childhood toy running low on batteries
And after all the moves had been sung
And all the lyrics danced
I stumbled down the hill
Blackberry bushes tearing at my shins
I opened my arms to receive the beast of past the woman called up from the valley
It swallowed me whole
And I wept silent tears onto two week old deer tracks in her throat
Falling leaves just falling leaves after the monster had her fill of me
The purple flames of sunset now an overcast autumn day
We have no crickets here just sounds we heard once in a book
The squeak still under my shoe
Just a squeak
Only a squeak and the occasional snap of a stick
As I climbed back to my car
The music had stopped
I was right where I started
Nothing around me looked familiar
Everything around me was exactly where I left it
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
candles of fire and flare
balloons float high in the air
their way of showing me
they finally care
the end of the rainbow
my soul now knows
the end is like the ballon
I've seen where it goes
doves fly peacefully
protectively on my side
I lay asleep
Eyes wide
I dance and giggle
as people cry and wiggle
life was complicated
death was simple
violas laid on my grave
tombstone reads:
no longer a sinner
no longer satan's slave
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
~~~~~~English~~~~~~
Sunshine greets the pristine Dawn
With rays of dancing light
Misty paths of beauty...Everlasting beauty
Tiny violas kissed in dew
Red tulips drenched in fresh rain
And trees are greener still
Showing off with pride their shining leaves
Dark hunter moss soaked by the waters of the creek
Feels so soft and nice
A little mountain stream
Happily sings his morning song
As he flows along forever
Little birds warble sweetly to each other
And fill the air with beauty
Daisies dance in their cloak of pearly dew
And waltz with happiness in the meadows and fields
It is God Who made this lovely world
And it is He that this world sings to
In reverence and honor
They worship Him
~~~~~Romanian~~~~~
Soarele saluta zori curat
Cu raze de lumină de dans
Brumos căi de frumusete...Frumuseţea veşnică
Mici viole sărutat în rouă
Lalele rosii ud în ploaie proaspăt
Şi copacii sunt mai ecologice încă
Manifestare off cu mândrie lor frunze stralucitoare
Vânător de întuneric muşchi ud de apele pârâului
Se simte atât de moale şi frumos
Un râu de munte mic
Fericit cântă cântecul său de dimineaţă
Ca el curge de-a lungul pentru totdeauna
Păsărele warble dulce pentru fiecare alte
Şi umple aerul cu frumusetea
Margarete dans în mantie lor de mărgăritar roua
Şi vals cu fericirea în pajişti şi câmpuri
Este Dumnezeu care a făcut această lume minunată
Şi este că această lume cântă la
Din respect si onoare
Se închine
~Marian~
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
Hark the Kings of twilight sing
In strong discordant notes so clear
Not strangely, in some harmony,
When tenor tones caress the ear.
Discordant with a resonance
Both deep and bellicose with bass,
A vibrant tremor through the air
Creates sensation’s crest of grace.
And then a silent pause is felt
As soft violas fill the void
And build to carve a melody
Of pulsing rhythm so employed.
A cascade of exotic sound,
A riot fills the senses loud
And smiles of audience grow wide
As wonderment entrances crowd.
With golden light of setting sun
To purple-grey striated sky,
A swelling chorus lifts the song’s
Magnificence to place on high.
A brace of trumpets catch the light
As silver beauty fills the air,
The roll of tymphoni impacts
As plucked mass violin declare…
The cadence hangs in holy light
A breathless expectation nigh,
A soaring riff of brass and string
Brings grand finale to the sky….
A raging beauty fills the soul
The audience as one arise
To drown the theatre with applause
So raucous wild as to surprise!
The orchestra now take the bow
The proud conductor so defers...
For streams of sweat run down his back,
An ice cold beer he now deserves.
Marshalg
At the Auckland Symphonia
4 August 2012
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 3:30 PM UTC
Dew Glistens On Flowers
Birds Of Sweet Repose
Chirp And Warble
Their Morning Song
The Eastern Sun
Shines Brightly Through
The Tall Towering Furs And Pines
The Rain-Washed Grass
With Last Night's Rain
Glistens And Sparkles
Like A Dazzling Spray
Of Jewels Flung Across
An Ocean Of Green
The Sunshine Dances
And The Song Of A Million Harps
And Cellos
Violas And Violins
Resound And Echo
Through The Pine-Scented Air
'Tis A Morning Song
Composed By Me
~Marian~
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
once more, with feeling
he calls as the bow skitters across the strings, my fingers
artfully pouncing down and around in a small space,
an elaborate tap dance and I feel my body reeling back as my soul
takes over, into autopilot and if I think, I'll make a mistake
I can feel the beat of the percussion moving through the section as I
am united to my standpartner and we to the rest of the world,
with feeling as the cellos strike their solo,
with feeling as the flutes take the melody,
again and we support the violas
I'm plucking now,
I shall never forget this,
the music swells and we are one, we are all
tenuously supporting each other with a connection that is so fragile
if it breaks now, it is lost, the world shall begin again but a little less
magical without it, the crescendo ripples and our hearts thrum,
too special even to write about accurately,
we know each other, we are all that matter now,
I have never felt more or less of a stranger,
it is just for the moment,
it cannot break, with feeling this time.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
Why is it my mind gets wrapped
around my heart and squeezes it
seizes it and sends it into isolation
until it is languishing in its cell
to the point of desolation?
It's not that my mind is blind
going everywhere without care.
Fondness is in there -
a word my mind knows -
but it is consumed and subsumed
by the focus, fascination
and interest of the moment.
This sharpness of attention
dulls the part of me
that can get lost
in the sweet aroma,
white softness and brilliance
of a magnolia bloom.
But oh this moment of writing
and gazing on that bloom
expands the room of my heart
warms, softens, and awakens
the rush, the transfusion
the perfusion of grace.
In this writing,
this moment of pausing
I have again found
my heart
the ***** of my ground.
I hear the deeper sound
of violas and cellos
feel the embracing warmth
the ineffable touch
of emotion
I forgot to pack
for my trip
into the ineluctable grip
of technology.
“Technology’s Grip,” Copyright © 2017 by Glenn Currier
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 12:31 PM UTC
When at Night the Fairies come
To hush the world to sleep
With nocturnal melodies played
On the prettiest of harps
Harps of gold and flutes of silver
Sing to sleep the silent world
Violas of mahogany
And violins of cherry wood
Sing to sleep this silent world
Filled full of beauty
The Moon watches from above
And smiles his approval
And falls asleep
Casting his brightest ray
On that Night
When harps of gold and flutes of silver
Hushed to sleep this Enchanted world
~Marian~
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
_Precious violet
Near a pond of vibrancy
Colours soon to fade
In your last freshness and youth
Why has your beauty withered?_
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 6:16 PM UTC
Cantaba.
Cantaba. Y nadie oía
los sónes que cantaba.
Metido por la noche
los hilos teje de su cántiga:
hilos de bronce que son los hilos ásperos de su tedio;
hilos de sangre de su corazón,
hilos de laboriosa araña
-hilos de seda- que es el ensueño que se arrebuja
bajo su melena flava.
Metido por la noche que le rodea
con mallas de silencio, -muelles
sillones de velludo-, mallas
caniciosas como manos queridas
sobre la sien afiebrada:
Cantaba.
Cantaba. Y nadie oía
los sónes que cantaba.
Su voz es como el eco de inauditas
músicas, ni en los sueños sospechadas.
¿Tañer de amorosas guzlas
moriscas? ¿De sacabuches y de flautas
pastorales, y de violas de amor?
O el jadear ciclópeo del órgano
que tientan los dedos o las zarpas
de Bach y Haendel y de Franck? ¿O el prodigio
insólito que logra de la nada
el milagro de la sinfonía
donde no se funden y todas las voces cantan?
Su voz es como el eco de inauditas
músicas ni en los sueños sospechadas:
o de músicas mútilas
urdidas en la propia fábrica
loca, de su cabeza:
porque se mata lo que se ama,
decía -mordicante- el Réprobo:
música supliciada!
Cantaba.
Cantaba. Y nadie oía
los sónes que cantaba.
Ni la selva, ni la noche le oía,
ni tú, ni nadie, ni nada!
¿Le oía el hosco cerco
de la selva cerrada,
cerrada como los oídos
y los caletres de la gente tonta y chata?
Le oyera la selva, le oyera
si a gritos cantara
-tal el viento y al modo de la tormenta:
pero canta muy paso: si -a veces-
su canción es callada,
muda, como los ojos abiertos,
húmedos... que no dicen palabra.
¿Le oyera la noche, de tibias
estrellas colmadas las sienes,
de tibias estrellas estigmatizada?
¿Vestida de ***** suntuoso
le oyera la noche trágica
cuando el vocerío del trueno
y el zig-zaguear de los relámpagos?
¿Le oyera la noche tácita
cuando con paso desfalleciente
cruza sus sendas la luna alunada?
¿Le oyeras tú, la mujer ilusoria
de ojos sombríos y boca macerada?
Ni la noche, ni la selva le oía,
ni tú, ni nadie, ni nada!
Cantaba.
El mismo no se oía
la canción que cantaba.
810
Antiquity has no birthplace
but its endless events
are interlocked in our mind
in such a manner
that when disjointed
they provide useful parts
for our looking glass,
I remember my sword
it was flanked by sidewinders
and jet fumes by day
baby oiled skin-so-soft at night
ceremonial prize fights
like Lamotta stunning
and staggering
refusing to go down
each door was an oyster
to be ripped open,
a cost loomed for my bitterness
my skin was now ripe
showing wears like a pear
signs of damage
each a dynamic puzzle piece
an appraisal of events,
I found myself staring
at things, you know –
floating clouds and sunsets
baby blue skies
violas on fire
with bumble bees
making love to all
the cone flowers
while nectar rains
down on yellow
and black prairie finches,
things I never noticed
because I was too **** busy
with my lousy tape
and chin-straps
before empathy
and before kindness
became more well-defined
for me
when I was caught up
in a “make-believe”
angry world,
I remember when
heading over the bridge
for morning muster
in a five hundred dollar
decomposed blue Chevy wagon
that I never told anyone about
because it was too humiliating
as I chased my father,
some never notice anything
on a globe where life
is lived forward
and only understood backwards
now Kierkegaard and I
sipping wine in coach,
this bygone formula
where each calculation
is carved out of stone
now has value per chapter
that I must clench
or I will miss eternally.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
I hear the Violins,
Vouching for each trivial,
But fair feature of yours that lies chaste.
I hear the Violas,
Bearing the melancholy,
Your heart conceals deep within.
I hear the Cellos,
Pouring the velvety essence of love,
In my sullen ears.
I hear the Woodwinds,
Singing for beauty, calling for love-
All in unison.
But then the Clarinet disagrees,
For the sheer taste of dissonance.
There,the Oboe tries to moderate,
As the Flute flares up,
Emphatically proposing the passion be mutual.
Then the Strings intervene,
And all play in unison-
The purest articulation of the desire,
For love - yet unmet.
I hear the Brass finally,
With Percussion on its side,
Sounding as though Zeus were to erase Mount Olympus,
Arising turmoil,
Provoking the Strings and the Winds,
Ousting the gentle harmonies,
And ousting the gentle melodies,
And alas! ousting the very notion of love.
Yet,I love the symphony.
And You - are the symphony.
The most beautiful I've heard.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
-
As I count crows
sitting on the drooping clothesline,
I see a shape in the distance
that I do not recognize
I move a little closer
but the maples sling a sad shade
and the lawn flashes its blades,
cutting directly to the heart
in syncopated beatings
like chopping wood in the heat of August
when the last saw
is locked away in the shed
Still I look,
peering beyond a fractured arbor
of beer bottle skeletons situated at the far corner
of nowhere’s homestead,
over off-white pickets and a rusted gate
now overgrown and oversown
in rows of corn field miseries,
shucked and burned in a steel barrel
down where the Mud Creek Minstrels
play cracked violas with stretched strings
in bent tuba concertos
When I realize it is you...coming home to me,
walking through brilliant sunflowers,
an effervescent blue sky background glows,
roses bloom in dazzling pinks and yellows,
robins tend to their young beneath a rainbow of blessings
in assorted hues and feathers,
butterflies now dance upon sweet fragrance simmerings
and what was once a dream that had slowly disintegrated
into a wasteland littered of heartache and despair
vanishies before my tearing eyes
as I run towards you in the bright sunshine
that has returned…once again
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
The pregnant clouds rumble overhead,
The atmosphere as heavy as my heart.
The meagre light has long given up.
Bracing against the fierce icy winds,
I walk across the rocky plain.
A moment of stark stillness
As lightning forks across the sky;
And I see the ground gently dipping
Leading to a circular green depression
With black boulders strewn across
As thunder shakes the world
I take shelter under a rocky promontory
Jutting up from an edge of the circle
And wonder at the perfectly round boulders
Hewn by some giant in ages past.
As the dusk deepens,
And the winds die down,
And the world waits with bated breath,
The weariness of my mind takes me
And I slip into a restless sleep.
I wake to the sound of rain and music.
The night is as pitch.
But there is light swirling in the rocks,
Gold, red, blue and green,
Whirling around inside the hard blackness.
And as the colours dance,
I hear the sound of lutes and lyres,
Of harps and flutes and violas,
And of instruments whose beauty
Is not meant for the newer ages.
Thoughts come unbidden into my mind.
The music dredges up forgotten faces.
Lost voices rise up in my memory.
Futures wilt and dead pasts resurface,
And Regrets take root and flourish.
Vanquished by this wicked magic,
I bow my heavy head,
Hide my tears in my drawn up knees,
Hug myself against the onslaught
And drown in the deluge of that cruel symphony.
Jan 23, 2022
Jan 23, 2022 at 12:56 AM UTC
a piano quartet
opposed an orchestra
on a stage
somewhere in
Prague
along the lines of a battle of the stars
I watched
glistening composed
as the pianos chorded on
the violas and flutes bass drums
clarinets
resounded back
their answers
as I heard the crescendos the tête–à–tête's
the bravados
the claims made by the piano strings
almost immediately
came a retort from the
bold deep cellos
on stage
and shrill the pianos all four resounded in
questioning and the orchestra
became all hinged in
higher and higher
spine tingling notes
and the bass resounded
deep within
and the conductor danced
the hall became a rave
the tuxedo'd dude
jumped headlong into the crowd
on arms was sent to the back of the crowd
and forward again
then silence as he mounted the stage in triumph
raised his arms
and the whole ****** stage enlivened
the audience cheered
lighters were lit
and champagne busted
everyone got wet
I experienced a glimpse
of
Symphonic gorgeousness
and piano men
conjoin
to
make heaven
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 10:23 PM UTC