i’m vinyl baby,
easy to scratch,
easy to gouge,
prone to warping.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
dot dot dot
from the seventies!
you know there’s
my black side,
my dark side.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
you’re my diamond needle.
i'm your music,
you know me,
you play me.
you’re my diamond needle.
gets under my skin
even pass these years,
when my time comes,
pack me in my jacket
bury me in your closet.
you know i’m still
dot dot dot
you make my life neat.
like a circle
i’m the black vinyl
on the roundabout
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
Lips of sweat,
Igniting catalyst tune as they burn out,
Crossed eyes, attention spreads
feeling the whiteness in pure magic.
Each memo confronts the other,
Soul cord of depth,
and for one short-lived moment.
Losing sight of reality in a stasis of oasis.
The passionate barb sticks note directly into the atmosphere.
Each message is a flood of scheme,
singing the blues, this smooth criminal
angel of birth, in your hands
luring you to a road in heaven.
The lights are all you feel;
you can see the forgotten masterpiece.
Bathing in it, as the drums go on,
the mob gathers, to feel the whiteness of the trumpet.
He is rotating his saxophone,
making love to the crowd.
His horn comes with words that deepen the soul,
the crowd is mesmerized.
He extends his hands,
A standing ovation,
Slamming and whistling,
Louder than thunder,
Mr. Jazz man is done
With no condom at all……………………….
Callused fingers press vibrating strings,
drawing passion from a violin.
And with burnished wood snug to his cheek,
the violinist plays from his heart.
Subtle vibes saturate my being,
as crying strings elicit feelings.
And expounding on love’s betrayal,
music stirs the imagination.
His bow hangs like a lingering kiss,
savoring the taste of ecstasy.
And then with tears trickling down his cheek,
he unleashes unbridled fervor.
Experiencing pangs of rapture,
sound slips the bonds of reality.
And every note penetrates my heart,
arousing emotions deep within.
Let the music play on
My heart beats
and passion springs,
As my fingers vibrate
the subtle violin strings,
Soft notes float
in the air to enchant,
Cheeks bear a red glow
as palpitations enhance,
Anticipating a meet
with sweetheart there on,
Rhythmic waves I create,
Let the music play on !!
Written January 1st, 2014
For contest "Let the music play on" by Mystic Rose
Got N/A in contest, was sure of getting amongst top ten,
Now for contest " Screwed II " by rob carmack
Quiet, pensive, waiting, from out of nothing, a flash, dancing!
Back and fourth, faster, bolder, more beautiful, more radiant…
The sound envelops, and the beauty firmly wraps its hands around my ears…
Relevance and resounding, growing, pulsing, whipped into a fever!
And then easing back just a bit, like a rest to enjoy some perfect nectar of echoes.
Then back again to churn, not with blades, but with brushstrokes.
The pulsing art grabs my soul and I sway to the rhythm, the life, the light…
All around me, so necessary is this, something so pure and powerful.
Flex and twirl in the rays of sunshine, on coming the clouds and thunder!
Pounding out the feeling, the pace is relentless, but in my arms, pushing, harder!
Squeezing ever ounce of love from the air, the earth, the fire and then easing again.
Dripping with sweat, a deep breath, another, still moving but slower now.
More deliberate, but still full and open, slowly, gently, slightly and then quiet.
Left tall and dry, lies the pillared maize forsaken.
Barren fields of corn, stand row by row.
When yellow ears have long been gathered,
a dusty crop has paid it's garnered due.
The dry stalks bend and dangle stiff remains,
and autumn winds return to whip batons and play.
The quiet fields tune harps and violins,
making harmony from husks, with swaying stalk refrains.
It was perfect for any occasion, with
the right accessories, like the traveling
pieces Mozart carried court to court.
No matter what style or instrument
the reigning virtuoso favored, violin
or piano left-hand, the master would have
just the thing to sparkle an entertainment.
Just so. One small stone would sparkle
at her throat, or her left hand, to favor
the violet of her eyes. A virtuoso
she was, a Mozart in the instrument
of style. Perfectly right, one dress
would carry her, court to court, as she
traveled through life on her accessories.
sad notes from a lonely oboe
coupled with uplifting melodies from a violin
concert penetrates my mind
connecting with my heart
eyes closed, a musical mantra flows
at last, one with the universal consciousness
new hope reborn
By Carolyn Devonshire
For Dr. Ram’s Music and Meditation Contest
I can feel the breath of violin, upon my face
The fluttering wings of fingers playing, 'A Lark Ascending'
In sweet release, I close my eyes, and drift away to inner peace
All strife takes flight, the music takes me to a meadow growing….
Two clarinets, in soft duet …..are timeless, ageless, knowing
I'm standing still, in waving grass, a cello plays a soft breeze blowing
I weave and sway…the music plays …a french horn makes sweet love to me
As if a lark, I leave the ground, upon the lilting sound, and fly away…
Inspired by the Classical composition, "A Lark Ascending"
Composed by Vaughn Williams
Is it simply just a wooden music box?
Charming the human soul, with its melodic undertone,
What a hypnotic melody it so plays, enticing the listener
With its delicate waltz' sweetly strumming, exposing it's
Mystical quality of the supernatural
By its spiritual essence attractant, I'm thus so memorized,
A ballerina dancing in step, with the spell cast upon me,
Thus do so I spin, on this stationary pedestal, unable to move
On my own volitional power of chose and free will,
I've be consumed utterly,
By the haunting tune, compelling me do its evil bidding.
The notes grow slower, unwinding until perfectly still,
But I'm not in a daydreams nightmare, I suddenly realize
This absurdity is reality, has become real.
I'm that tiny figure within a child's musical box,
Frozen in stances freeze, unable to cry
Out for help, for made of wax am I now.
Then the lid is gently shut upon me, and in the
Darkness a sadistic voice, heckles and mocks
Me, speaking in musical notes it sings a deadly
Lullaby, rest eternal my beauty for you belong
To me now.
I've become a play thing to be tormented,
Languishing within this jewelry box.
Caught in this land of giants, whom wind
These musical chimes, to join me as a
Prisoner's collection, of a thief called music.
Whom orchestrates this symphony of the demonic?
I dare not ask, for the voices anger would
Ravish what little is left of my humanity,
So I smile, and I dance at its pleasures
Whim, but within my soul a flickering
Ray does burn still, and it is called hope.
The music screams in terror's disbelief,
For the giants house has caught in flames,
And now he is the prisoner captured
Within a wooden tinder box.
I do so smile as I myself melt away,
Listening to the voice begging for help,
But no one comes to aid such evil as he.
But I am free at last, and except death
As a comforting friend's reprieve,
From the beast, is it just a simple?
Wooden music box.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
It vibes in harmonics broadband, a musical language universal,
Echoing across the heights divides, falling as a thunderstorms,
Raw force of spiritual power, descending from the heavens above,
The angels do yield, surrendering the gift of music unto the world
Pierced by their angelic thorny prongs, tender notes of rhythm,
Melt downwards from the silver lining of graces everlasting meadows
Separations clouds expose the here ever afters, sparks of the divinities
Fame burning as a torch lighting up the skies white powder showering
The earth with sweet melodic undertones, a thundering vibrating beat felt
Throughout the pulsating heart of nature itself.
Music lives within all things, it binds a connecting link, a
Symphony a blending element, a melting promise between heaven and
Earth, a harmonious balance, light equaling dark.
In the vaults of the skies, the heavenly chorus joins with
The voices of humanity singing a song of complete
What a true wonder is this gift given unto mankind,
To write and sing, to share such expressionism with
One another, music is honestly a universal language
Understood by every nation, or age group beneath
The heavens themselves.
A heritages legacy passed down from grandfathers,
To fathers, and than to sons, and daughters,
Is this the love and wonder of these arts there in
So shared by all members of the human race for
Generations of inspiration to come.
I listen to the songs sang by the morning doves,
To the charming voices of our youthful young,
Than those jolly fellows from days gone by,
You know the old barber shop quorate.
So many variations and depths of degrees,
Harmony, rock-n-roll, to golden oldies country,
Music is a wonderment all to it's own glory.
So we thank you those powers on high,
For this miracle of a gift called music.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
You were afraid in the beginning.
You were excited and filled with anticipation.
Just holding her in your hands was a strange experience.
Awkward, like a first kiss.
Unsure of where and how to touch.
Just how should your lips
Meet her cold and unfamiliar mouth piece?
Remember those first few notes
Screeching through space inside the band hall?
A sacred place where rhythm and note
Have coursed the air and touched
The smallest bones of the human body
With the softest and most pleasant caress.
Become familiar with the way she feels.
Close your eyes and feel the softness of her curves.
Treat her like a lady of royal blood.
Her father has given you her hand.
There is no leaving her at the altar.
You will decide your life together.
Love her. Caress her. Kiss her softly.
Learn to move your fingers and listen to her reply.
The early sound of surprise becomes the sound of love.
Soon, you breathe as one, and the voice you hear,
The voice we hear.
Is not hers. Is not yours. But, the union of both.
And what we hear is the birth of something
Grand and glorious and beautiful!
i know a young girl
lives just up da ill
she a black an white child
she got uge black eyes
wit lots of white surrounden dem
an' she got tick black air
an' er skin's a lonely gray
she got big plump lips
no man ever touched
cause she still jus' a child
an' dat girl she wear
a sweater white
'er mom made er
da black 'n white girl
live just up the ill from me
even er ome is black 'n white
man dat girl
she don't show color no ow
dat girl in black 'n white
all black 'n white
till she bring out er violin
er full colored playin' instrumen
dat ting got chromaticity
dat wat I said
dat der's wat dat violin got
wen she play dat ting
everytin goes bright
whoa dem strings dey speak
whoa dem strings dey sing
den dat violin color er world
dat wat make 'er special
you got to see er
when she hug dat ting
when she make it sing
an' da world she is peace
wen da black 'n white girl
play er colored violin
dat wat dat girl got
wen she play so sweet
wit the violin to er ear
an' da traffic stops
an' da crowds don talk
wen da girl in black 'n white
wen dat girl she paint da town
make dat violin talk
charmin' all da ears
ow she do dat
make notes dance in the sky
ow she do dat
soothes the savage beast
ow she soothe my ears
ow she make docile dis devil me
i don wanna do bad
wen dat violin sings
ow she do dat
dat girl wit dose
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Contest Name: Let The Music Play On
When the sunlight breaks upon the day
And dawn arrives with a whispered breath
Ascending like a clarinet
As gentle as a cradle song
Small butterflys, will twirl aloft
And circle in the morning breeze
A mantra of incantation
Stirring thoughts to meditation
To revel, shy against the dawn
With quivering wings to climb the stairs
In rippled waves, that stirs the air
The fleeting leaves, will dance and sway
And songs exhale, so crystal clear
To gently sway the flowing glass
Of bubbling streams, sweet, crisp, and pure
So gently soft, and sweetly felt
A first note broods, without fanfare
A petal drifts, then spins away
it can be seen, but can't be heard
A timid bird, a quivering chord
A sonnet of love, with lanquid words
Each breath a spark, that kindles change
With trilling voice that wraps around
A wreath of mist lifts off the ground
Skimming rainbows, with a song
A never ending, ... wistful sound…
Torturing me with touches
I feel the sting of hardened and lasting lust
Touches not of mortal fingers,
But Halloween-haloed strings composed by musicians of mystery
Pressing upon my back--yes! A searing, yet melodi-errotic strike
All upon me, yet far from me...
Leave me not in the judgement of my own scrambling feelings
Rest not away as I hold my hands out in the dark
Deathly dances are visions heaven-bound for the duo--
Yet for the solo- a blank, useless measure...
The pulsing silence of amateur-stitched love rattles me
Making rhythms giggle in my mind
Intervals of idiocy tormenting all reason
Truly an agonizing, but for others--minor--prison
Is the smile that helped design those strings
Those strings that pluck upon my spine
Controlling me in a dark place stuck between tunes and time
Why are your hands so cold when you play those piano keys?
Why are your lungs so eroded with the pride that taints the songs you sing?
Why have the rhythms gone awry, and why does your apathetic dissonance thrive?
And tell me… through it all…
As you compose the rise and fall…
Why is all this destruction you created so vibrantly alive?
When we meet our hearts connect
as though we were cords on a violin
A shapely instrument of beauty and grace
When aged the sounds are clearer and more of value
Equally refined and spiritually aligned
We sing of life and commitment
And a trust that bonds
We stretch as the strings and bend to fit each other’s needs
We are linked in body and soul
We are music, we are whole
blackbirds in the rain
walking among the fallen leaves
under the old mango tree
with dripping leaves
bathing the grass below
blackbirds diligently lifting
the rain soaked fallen leaves
peering underneath for insects
by the drizzling rain
pausing to gulp one down
then scooting off again
searching for more
sitting under the shed
with raindrops playing their music
on the galvanised sheet roof
with a beat
within my inner being
putting me in a trance
connecting me to the rain
and the puddles on the ground
with the raindrops
gently tapping the water's surface
creating rings that collide
with one another
disrupting their individual shapes
creating a dynamic new pattern
reflecting their unity
and bubbling with energy
in the drizzling rain
O what a deep feeling
of peacefulness and serenity
with the rain
the dripping leaves
and the puddles
serenading my spirit
with the eternal song of Nature
and merging it into the
Unity Of All Things
It was raining today. There was a constant drizzle for hours. I sat in a shed attached to the house, watching the blackbirds in action in the rain, searching for their food. The constant rhythmic sound of the rain on the galvanised sheet roof of the shed and the gentle drama playing out in the backyard with the blackbirds was a spiritual experience for me connecting me with Nature and the unity of all things as mentioned in the last verse.
How far can you fall and get back up
How high can you jump
And keep your feet in the sand
To touch grace and fall from within
Next to you I was out of my skin
I missed you yesterday and you leave tomorrow
A life spent in the shadows of lushly tint
Smoke your waves
Exhale the freshness of your menthol scent
Home is what you call shelters that need no defense
You’ll say goodbye
I’ll send again
You won’t reply
Is the appreciation of another’s existence
Is the anticipation of seeing you again
You and I, we’ll cruise the shores
Together we’ll settle with the wind
The joy of a small hut, a lovers den
I’ll wonder why
You’ll send again
I will not reply
"our songs for sale"
I need you to be stronger
I need you to never be afraid
swallow your pride,and your flight will be softer
tell her you love her,even if it hurts
Grab onto your dream and live it
Do not be afraid of the sun's divinity
Be better,love more, hold on.
Enjoy every stop of the ride.
For when the train finally stops...we die
Until we witness the angels dance after final day...
Dear Me, hide your fears away
In a vast open wilderness
Lay the pristine snow
A beautiful mountain
The majestic view
A sky cloudless blue
No footsteps in the white
Only pristine snow
And there, a grand piano
In that space of no footsteps
And just for me
A man is playing Beethoven
November 25, 2012
Music comforts the soul, cures that restless spirit.
Some songs will make you crank up the volume so everyone can hear it....
Music can alter moods, and talk to you.
Some songs have the remedy for what you're going through....
Music is good medicine for a broken heart,
and yet some songs can turn around and tear it apart....Music has brought people all
around the world together;
And some melodies will keep playing on forever....
Music adds to the intensity of making love.
Fuels that fire, you can't seem to get enough of....
Music makes me sad, glad, happy and mad.
Some songs make me pick up a pen and pad....
Music makes me wanna pull a woman close, kiss her nose, remove her clothes,
suck her toes,
And with Janet Jackson still singing "That's the Way Love Goes;"
Me and her make our own music video until her sweet nectar overflows!!!!!
Note: To my fav. soupers, I don't know your preferred genre of music and sometimes age
plays a huge role in a persons tastes in music. Since I don't know everyone's age, I'm going
by gut feeling and the personalities I read on my comments and my soupmail. If you guys
download music; I've written one song for the following people. A song from me to you, so
to speak. Be open minded and listen to the whole song. Enjoy. #1 Marty "Devil Woman" by
Marty Robbins #2 Carol B. "These arms of mine" by Otis Redding #3 Charma "Words" by
Anthony David #4 Raiin "Undead" by Hollywood Undead #5 Patty "Insatible" by Darren
Hayes #6 Lolita "I Believe" by Blessid Union of Souls #7 Ladybug12 "Turn Back the Hands Of
Time" by R. Kelly #8 Sue M. "As of you" by Raphael Saadiq #9 Highlander "Folsum Prison"
by Johnny Cash #10 Sara "Sweet Dreams" by Patsy Cline #11 Brandee A. "I need you right
away" by Smokey Noval #12 Donna "Unchained Melody" by Righteous Brothers #13 Linda-
Marie "Bonita" by No Mercy
When the music stopped
I could hear you breathing
I could hear us snoring
I could hear the cry of coyotes in the distance
I could hear the whispering trees in the dark
I could hear every pulse beat of your heart
As you slept
When the music stopped
I could hear our giggles
I could hear the singing birds in the waking dawn
I could hear our stories, happy times
I could hear the humming flow of your blood as you stayed close to me
I could hear our dreams, more vividly than ever
As you loved
When the music stopped
Sometimes our lives seemed so slim
And our time felt so limited
Other times, our errors were erasable
Whiting out all the pain, to only love
You are music; saturates the air
speaks to a man's desires
a gentleman sways to
to the beaten sound
of raw intimacy
You are music; heard once never forgotten
word for word
makes a man move
in concert of
makes him move
with the regard of
that simple song
with inner beauty
to the savage
to the beast
he thought he'd never hear.
in your calm.
in the torment of you.
You are the music
flips a mans temperate core.
Dancing with Joan Jett
Dancing close with Joan Jett is so wild, it’s 1989 and we go head to head. I’m the teen kid by the juke box and she is my wet dream in black leather, one foot in front of me. Pure bloody ecstasy. Garage music blares out of the speakers and we spin around, my arm catching her waist. Closer we draw; a kiss. First of many.
Joan and Nick. Who would have thought it? Rock n roll music heroine meets a Lancashire lad in an intimate spit and sawdust gig venue in a nameless town. It happened, was happening now. 25 July 1989. A day before I was eighteen.
By chance I got her gig ticket, last minute rush. Left my crap job and mental northern town and took the train to see Her, Joan Jett. My teen rock goddess singing live. How many guys wanted a piece of her? And a few gals too. Black leather, boots and an awfully short skirt...
And that black hair. Joan looked like a Goth. Her music wasn’t as dark and was more accessible. Darkness would come later, lots of it.
For now, I danced close with Joan Jett. My head in her hair, eyes shut. Holding her like there was no tomorrow. Another kiss and I was smitten. No one would ever believe me, if I told them: ‘Hey, I danced close with Joan Jett. And we kissed...’
Never mind what happened later... that’s our secret. Yes I still do love her, am in love...
...with Joan Jett.
Ballet is poetry. . .
And both share in
The magical movement
That is defined as art.
As brushstrokes blend
Hues onto a white canvas
And forms begin to
Appear in the glory of a
Golden pas de deux dawn,
Fingers of light stream
Through parting clouds
Capturing the divinity
Of the death of night
Into days beautiful birth.
Fluid motion, chassé. . .
Balancing earth's elements
In an alluring assemblé.
© Connie Marcum Wong
If languages were instruments,
English, the language of my own America,
Would be something like a piano.
Each word is clear and sharp-
When we sing, the note does not waver.
But I suppose it's more fair to say that
English is something like an electronic keyboard
With two hundred different modes because English
Has so many different versions,
Adaptations of other instruments,
Emulations, or imitations, however you want
To think of it; there is no accent that cannot
Be reconfigured to be
Played on keys in distinct shades
Of black or white.
Arabic is more like a violin.
The sound of Arabic
Flies up and down the scale
In deliciously smooth legato,
Stopping to linger on vibrato;
Now yellowed with age
a lonely music book,
hidden in every page
old musician dreams
of endless nights passed
struggling with melodies,
lovely trills and arpeggios,
etudes and symphonies;
a sentry keeping watch
over dirtied ivory keys
played and loved once
by souls of olden days;
labors of faceless men
held close to its breast,
strains still remembered
kept deep in the chest;
an old piano book stands
now sullied by the years,
within its torn pages live
dead musician tears.
The Clanking Chain of Wild Geese
I was watching the September sky every day,
With a hope to once again get a glance,
Of the clanking chains of those lovely wild geese,
That suddenly appears with their music melodies,
But quietly they disappear every year,
Like a Rainbow that comes and gets lost gradually.
No one knows when like a rainbow,
The wild geese would appear suddenly,
While changing their forms like clouds in the sky,
Mesmerizing our eyes for few seconds or more, and then,
Disappearing in the sky, like the dim vanishing evening.
The wild geese often appear in the sky,
Forming a shape like the garland of God,
And quickly changing shapes, like our emotions,
While moving in the sky like an arrow,
They sing the joyous songs of today, not tomorrow.
Forgetting the past and the future like an arrow,
Which keeps running, until it reaches its marrow,
The destination to pierce a heart,
They create either a joy or sorrow,
While singing a song of today, not tomorrow.
Oh, September sky I watch,wonder with ,
And hope to see them once again,
My childhood friends wild Geese,
Coming from north and vanishing in south,
Like my thoughts which arise and fall.
But this year, I did not see the winged necklaces of God,
Neither could I see a rainbow being formed,
Nor even hear their chorus like songs,
No clanking of wings, No music of their joys,
No rise and fall of images like thoughts,
No sounds and music touching my heart.
One day, I was stunned to hear,
The species of goose are in great danger,
Man has stolen many of even God’s necklaces,
The rainbow of birds and the grandeur of sky,
A great heritage of Nature is vanishing before our eyes.
Oh, my sweet friend,
Will I ever be able to see and hear you again?
When you would clank your wings, in the windless sky,
Creating a dance and music, on such lofty heights,
Where no musician can ever fly,
With a hope till I am here on this earth my friend,
I would keep waiting and watching
For you O wild Geese in the September sky.
Kanpur India. 1st Oct. 2010
Dedicated to my loving wife Dr. Shashi Kapoor, as a birthday gift for her
Birthday on 2nd Oct. who loves animals and birds more than any thing
Tapped percussion dribbles a wham,rushing
on quivers of sensation through my blood,
when duskfall changes its beat to jazz
a dizzy ride in gush of night, I roll.
Notes throbbing a cadence along blues' mood
as velvet of skin begins to open,
unmentionable thrills of breath unwind
claimed by music so raw, wild hips sashay.
Hands unfurl in a lift of tempo's rise;
while my body gyrates in free motion
like rippling fire, I can't stop toes ablaze
and the circle of groove jives on to reel.
Oh, just one more grasp of this revelry
while conga drums beg for another dance
inhaling euphoric whim, life's vein
where pulses burst as dawn's moments arrive!
Mood Music with Original Details Contest
Sponsor: Sheri F. Harper
by nette onclaud
Under her guidance, we stood at attention
forming a row for the national anthem
"Oh Say, Can You See?"...those familiar old words
We would sing, not in unison
but with avid enthusiasm
out of tune, out of rhythm
with our childish delusions
that we were quite good!
As we stood in the room
she would move down the line
with a frown in the lines
of her brow, then would bow
till her ear matched our voice
and her hand would be poised
with two fingers ensued
keeping time with the tune.
She would grit all her teeth
bite the inside of cheeks
Such a serious task!
it was all that she asked
that we please..do our best
When we mastered, at last
She would gasp, then exclaim
as we sang each refrain
Mixed with tears, she would clap
I remember it now...
Here I stand in this row
with my hand on my heart
as the first strain imparts
Yes, I know those old words...
they'll remain part of me
'til the day that I die
"O Say, Can You See?"...still familiar to me
But no..............I can't see....
There are tears in my eyes...
For the Project UFO Contest: Sponsored by Robert Heemstra