Johann Sebastian Bach,
the corridor of cadenced choral he did proudly walk.
Baroque musician, virtuoso organist, he created conglomerate of style;
the harmony of intertwined melodies made him a composer versatile.
Sometimes, we need, Mozart, some violin
Of a sonata, of a joyful concerto,
Sometimes, we need Bach, his genius
A cello concerto, a cantata,
Music, it is known, softens morals,
Sometimes, we need, Wagner, Berg,
A ride, a charge of the Walkyries,
We need Brahms and his symphonies,
Sometimes, we need, Sibelius, his genius
His symphonies are treasures under the snow,
Sometimes, one needs, Mozart, Debussy,
We need a clarinet concerto, or a sonata,
Music, it is known, softens morals,
Like the sea, and distant voyages,
Sometimes, we need, Bach or Schumann,
To find peace, to distance one’s sorrows.
German composer Johann Sebastian Bach -
Emotive depth and his “blue notes” were his music’s bedrock.
Having fathered twenty children and always on his toes,
how did he ever find time to compose?
In the first Orchestra rehearsal of the semester,
I see the composer's name on the sheets of music handed to me
And I know this is going to be immensely fun
Playing something by a brilliant composer
Who lived hundreds of years ago, yet still thrills
Musicians and listeners so many years later
Is beyond amazing, it is inspiring!
My words in print seem so lame in comparison,
Yet I can't stop the words from flowing,
And I suspect that the music emerged from Bach,
Just as inevitable, and I feel a kindred closeness
To a musical genius from the distant past
BACH JS&JC
from a musical dynasty
along withJM&JL
a quartet so unusual
A contrapuntal harmony made from pure
singing mathematical light.
The music cannot be denied,
it flows on like a silk dragon
over rolling savanna.
The hairs in my ears begin to dance,
the notes are calling out prismatic stars,
not the ones we see
but suns born in the shadowy cells
of our own fallen angels.
The music cannot be denied,
it unwinds like an articulated dragon
through a metallically ringing void.
Then there is the silk serpent
hidden in the driving engine
the closed-eyed coiling.
The hairs in my ears dance;
the notes are calling out stars;
not the ones we see,
but dark stars
born in the disheveled rooms
of fallen angels.
Apollo seeks worship.
What shall you write
to honor love. That ye
Sickened may heal.
That songs shall speak
With lyrics that are truest
to there music.
Honor ye oh God
With harmony and melody.
Honor ye father truest
To perfection.
Ye Apollo's am God
And the sounds of
reheasted people have
made Compositions
there priority and duty.
Honor ye Apollo as
God!
With flute, chello, violen,
drums,. Trumpets, frenchhorns
Opportunity and expression
Honor thee.
That love, the truest love
can bring the coldest of hearts
to be kind.
Honor ye Apollo that grooves
In melonic rhythm can make
Lyric to be voiced.
Honor ye oh Apollo
That from forever the notes
Shall be instruction to create.
Honor ye Apollo.
The God of. Music!
After Christmas comes Boxing Day
When mum carts the rubbish away
Like one of the boys
Dad plays with our toys
Day is done; what more can I say?
When you’re far away,
In another place,
Your heart is lonely,
Life is meaningless,
The room is empty.
If you’re abroad,
From east to west,
There’s culture shock,
You’re a stranger.
Get back where
You belong.
There’s no
Place like
Home.
Playing Bach to Calm the Mind and Soul
I miss my piano
soon I will buy a piano
and resume playing
the piano
I like playing Bach
the most
it clams my mind
and my soul
as I loose myself
playing the music
getting into it
with my body
and soul
as the music
transport me
deep within
calming my soul
it's a mistake
i say as my
brain tries
to wake
me
aided by an
added alarm
though with
a charming
melody
this only keeps
me choosing
and pressing
me to press
snooze
which i do
over and over
and over again
beginning again and
again my melodic alarm
soon only looping
never ending as
is forever be
ginning and
becoming
turning into
a kind of
din as
if the
turn
table plays
the records
stuck the re
cords stuck t
he records stuck
s
c
r
a
tch
ENOUGH
though i
hold my
ears i'm
hearing
this
in my
head now
surely awake
the cacophony
translates
literally
as to
how
day
BREAKS
The Drum's Of Fun,
Violin's Greet.
And Organ's Lift,
Sounds Part Does, Please
From Bach To Talk
Future's In Score.
Loves Stream Achieves,
Our Victories
Turn!
Lute
Curved, inviting, light,
it has the look of antique ships,
a galleon bulge of straight-grained woods.
Fretful cat-gut cords
coiled taut by silver screws
above the calibrated neck
conceal a thousand foot-pound pirouette.
Child of Sirocco and Spain,
veils, fans, brocade, and lace,
olive, vine, and orange surprise,
its plangent sound irrigates the moonlit air
peeks through black-eyed jalousies.
Dowland, Cutting and our solid Bach
crocheted arabesques of tuneful notes
like pearls, rubies, emerald stones,
to pluck or tease from that dark pupil
a winking smile of treble Sun.
Johann Sebastian Bach
Found that bread gave him creative spark
He would eat a whole ciabatta
Then knock off a fugue and toccata
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