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Night Music Poems | Night Poems About Music

These Night Music poems are examples of Night poems about Music. These are the best examples of Night Music poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Verse | |

Cricket's Song

Refrain of dreams, I gift to you. My hum lulls in rhythms deep; Night chant lifts to heavenly heights coupled with starry sky’s plume. My faithful promise kept from sight 'til fall of moon's sleepy eyes. By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 1/15/15 for Nette's Night Creatures Contest, (Cricket #6)

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

night music

*
                     

                       the evening stars

                             that prick the darkening

                                 aftermath of sun...

                                    will sing once more,

                                        in ancient tongues,
                                
                                            quixotic songs

                                                 as if they've not 
                                                    
                                                          been heard before

                                                

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet | |

Evening Storm


I drift as storm and night duet,
a dance amidst a choir of rain.
wrung clouds strum strong and passionate
to cart away my deepest pain.
In every grand, thunderous note,
God’s loving heart beats in my soul. 
Across the darkness, lightning floats,             
to heaven skyward, I extol.    
Winds sing with love blown rhythmically     
just like sweet-sounding nightingales. 
Clear sheets of rain course through lithe trees   
bending to meet the river dale. 
Then soft comes dawn, I praise the storm
in gleam of misty earth transformed.

For Shadow's Pick A Subject Contest, 3/4/15
*Subject - Storm

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Imagism | |

SLEEPING WITH THE DEVIL'S WIFE

   SLEEPING WITH THE DEVIL'S WIFE
Some night you'll wake before morning
Sweatin to the oldies she will sing.
She'll make you think you're in Heaven...
Long enough to tell you ANYTHING...

And you'll believe her.

Some night you'll wake up hearing voices
Sweatin to the oldies of here life.
She'll never say you're in Heaven.
Or tell you you've been sleeping with the Devil's Wife.

She'll never tell you, you've been sleeping with the Devil's wife.

But you will KNOW.
You will know.

That's when you'll need her.
That's when you'll love her the most.
That's when you will die.
Sleeping with the Devil's wife.

That's when you will die.
   
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa ---hear the song and First take Video on Youtube, search for vee bdosa then select SLEEPING WITH THE DEVILS WIFE. One of my personal favorites, more poetry than song.

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

The Night of the Dance

The memory, of old, returns again
and tiptoes in like summer rain.....
If I close my eyes, I can feel the night
that wraps me close, beneath the stars

There were sounds of laughter all around
And crowds were milling all about
A saxophone was softly speaking
and Sinatra's voice was crooning, ...pleasing

For with a midnight tolling near
One by one, they drifted home...
Just a few of us, to dance the floor
All sense of time had halted course...

With shoes kicked off, and jackets hung
We couldn't bear the evening's end
Cheek to cheek with you that night
The last sweet dance would soon begin

The music stopped, but we did not
We couldn't break our tight embrace
We couldn't tear ourselves apart
And while we danced in pale moonlight
Our eyes were closed, you kissed my face
This was our own, enchanted place

You held me close, we danced alone
The night was ours to keep....our own
Though not a sound at all we heard
The lonely saxophone droned a tune
The record of Old Blue Eyes crooned
The music had no end

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

Details | Concrete | |

At Nightime

Listening to New 
   Age music 
and relaxing late at night 
Mellow sounds 
   remind me 
that the time has 
come to 
        put 
       away 
       thoughts 
 on paper 
Realizing that 
once 
you 
are 
published 
You've blown your cover 
     After inscribing 
this ode 
I will focus on the 
pretty sounds 
issuing 
forth 
     from my TV
Let my mental state 
    become one
of peace 
and 
soon I will go 
to that temporary death 
called sleep

Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Night Poem

It waits...
A prickle about to lodge
In the heart of a Mighty Light

Above the low-dipped setting sun
The Knightly Night prepares to come

To lift me like a rising fog
Up to greet the countless stars -
That twinkle at a Sun's descent.

The horizon painted with lullaby
Of colours and their somber tune
Day's bed is laid behind blue mountains
And quietly it goes to sleep.

Inside the womb of a Sleeping Day
Begins a fierce protest 
of dreaming thoughts
Now stirred awake.

Then out of the thick and cluster
And whatever dangers of flight await
Newborn wings of thought emerge
And rise and rise and rise
Captured by the winds of Night -
Arisen

To wander heights
To kiss the skies
To dance to the gentle humming
Of spirit drums -
Wings beating
A duet with the breeze.


So when day comes breaking through
Dawn is greeted by what was writ
At the festival of it's eve.

With merriment's ink: 
A Kiss; 
A dance; 
A song etched deep: 
Art carved out of sky.

Title: Night Poem

Copyright © Camille Casserly | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Collecting the Cracks that Bleed Through My Voice.

We broke in two and it amused him that I was still counting...

I could hear the night whisper beyond his ears, the bed we lay ourselves down upon and
passion was considerate when his mind let go....

she was direct and unforgiving and I...

gave.in.


I could listen to the tumbling of my heart for ages and I collected music as my lips split
in half, it was only to kiss him, you see, only to allow him to know...

how I bled.


I tasted myself as the night wore on, exhausted yet hungry for his arms, I studied my own
in the afternoon, multiplied my freckles and wondered if my child would be ashamed of the
scars that decorated my skin, prayed she would never know how years could bite, so I
reached for him when the clouds became cold and I became...

scared...

as I frightened myself to death in the realization that we....

were still so alive.



The ground we walked on spoke of faults and mistakes, there were cracks in the earth yet
my hand still held his, he was clueless and I was silent but we slept well, he and I,
after passion erupted and the sky split...

when the clouds collected my music and rain sang, just to show him, how the days
could
bleed.



Copyright © JeanMarie Marchese | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse | |

A Date With The Night

Don't mind my disguise,
just look in my eyes,
let the air fill your lungs,
one plus one equals one,
your blood runs cold,
while the heat will scold,
like a volcano,
your fever spikes,
your temperature just right,
for a date with a night.

A little moon,
a little sin,
a little life,
ends and begins.

Copyright © joe fisher | Year Posted 2007

Details | Terza Rima | |

NIGHT IS NOT LIKE DAY

Night is not like day,
when my body is groggy and I get tired,
but sleep doesn't come suddenly...


Even when the macabre darkness reigns,
I seek the hidden moon among the hickories,
to make me stray from loneliness...


And strolling with the pace of vagabonds,
I get to feel what they feel:  when they are 
ignored or forgotten by others...  


Crickets seem out of tune,
while the watchful owls conjure;
and what attracts me:  is mystery...


The bag-lady sleeps on the same bench,
and her softest pillow is a heap of leaves;
this morning she performed a superb dance...


The bright lam-posts begin to dim, to scare the fire-flies away;
and flickering they announce the new day,
when the strong aroma of the jasmines exhilarates me...


Night is not like day,
when the perfect  peace is really felt inside;  
even my gentle shadow turns into a silver light...


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Rusted Horn

He assembled in darkness the corroded horn
by familiarity and sense of touch.
Then cast as thunder into the empty night
long tones void of musical melody.
Sustained tones, fierce and woeful
in succession paraded the street.
Each note precisely chosen, unfurled
and carried aloft in chilly air.
The flickering street lamp understood
as long shadows on a cobbled walk
slow danced in the warming glow.
But the music was not for them tonight.

The musician’s voice transformed
and angry staccato flares broke.
Chop, chop and chop on the mighty tree!
He watched it fall dead against unfeeling brick.
Snapping of limbs and morality
but the tree was just a thug anyway.
Indignant “Quiet downs!” 
rained from high-rise windows
mingling in the blood of the fallen;
and tears…so few tears.
But the music wasn’t for them tonight.

Still they could not escape the song, 
that guileless voice in the darkness, 
which once again transformed.
Weeping heaves bellowed through aged-brass
amplifying every tremble of the lip.
Pitiful notes, harsh on either end
and broken by uneven vibrato, 
yet piercing in their raw honesty, 
turned away the wrathful storm.
Tremulous begging it seemed,
accompanied a hopeful plea for dawn,
which lulled to sleep the very stars above.
The moon halted to listen as well,
while the pitiful busker concluded his song
of remorse for unlived dreams
and unspoken things
before tucking itself in, cathartic.
But the music wasn't for them tonight.

10/18/15

Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015

Details | Lyric | |

The Sex Confessions

The Bed
Your Mouth
My Touch
Our Lips

It’s a fever
In the night
Forbidden

Forbidden

Desecrated and damned together
Desecrated and damned forever
One naked flesh, we’ll die together
One naked flesh, making love forever

The Flame
Your Cries
My Salt
Our Wounds

It’s a fever
In the night 
Forbidden

Forbidden

Desecrated and damned together
Desecrated and damned forever
One naked flesh, we’ll die together
One naked flesh, making love forever


The Earth
Your Rain
My Seed
Our Life

It’s a fever
In the night 
Forbidden

Forbidden. 

Desecrated and damned together
Desecrated and damned forever
One naked flesh, we’ll die together
One naked flesh, making love forever

Hell
Regrets
Confessions
Of Love

Your  Love
My Love
Our Love
Love

It’s a fever
In the night 
Forbidden

Forbidden. 

Desecrated and damned together
Desecrated and damned forever
One naked flesh, we’ll die together
One naked flesh, making love forever


Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ode | |

Lullaby And Good Night

Sound that brings Back memories Sounds that make One cry …From an ol’ music box… Sound that tears Tears from one’s eyes And wrenches forth Deep sighs …Nothing quite like an ol’ music box… No, nothing says poignancy More so… than does the silken notes That softly flow …From a music box… That plays ‘Lullaby And Good Night’ And tinkles down E’er so slowly Til wound again …Up tight…

Copyright © David Whalen O Haolin in ancient Celtic | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

A Little Night Music


We had a good time 
Guys from Woodside, Sunnyside
Greenpoint and Astoria
Leaning on each other
Weaving through the crowds
Towards the exits
Leaving the club
Squeaking out just before closing time
Headed towards the corner joint
Open all night.

Waiting on line
Shuffling
Gotta go
So bad
But first
Stomach bursting for
Cheap burgers
Greasy and salty
Buy ‘em by the bag
Eat them on the way home.

Dark night of New York
All around us
Rich’s man town 
Separated from 
Working class
By rivers
Zip codes
And generations of mistakes
Nobody talks about it
Nothing to discuss 
Just a fact of life
Work with your hands
That’s how things are
If you complain
Nobody listens.

The place is crowded
It’s a late night circus
Counter people rush
Orders fly 
From a hundred directions
A razzle dazzle of
Loud voices
Earsplitting laughter
A fight starts
In a rear booth
Irish and Italian guys square off
Just like generations ago
A common refrain ushering 
Saturday night to Sunday morning
With a little night music.

Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2010

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Entwined

if your heartbeat could ponder to fathom mine what a miracle it would be

if your hand could reach out to encircle mine what a miracle it would be

if your sweet lips could sing like honeydew for my soul what a miracle it would be

if an audition could be won for a vacation cruise with you what a miracle it would be

baby, you got the goods and baby you got the looks, style, and five star plus quality!

we'd boogie on the dance floo, find our love power to score for the disco dance of our
hearts

excited hearts bounce as one night time ecstatic movements light up the disco ball up high

cause we're meant to be the miracle come true

rave reviews for us as a couple of the night on the dance floor

baby, what a miracle you and me would be entwined!

Copyright © Susan Mills | Year Posted 2011

Details | Concrete | |

Color's Of Night

These shades of grey all through the night always brings fourth enough light to where your right there in my sight. It's the colors of night, black and white with stars up high producing a forever light, helping to carry me forward with each passing day. For the colors black and white are both hot and cold, neutral too making them equal causing the starry night to turn grey, letting me see you as I'm suppose to. It's like the star afar, the twinkle of a diamond from the sky's of heaven that's so far away making way for our great escape.

Copyright © Terry Johnson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

paris by night

this morning is falling burning into a sunset an autumn decision you and I will never forget joy by day paris by night i'm there love by the hour Paris is ours evening breeds new life a moment of twilight a horizon of heavenly means I love you like life loves itself joy by day paris by night yes dear i'm there love me by the hour and paris is ours i'm down too often like a child awaiting his scars to soften hopelessly a pedestrian walking a way from traffic it could happen, indefinitely i'll take paris by day and love by night i was there long enough to love you by day and surrender by nightfall "there is joy by day if you can take paris by nightfall"

Copyright © Jerry Golden | Year Posted 2011

Details | Senryu | |

CLASSIC NIGHT HUMS


as night classic fades

humming one two Mozart notes 

lovers gently kiss



Judy Konos' Get Your Senryu On Contest
4/11/15

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

Details | Lyric | |

Love To The Music

The music pumps the groove,
The music makes me move,
The music lights my heart,
The music bangs so hard,

The music makes me dance,
The music brings romance,
The music crowds the place,
And the music relates,

Chorus:
The music makes me wanna dance,
All night long,
The music makes me wanna dance,
And feel this song,
The music makes me wanna love you,
All night long,
(We can love)
To The Music

The music lights my soul,
The music takes control,
The music makes you love,
The music is a drug,
The rhythm of us being in love,

Chorus 2x

Copyright © Anthony Scandrick II | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

Unholy Night

A. W. Nutter
 
Monotonous music assaults my ears
The beat, becoming a hypnotic tone
To half clad men as nighttime nears
Dancing around their prayer stone
 
Worshiping the ancient engravings
A Lycan, portrayed as the master
The human reduced to groveling
Begging for mercy from his captor
 
The music increases in intensity
Chanting from the dancers begins
Working themselves into a frenzy
Ready to release the beast within
 
Random killing, is not their mission
The Trinities plan must be defiled
To destroy mans hope of salvation
The pack, seeks Bethlehem's child
 
As soon as transformation begins
The right hand of God will fall
Saving the son from demons sins
Gods warriors, answering the call
 
The mens faces begin distorting
Howls of pain, fills the night air
Signal given, warriors descending
Lycans trapped within our snare

Swords are drawn, blood is spilled
The head Lycan, begging for mercy
Raising my sword prophesy fulfilled
Last of the breed killed for his heresy

Copyright © Anthony Nutter | Year Posted 2010

Details | Haiku | |

A HAIKU COLLECTION

 
COMES THE NIGHT

COMES THE NIGHT 
With silk 
Warm with milk



WE MUST

we must write 
Dream and hold hands
We must command



NATURE'S MUSIC

a melody of trickle
Nature's music 
Be a stream


NOON

a sonic boom
A relationship ended
One tragic noon

Copyright © VAL BROOKLYN Rogers BLK PANTHER | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad | |

Voice in the Night

How do I thank
The voice in the night?
Call of hope
After the world turned dark

How do I thank
The voice in the night?
Healing words
Made from
Angel heart

Oh, her chocolate whisper
Warm convincing breeze
Oh, her breathy laughter
In the shadow of my need 

Don’t you hear the voice?
Save  you from despair
Don’t you hear the voice?
Sent by ghosts who care

Don’t you hear the voice?
Rises like a prayer
Come to rescue you
From your earthly snare

How do I thank
The voice in the night?
Call of hope 
Kissed my tears away

How do I thank
The voice in the night?
Now I dance
To a magic serenade

Don’t you hear the voice?
Memories of home
Don’t you hear the voice?
Pretty as a poem

Don’t you hear the voice?
Vivifies your soul
Bathes you in a pool 
Love you’ve never known

How do I thank
The voice in the night?
Call of hope
After the world turned dark

Voice inside the darkness
Gets into my head
Lady caller,
Take me, take me
To your bed

Voice inside the darkness
Gets into my head
Lady caller
Raise me, raise me
From the dead

Voice inside the darkness
Gets into my head

Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

THE WITCHES' BALLET

In late October the reddest moon didn't change its phase,
it remained in the same spot to watch the witches' ballet;
the loud music matched the mood of the mystical night: tambourines
and flutes frantically played; sneers, jeers, giggles of the wildest witches
mixed with the goblins' roars while they danced around a huge, hot fire.

I smelled a foul odor, the wild dogs feasted on a bloody oar,
" Leave some for us, or we'll turn you into bats! "
the hunched witch snarled with menacing eyes,
but they roared and threatened her with sharp teeth,
then Olga began to speak Latin words to cast  
a spell on them and before it worked, they fled.

Glad that they had left, she dragged the dead animal
and hung it on a long rod to roast on the sparking fire;
hungry witches continued to dance with forks and knives 
in their hands, anxiously waiting for their Halloween treat.  


Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

The Singer (Narrative Dialogue)

The singer looks at the now empty stage
His voice guarded deep in his warm throat
Shielded by a high neck shirt he wore
Singing with passion from down within
Rehearsing day and night until it’s right
Blended rhythms and notes run the scales
Clinging in smoky night clubs like a shadow
Getting your pay with crumbled dollar bills
Go from gig to gig if it makes you whole
Your songs will make them dance and spin
Like a magic spell being cast far and wide
Allow your words to heal wounds and scars
And when you have earned your keep
Collect the spoils from your conquest sweet
Gobbled champagne and fancy caviars
And your heart beats crashed musical chart
Find the singer who was once loved
The brilliant heart that once lived in joy
Consider yourself a singer without a heart
Who has traded his soul from the start
As it ends the conquest will lose its spark
Come to your senses and stop this slide
You may be witted and sharp as a tack
Don’t get eluded and slip—stay on track


Comments:  This is a narrative dialogue poem.  It sets the stage one may 
probably find in a conflicting situation. It develops into a complication, reaches a 
crisis then falls into a resolution.  It displays connections, alienation, 
disconnections, and a turning point where a change takes place between a 
protagonist and antagonist. The ending brings about a resolution after a 
dramatic point has been reached.  Give it a try one day, and I will give it a review 
for you.  It must be very interesting and relates to real life.






Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse | |

Char-Sun

Char- Sun On the night of the charred sun a male child is born The Indians called the harvest Moon a charred sun This became the child’s name as he grew in wisdom He was not a warrior he was born to be a healer Char sun grew into a very strong spiritual man When he was small, a white man had given him a flute He told Char sun if he learned to play it, sweet music would arise All of nature’s living things would come to sit at his feet He would sneak off into the woods for hours at a time practicing One night Char sun saw the same Moon he was born under A voice began to speak to him and a fire entered him The voice told him to play your gift will lead you His fingers flew across the flute and the music was sweet Coming from the forest were the deer, squirrels, eagles and bears The rest of the tribe heard the music and began pouring into the forest Curious about where the sweet music was coming from and why Arriving upon such as seen the chief bent down and knelt on one knee The remainder of the tribe slowly dropped one by one to their knees For Char sun has become the holy man within the tribe The animals that follow him carry the spirits of our ancestors The chief stands to his feet and declares “This night Char sun Has become our holy man called by the great king of the sky The song of their tribe began to rise, paying homage to the king Our winters will be fruitful and our land will prosper cried the chief Char son was born to guide us into the holy lands Each warrior here will follow and protect him The buffalo will run and our bellies will be full Our time of famine has been broken through the gift Of Char sun Carole Cookie Arnold Constance La France’s Contest Tell His Story

Copyright © Carole Cookie Arnold | Year Posted 2011

Details | Lyric | |

Karaoke Night On CD

Ya got that right...we're all here tonight...
to party hearty ol' lordy...don't ya know...
It's karaoke night...ya got that right....
So find a good ol' seat and enjoy the show!

Ya got that right...we just might...
sing and dance all night...don't ya know...
Everything's tight...yea, out a sight!
Ya got that right...don't ya know!

Ya got that right...for your hearts delight...
Karaoke night...here...is the place to go...
And we just might...sing and dance away the night..
Yea! we're to let the good times roll!

Ya got that right...we're all here tonight...
So find a good ol' seat and enoy the show...
It's karaoke night..yea..ya got that right...
So party hearty ol' lordy..don't ya know!

Yea, everything's tight...out a sight!
Ya got that right...don't ya know..
and we just might..sing and dance all night..
Ya got that right...don't ya know!

Ya got that right...the mood is tight...
It' karaoke night....and so...
For your hearts delight..sing and dance away the night...
Come on and let the good times roll!!!

For your hearts delight...It's karoke night...
Come on and let the good times roll!
Ya got that right...It't karaoke night!
Come on and let the good times roll!
Yea! we're here to let the good times roll.

On CD from Nashville....call 502-290-7524....if no answer...leave message..thanks

Copyright © Lawrence Ingle | Year Posted 2008

Details | Tetractys | |

Saturday Night Special

Drawn

To sing

Crowd pleasers

Can quench their need

The karaoke stars take center stage






* For Brian Strand's latest contest, "Five & Twenty".

Copyright © Donna Golden | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Sometimes

Sometimes sometimes in my heart I get these thoughts,
Sometimes sometimes in my heart I get these thoughts,
That you’ve been made only for me,
That you’ve been made only for me,
Before this u were among the stars somewhere,
Before this u were among the stars somewhere,
You’ve been called down to earth only for me,
You’ve been called down to earth only for me,
Sometimes sometimes in my heart I get these thoughts,
That these arms, these shoulders are my treasures,
That these arms, these shoulders are my treasures,
This shadow of your thick beautiful hair is only for me,
These lips and your arms r my treasures,
These lips and your arms r my treasures,
Sometimes sometimes in my heart I get these thoughts,
That on the roads the music of the shahanayi is played,
That on the roads the music of the shahanayi is played,
It’s our first night and I’m lifting the veil off your face,
It’s our first night and I’m lifting the veil off your face,
You’re shrinking with shyness in my arms,
You’re shrinking with shyness in my arms,
Sometimes sometimes in my heart I get these thoughts,
Like you’re going to love me just like this all your life,
That you’re eyes shall lift up and have the same look all your life,
I know u r a stranger but the same way,
I know u r a stranger but the same way,
Sometimes sometimes in my heart I get these thoughts,
Sometimes sometimes in my heart i get these thoughts….

Copyright © Reshad Yahyaie | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku | |

Night Time Music

evening air
distant french horn melody
train whistle echo

Copyright © Ann Roske | Year Posted 2012

Details | Verse | |

The Wound That Never Heals

Science can’t save you, neither can religion,
at least Popper and Niebuhr, philosophers and poets,
are entertainers, which is why actors and athletes
are paid so much. Thanks for the summaries.
I was teaching Shakespeare’s 92nd ridiculous sonnet
to my student who lays blacktop in the off season
Shakespeare bellyaching about dying without her love
a feeling foreign to a modern adolescent sensibility
although many teens are pretty far gone searching
for their mothers or fathers in their dazed lovers’ eyes.
Which is why we call it “the wound that never heals.”
Or the lesion that’s always lengthening. And bleeding.

Muslim fundamentalists and their Christian counterparts
are a mystery to me. Pews and prayer rugs, the airless
indoor environment of religious worship, reading
scriptures, hypnotized by hymns and fainting from staring
at candles through stained glass windows, almost certain
the preacher is faking his certainty about the afterlife.
It’s not my problem. A more immediate concern:
receding gums and tooth extractions, swollen joints,
poor lubrication and circulation, wave after wave
of viral infection, the occasional antibiotic-resistant
bacterial attack, usually urinary, and who knows
what internal organs are dividing and conquering
without mercy or cease, i.e. the wound that never heals.

It is wise not to overvalue your continued existence,
good not to be innumerate, unable to compare
a mere 80 years with say 6.0 x 109 or all of time
(to date) times the multiverse. Conversely,
it is interesting all of space and most of history is contained
in your little mind (realizing of course it’s just a map
of the cosmos not the cosmos itself, or is it?). I’m
unable to wrestle free, tongue in that cavity
and locked in my memories, so separate and disparate
from the biomass in the crosswalks, even my spouse.
Alone, so alone, even your doctor can only devote
limited thought to your situational mortality through
the redress of poetry—also a wound that never heals.

Snow for eternity, that’s what this February’s been.
All to the good, for someone it’s the final February
so enjoy it to the extent you can. By that I mean joy.
Joy at birth. Joy at death. All joy. All times. Anyway.
That was Shakespeare’s message: even tragedies are comedies. 
May, a Buddhist, chants each morning.
Her husband, Marc, who’s Jewish, plays league tennis.
Their son, Aaron, will soon make Eagle scout.
How does it relate to your wound that never heals?
Luck runs out. For D.H. Lawrence in New Mexico
or Ulysses S. Grant in Ohio or Yasujiro Ozu in
Tokyo or Satyajit Ray in Bombay or Rabindranath
Tagore in Bangalore or at the Battle of the Atlantic in the Azores.

The night is a poultice, winter or summer solstice.
My anonymity will not effect the anomie ghettoside
seeing for myself how season by season
vacations and accomplishments accumulate, late in life
and early on, sunrise over mountains or moonrise over Bronx.
Masturbator, prisoner of war. Hospice of the Holy Roman Empire.
Numerous blue notes: the 3 flat, 7 flat, 5 flat,
the 6 flat and the 2 flat too. I don’t get
what Wallace Stevens means by imagination.
When groundhog shows up as a totem, there is opportunity
to explore the mystery of death without dying.
This then is the purpose of purposelessness (and of eating less)!
Now what about that wound that never heals.

The Skeptical Observer column in Scientific American
was somewhat alarming when he accepted a paranormal
explanation for how his wife’s grandfather’s inoperable
transistor radio played music from its hiding spot
in his sock drawer on, and only on, their wedding day.
Now I’ll have to believe my father (or mother!) is watching me
perform private sexual acts with (or without) partners
or that they could even know my thoughts. Or aliens
are attending our committee meetings and making
perfectly reasonable decisions given the available information
and the world is rotating just fine without humans.
These possibilities–angels, ghosts, aliens–are better
than holocaust and genocide. In this way,
and only in this way, does doom become endurable.
The wound that never heals in the end is all you’ll feel.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015