Best Atonal Poems
Mystical labyrinth of twisting harmonic warnings
Gazing into infinity’s composing handiwork –
Moonbeams in silver sung sonatas –
Ivory hued cantatas resolved from heart pacing crescendos
Spring’s soothing birdcalls after tympanic thunder.
Measured tempos of rhythms search for their time signature
As aching melodies in moveable feasts of swans
Search for resolutions in atonal firebird tango ballads
Through classical dusty suites of western legends
Not losing pitch or tripping over downbeats.
Too many notes squeeze into four square spaces
When magic flutes songs soar over seraglio dreams
Imperial marches set imprisoned phrasing free with fanfares
And close encounters of key notes discard dissonance
Seeking rhapsody in hues of blue.
Plaintive and joyful - hopeful and merciful -
Healing rhythms inspired from the eternal melody,
A lost chord to haunt then heal the midnight heart
All arranged in one accord from the Master’s apprentices
To rest in finality of one trailing echo of waltzing river.
Lost in a wistful arbor, where malaise blooms,
Mists flower in hypnotic bleak violet dusks
Shades of brooding melancholy
Bruise my treasured bouquets of dreams
And plod through ponderous mists
In metamorphic doldrums
Cold inertia spirals into lamentations,
Midnights drugged with stupor
Lean heavy on my homeless hermit heart
In withering labyrinths of tangled voices,
Atonal buds of plaintive paeans,
When pensive lethargy pierces dawn.
My rose, in apathy, sees no reason to bloom
As shades of gloom birth shadow seasons
And pale fretting’s unbroken gaze dulls dawn’s hues
Clouds of sighs ravish new shoots
Born in sweet trances of possibility -
Each breath a tedious indecision wrapped in enigma.
Dullness shrouds each new growth in greyness
A slow march into inertia’s bower of cathexis.
The dank petrichor of grainy night,
meters stand like gravestones,
the obsidian avenue slick as a sapphire,
windowed granite rising in sharp cut shadows,
wind gusting, tumbleweed clouds somersaulting
in a moonless ghost town.
I jingle keys with atonal sky
and listen to my footsteps on concrete
ticking like a clock.
There are places to be.
I hasten my step as rain drops resume,
one by one mounting into a riotous crowd.
Umbrella-less, I am soon sopping,
hair a wet carpet, suit a gray saturated tarp,
the briefcase and tote onyx boulders.
My car is still a block away,
but eventually I reach it
like a leaf washing down stream.
The tote slips off my shoulder
as I stoop to retrieve fallen keys
lying in a shallow puddle like a shattered talisman.
Suddenly I begin laughing,
dropping everything in the street,
my face skyward, arms splayed like a crucifix.
Now there is no tomorrow,
only the farce of my predicament,
standing like a drowned coyote howling
at the moon as though it would be there forever.
Seijaku – 8-1-24
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Seijaku
Serenity abides with tranquility
Abiding in beauty
And deep respirations of satisfaction
Ready
Alert
Overlooking tangled mazes of overlapping obligations
Labyrinths of lists -
And atonal demands.
As the sun streaks past engorged calendars
In whirly-gigs of heavy-handed chaos
The shade of tranquility
Stretches out
Looming across the face of serendipity
With the breath of the rose
The whisper of sapphire jewels
Born from oceanic bowers.
In the shadows waits
The gift of each rubric solved
Pushing aside the tyranny of over committed -
In dawns, and Aurora’s ballet in neon slippers,
The spirit dialates,
As moonlight drips from feathery boughs,
Healed from epidemics of minutes
Swallowed by a never resting pendulum.
The poet arises, even blooms,
Ignoring the cataracts of frail dreams
When hurried footsteps and clouded hearts
Still race infected by chaotic delirium
Tripping over beauty’s outstretched boughs
To see – to notice -
To embrace
Lavender, gently waiting, with amazement.
Thank You for the Music
Companions on my journey
Surround me in anthems -
When the dawn rises up,
In afternoons of reflection,
In slumber’s reveries -
Melodies
Always embracing me
Asking only breath
In canticles and choruses –
Paeans and in psalms –
Rhythms and in rhymes -
Written on the staff of life
Remembering remorse
In slowly marching meter
Uplifting shame
In the verses of vocal symphonies
Healing regret
In ballads of blues
Shouting celebration
In cadence of joyful jubilees;
A wondrous gift – a blessing evolving -
A marvelous thing –no toy -
That gathers together
Wandering questions
Shouted into Heaven’s ears
When the spinning world would
Crawl all over itself
Losing its pitch
Or bounce off walls
In atonal discord;
Welcoming back hearts
To beat as one in time;
My theme song never stilled
When vocal nodes
Stilled my song to a whisper;
Gratitude, my refrain,
For music,
Life giving as caressing rains,
To chant, once more, in harmony
With the vital flame of melody again.
In gratitude to Abba for their song - Thank You for the Music – My theme song that carried me through two vocal node surgeries when I thought I might never sing again.
The Gift of Christmas
Some people say Christmas in this present time
Wanders lost
Through flashing ads and tinsel carelessly strung
On an artificial bough.
Some people say the Spirit of Christmas
Lives no more -
The simple Christ Child’s birth
Coldly mocked by glittering commercials
For diamond rings and robot toys.
Some say our plastic credit cards
Bring shame to one, who, born so poor,
Wore no fancy clothes
Or even slept in a cradle of his own.
Some say a Christian world forgets
The simple song of angel praise and shepherd lambs
In hustle crowds who only hum
Atonal harmony in green cash jingles
Some people say that Christ remains absent
From our Christmas celebrations
So lost we get in buying –
So drunk we get with wine.
Yet, I see his star rise up again
In children’s faith, eyes aglow with awe,
Reflecting wonder back into the darkest night
The miracle of the Christmas story.
I watch a callous world
Retell Nativity
Then remember little acts of kindness
From a neighbor, or a friend,
In homemade thank you cards
Of cookies, cakes or ornaments.
The Yuletide air overflows with scents of sugarplums -
Pungent cloves, nutmeg sweet
And aromatic cinnamon -
A gift of time given to baking memories
In sweet spice with children.
Music fills the world again,
To herald
Carols dancing in our hearts,
“Joy to the world!” the lyrics say,
“Joy to the world! The Lord has come!”
Each year I watch the world
Stretch out a loving hand of help
To strangers shivering in the cold,
To those who live alone -
To ones with rags for clothes
And families who face each day
Empty cupboard shelves –
Whose children would be strangers
To the joy of Christmas morn
If not for hearts and hands
Of women and of men
Who bring the Magi’s gifts to poverty again.
I see this cynical world
So closely guard the spirit of this time
A world of Santa Claus’ asks no gratitude
For countless days of aching feet
Crowded streets
And traffic jams.
Their love returns a hundredfold,
Through smiles and gasps of childlike glee,
To nestle beneath boughs of evergreen
When the dawning light opens up the givers joy
Spreading across a silent world
A message sprung from hope’s own heart
Born with a baby boy.
12-2-22
Contest: Christmas Spirit Poetry
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Elegy – 7-17-24
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Elegy for Old Growth
Through measures of metered melancholy
The tattered winds sing a rent elegy,
A pensive wail for pristine old growth,
A drifting chant in pure pitch of final farewell –
The mute tongue howls in eulogy
For virgins of a thousand turns around the sun
For helpless giants surrendered in atonal sacrifice.
Gentle titans with feathery boughs lifted their faces
To embrace misted melodies of summer and winter snows
Forest zephyrs sang lullabies for sparrows
Nesting in their rustling wombs
Then shared the secret lyrics of their song
With robins sheltered in their lofty grace of red bark
In evensongs, matins and spring symphonies.
The myrrh of burial mixes with their lingering fragrance
In desolation and in their exposed flesh,
Nude hillsides of purple rage
Scream in final dirges of farewell
Modulated into anthems sung to saplings in circles of renewal
Little ones, like half steps, change elegies to odes
The threadbare zephyr now chants paeans to remember.
My Father’s Pen
Drizzle turning sleet.
Window pane cold
as he rests his cheek against it.
Coke fire,
astringent bitter warmth filling the room.
On the table
amber in cut glass, no ice,
next to the tablet.
An old pen
cradled in the arthritic hand.
From long ago; given
him by his father before him,
to cradle, to write.
Now his to make words,
to paint letter pictures,
to fashion the stories.
The words swirl and loop,
playing endlessly.
Atonal but rich,
they form a trellis
upon which to paint life.
Tiny marimba pinwheels rotate,
Under flippant bass.
A poodle barks...
A barrage of dissonant sounds,
Melodies played backwards...
Then the music stops.
A ambivalent sneer,
As sounds rush around
Taking cover from
a blitzkreig of odd meters...
A mournful solo
filled with arabesques..
a sonic fart.
Demented cartoon music
turns into
atonal distance
turns into
rock star psuedo-blues
turns into
elegant, triumphant arpeggios.
Good night , Frank
Wherever you are.
I needn't don a tuxedo nor pay a dime to enjoy a pleasing symphony!
In my own back yard or lying abed at night I hear nature's harmony!
The rolling bass of thunder, the strobe-bright lightning on a stormy night,
Plus the rain pelting my windowpane, anoint me with pure delight!
A chorus of crickets in the holly bush lull me to sleep in Morpheus's arms.
I'm awakened at dawn by choirs of robins, not by strident clock alarms!
The vagabond winds soughing through the ponderosa pine join the recital.
Cicadas add a blend of percussion with castanet-like rhythm so very vital!
A quartet of mourning doves serenade me with their soothing coos,
(Interrupted by a pair of raucous blue jays injecting their atonal views!)
I hear the water's hymn as it trickles o'er ancient stones in a nearby rill,
And the delightful choral melodies of golden finch as they sweetly trill!
From afar I hear the clarion trumpet call of elk echoing in the hills!
The merging of these harmonic voices is one of life's gratifying thrills!
How I relish the exquisite orchestration of His creatures in glorious recital.
Oh, that I had the poetical acuity to give this symphony a deserving title!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Angel’s songbirds awoke and flung the deal
Anisette chirps, sounds of reels
On that day my soul grew lyric
My heart couldn’t see it
Angels songbirds sing with me
And the harmonies never waiting
The sound singer souls singing
The song craft smiled
Ah, distinctly I was lullabying
And the hand claps never hymning yet rhyming
Death shall bring bass riffs
The sonic songwriting singsong smiths
Angels songbirds sing with me
I crave the lyrical, lyric leaf
From off my chest, my breath
Expressivity - expressivity - expressivity!
Somewhat louder than my debrief
I am shore of my golden voiced leaf
you warned me about the high relief
I crave the song-like, songful soundtrack
I feel my spirit leaving my back
Angels songbirds sing with me
That moment my soul grew analytic
The musical smiled
To warn me about the vibrato
And so you came gently jingling
Of duets that are bungling
Chirping metals yawn iron robins
My passion is the cuckoo lullaby, laugh angel laugh
Once I sat engaged and dancing, fly angel fly
Angels songbirds sing with me
When I thought of the song, sing angel sing
Deep into that darkness scoring, fly angel fly
In a kingdom full of shields, shield angel shield
On that day my soul grew lyric, fly angel fly
I awoke and flung the tenorist, high up to the skies
Much I marveled this overload alto, high angel high
Much I marveled the atonal hymn, sing angel sing
I have dreamed of the tempos, Hallelujah
Angels songbirds sing with me
Deep into that darkness interviewing, Hallelujah
That moment my soul grew singable, come sing with me
overloud alto, high angel high
Marveled the atonal hymn praises above all men, sing angel sing
Angels songbirds sing with me
10/29/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
10/29/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
And, now I lay me down to sleep,
For another wretched night of counting sheep!
Lord, should I expire before I awake,
Please allow me some zzzzzzzzs for heavens sake!
The cat has leaped upon the bed,
And snuggles closely nigh my head,
Purring as loud as a Mack truck diesel engine,
Then bounces on my chest like a frenzied injun!
The neighbors' worthless mutts begin their nightly serenade.
It sounds as if outside my window there's a whole brigade!
For awhile things settle down and all is as quiet as a mouse,
Until I'm awakened by the thunderous snoring of my spouse!
The blaring klaxon of the midnight freight is heard a mile away.
The inconsiderate engineer lays on the horn as if it were a runaway.
To top it all the crickets begin their atonal chirping prattle.
I'm beginning to think a good nights sleep is a losing battle!
I shove ear plugs in my ears but they don't do a bit of good.
The clock strikes three so it looks like sleep ain't a liklihood.
Lord, again I make a plea that should I decease before I wake,
Please, won't you allow me some zzzzzzzzs for heavens sake!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
My pen stumbled stammered
and fell
as you fall from the beckoning
cliff of ill fated friendship.
You showed me how the finest verse
is atonal music and the wisest words
of eternity’s pundits and seers
are but fallen chips of a Michelangelo David.
You taught me that Earth
is a spinning potter's wheel
with hands of wind and rain
that gently shape.
Your eyes, the twin planets of Gemini
drew me forth while I,
a beast of prey,
oozed through the darkness stealthily.
Yet Lady Lemming my love
LOOK OUT!
the jagged rocks below are no better
than the imagined wolves at your feet.
Proud parents gathered for the fifth grade band presentation.
The kids labored long and hard to enhance their musical education.
'Twas the band's first concert since its recent organization.
The harried teacher approached it with a sense of trepidation!
Moms and dads endured the commotion at home for many weeks,
As their blossoming prodigies practiced and honed their techniques.
Suffering through the blare of trumpets, the bleat of saxaphones,
The wail of clarinets and oboes, the atonal pitch of trombones!
The girls were dressed in white blouses and black, slinky skirts.
Boys wore dark trousers, black bow ties and snow-white shirts.
Each of the girls had a pretty ribbon adorning her hair.
Boys had even combed their hair - which was very rare!
Teacher apprehensively grasped her baton and waved the downbeat.
The program began with a simple rendition of "Bonaparte's Retreat."
At the end of the concert a heartwarming thing occurred.
The audience rose exclaiming, "Twas the sweetest music ever heard!"
Though at times they were not in tune and the tempo somewhat slow,
They proudly gave it their best and put on a wonderful show!
Was a spark in a child's soul that night fanned into a flame,
Boosting his or her enthusiasm to strive for musical acclaim?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Heart Song Separation
“We got separated from us last week and I haven’t found you since.” Poet’s Quote
Too long my heart we beat in arrhythmic clashes
Languishing in sudden cardiac heart arrest
Out of sync creating dark vascular ashes
No phoenix rises from heart disease - never rests.
Too long my song we argue over melodies
Distracted by atonal hallucinations
Dismissing cradle songs of haunting rhapsodies
Elusive harmonies hide in cache creations.
Too long my words we engage in rhythmic stand offs
Glaring at my silent muse - tense verbal showdowns
Impasse of wills – procrastination’s folly doff
Disguised in masks adjectives appear as pronouns.
My aimless soul seeks union with lost heart song words
Remembering your quiet smiles of peace fullness
Your velvet vesper serene these mourning tears blur
As twilight yearns in midnight’s hypnotic stillness.
Too long my heart we beat in arrhythmic clashes
Too long my song we argue over melodies
Too long my words we engage in rhythmic stand offs
My aimless soul seeks union with lost heart song words.
12-11-20
Contest: My Created Form
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance