Best Conductors Poems
“When I am silent, I fall into the place where everything is music.”
Rumi
If life was a song,
what would be your refrain?
When instruments of fate performed
in a ballad of somber sorrows,
I floated like a ballet dancer
in an eclectic fashion.
My silent tongue had no melody,
before love sowed harmonic tones,
in a reverberating remedy of refreshing
rhythms soothing a tortured soul.
As my voice softened in a symphony
of violin strings and saxophone vibratos,
our bond composed a chorus of notes,
like satin feathers from hummingbirds
in soft clarinet choral chords,
only heard in an orchestra of a
velvet butterfly renaissance.
You always have my songs on repeat,
but I wonder if you will change the record?
Together we write lyrics,
sing verses as distant duets
with drumbeat dynamics.
Yet I am a metaphor of saffron rays
lost in the absence of lilac moonlight.
Everyday you disappear with dawn,
as morning whispers her blessings.
I'm left alone with birdsongs,
who join in with my colourless chorus -
echoing my angst of yearning to be free.
I wonder if you will remain a twilight sonata.
If you are the ebony to my ivory keys
in this crescendo of bohemian dreams,
why can't we be boundless as the sea?
This vinyl veil we call existence
is a composition of heartbeats
with heartstrings woven into
a vibrant bridge of emotions.
Sadly no pedestal can reach
lingering lullabies of the sky,
so we continue to cast hues
of golden heavenly harps,
before final tenors are heard.
If life was a song,
our refrain would be an acoustic
with steady beats, sometimes
with too much bass to air -
but we can control the volume.
Tempo will always change
like a decrescendo,
but we are the conductors
of our own musicality.
Not all serenades sounds the same -
no muse sings forever.
The bark peels back like old skin—
Mine, yours, the cinnamon scrolls
Of what we shed to live. August
Bleaches the world to bone, the bark’s faint spice
Rising in the noon glare,
Heat tasting of salt and sand. And still this Crape crowns
Itself with Myrtle fire. Still—
I cannot explain what breaks in me. Still I press my cheek
Against its flaking flesh, feel
The pulse beneath—magenta,
White, pink, the deep red
Of what I've never
Bled for anyone.
Each blossom a small fist
Opening with the muted pop
Of summer rain on dry earth. Each petal, tissue-thin
As the lies I've told myself
About enduring. The Eastern Shore sun
Has made this tree what survival
Looks like: stubborn—
Beautiful, built for the burning
Seasons that strip us
To what we are. Winter comes,
And I am learning
How to be naked—
These mottled limbs
My teachers, conductors' hands
Mid-gesture, never finished
With their fierce music
Of staying alive. Of reaching
Up through the killing
Cold, brittle air ringing
With the clink of frozen twigs toward something
Green promises I cannot fathom—yet still I know
Lives in the light returning.
“Tubman”
What colours a heart
courage?
What colours a mind
belief?
What colours a soul
unity?
Underground
we carry torches
from station
to station
We are the Light
We Lead
No colour
No religion
No epic
delusion
Where is the race?
The race to confusion?
We are One
You and me
We are One
We all bleed
Underground
we carry torches
from station
to station
Poets grieving
Vigilantes seething
Electric conductors
of Love
punching tickets
elevate the fire
Light rises
out of the numb
sacrifice the smallest
midst mountains of Moriah
signals waking
signals waving
Freedom
Glowing
Colours are All
Colours
Ultraviolet
magnetic to spectrum
silent tapping, unheard
sometimes seen
no snake doctor lectern
truth burns
souls bound to each other
all grieving
in one way or another
we all learn
Hearts beating
Lungs breathing
signals waking
signals waving
platforms all crowing,
now eyes open
listening,
debating
all signals waking
new story weaving
Souls searching
Souls kneeding
Light now is calling
Light now is leading
Tubman is not
dreaming
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2020)
“Any cause needs speakers and organizers.
Any mass movement requires
women and men of great ideas.”
Tubman, Harriet.
Harriet Tubman is sometimes referred to as the Moses of her people because of the way she led them out of slavery. The Underground Railroad operated at night. Slaves were moved from "station" to "station" by abolitionists.
Memories are silent thoughts in life's tragedy
We were lovers who crossed the boundaries
of passion, forever hungry
lost in the fog of wants and needs
like two blemished flowers
trapped in the wind of desire
becoming conductors in a symphony of emotion
holding our truths tight to musical cords of understanding
bringing sound and motion to our world of madness
that grew out of our yesterday's follies
which lay hidden in the dark corners of our failures
shared without words of promise
Dare we pass this way again
we would love once more in a binding of failed hearts
that found time for the heartbeat of another
when we danced the dance of lovers
tied to one another, tied to no one
stopping our lives briefly to exchange melodies
drunk on passionate forces beyond our control
when beauty was a face
that poured honeyed sighs from a breath
like the lingering scent from a fresh-cut rose
when love was a drink to quench our thirst
from our wandering desert
parched and yearning to be loved
before we said goodbye
and planted a final kiss to memory
The beautiful arks flashes
While molting metal slashes
Diving deep into my flesh
I reach for a much needed breath
As poisonous fumes fill my lungs
A welders passion threw my veins it runs
So i reach down deep for i em a welder i will not retreat
I've gained my respect
Standpipe conductors wellheads 7018 i inject
Welding all day and under a full moon light
I send a prayer that lord gives me the might
Weeks months away from home
Hearing little voices only threw a phone
I promised to make a better life for y'all
I em a Texas rig welder I'm ready for any rig call
My ancestors walking in the night
using oil lights and moonlight for guides
while being instructed to Wade in the Water
to camouflage their scents like disguise
The Sweet Chariot awaited
so they could ride away
Harriet was a soldier
and it wasn't an option to be caught during the day
That's the same mentality Nat Turner had when he sang
Steal Away
They would follow the drinking gourd
so all were in accord to go north
The Gospel Train was coming
and at the end of the journey
was a fine reward
Freedom was coming
and it was a long time coming and
they walked until they heard freedom bells ringing
and I still hear their tired footsteps running
Thinking of My Darling Nelly Gray
Stolen from my arms a random September day
and eliminated our chances to run away together
No family ties, no love, no strength says the oppressor
Then I hear the drums beat in the darkness
giving me the hope of finally being free
Maybe I'll follow them this time on faith
on bended knee
There must be a place for me among the light
of this darkness
Among oppression, thieves, evil-doers
no thought on their conscience
Thank goodness for the safe houses that
supported our traveled distances
and for the conductors who bore witnesses
and may God have mercy on the souls who
were against this
and on those who chose to forget this sh@!
I still hear crying in quilts of safety
because I know that the burden was heavy
to be at the mercy of nature and patrol men
catching run-away slaves for money
Some did it bare feet with freedom ahead of this
loved induced journey and they made it
So all that bull about how your life is hard
just stuff it in an envelope and save it
On that long train ahead
On that long train ahead, I am always the caboose.
The long train ahead reaches, out into infinity’s heaven.
The Holy Spirit often like an engineer, guiding its destination.
The locomotive makes the most noise, gets credit for the job well done.
The cars in the middle so coupled, mingle with one another so tracked.
The caboose at the end of the train coasting forward, knowing no ending.
On that long train ahead the caboose not seen will be there, the conductors
“All aboard” knows.
John H. Hardison..
The Sparrows they dance
They dance to a music
Soaring in time to the conductors baton
Flitting, diving they follow his movements
The song they create is beyond words, beyond sound
The Sparrows they dance
They dance to a music
The wind is their partner
as they whirl with the breeze
Together as one they swoop and soar
Overhead a smiling sun looks down
The Sparrows sing a wordless song
Of the simple happiness they feel
The Sparrows they dance
They dance to a music
This is my favourite poem because it describes the amazing beauty of somthing as simple as the formation and synchronized movement of a flock of sparrows.
Corrupt and
Convoluted thoughts
Swimming through
The dark ocean
Of my brain
Like hungry sharks
Blindly drawn
To fresh blood
Every fiber explodes
With adrenaline-charged
Energy
Hot vibrant ticking
Like electricity
On unseen currents and
Conductors;
Madness
Sharpened
To a fine point.
The crowd awaits, for the
most auspicious of nights
...Standing ovations & red
roses, ready to be put in flight
Conductors & maestros alike
ready their positions
The echoes of my thoughts
seem to harbour an omission
Strokes of brilliance are
always ready to strike...
As I open my eyes a facade of
insanity catches my attention
& the roaring crowd puts my
thoughts into suspension
Frail & near death, with the
piercing gazes they throw
I put up an audacious piece of
display worthy to be called a
show....
The nation in question is a world largest oil exporter
It citizens is be deprived of what she has
Involuntarily long queues from night
In petrol stations till dawn outside the same stations
Makes the danfo drivers angry and happy with price hike
Who will be sorry for the stranded commuters
Is it the profitless street sellers
Or the red hotted conductors?
You then see a divided country
Each citizen angry with and harmless to the government
Frustrated citizens walk miles to chase Molues
No one cares for the other the aim is to get home
Though some do, the poor ones.
Who says it only touches the proletariat
Even the rich are touchable
You will see big fat men exercising in their cars
Suffering from the traffic jam created at the stations.
Who will condole with the cying lady
That cannot manouvre due to her twisted hand
And clucth ridden legs?
A country were urchins
Take to the streets as black marketers
The hoarding stations having collaborated
With them sell the gold four times its price
All moneyed men will buy from the law breakers
The owners says it is due to vandalism
What a suitable lie
For it is likely that the political skirmishes
Has reined on the innocent citizens
Even our eight year leader
Will not address us on the issue
Who says it this is not a dividend?
I say it is.
A current so divine is flowing through our veins
Its strength and intensity we cannot contain
The current of God’s love is flowing from above
We’re conductors of God’s electrifying love
It was the Father’s love that nailed Christ to the tree
Christ bore the Father’s wrath in angst and agony
He cried out, ‘My God! Why have You forsaken Me?’
The answer is clear – He did it for you and me
A Gospel so divine is flowing through our veins
Its greatness and glorious grace we cannot contain
The Gospel of God’s love is flowing from above
We’re messengers of God’s electrifying love
Great life coaches and goal directors
We greet you on this jubilant day
Accorded to all genuine mentors
Who build lives midst best triumphant way.
Wondrous teachers’ day, dear instructors
We thank you; your goodness we can’t pay
You stir hearts become love-conductors
And shine through radiant service-ray.
God bless this day, honouring teachers*!
Joyous teachers, day... fellow life-builders
May the Lord be seen in our roles as value-enrichers
Propelled by His love-propelled, we are soul-feeders!
*1Corinthians 12:28 And God hath set some … teachers… Titus 2:3 … teachers of good things.
September 30, 2019
Buses
Dear Buses
Daily you commutes us humans from one place to another
You do not hiss
You do not cry
You are so patient
You are so enduring
Without you we humans could not have reached our destinations
Without you our journeys would have been slow and dull
You provides employment to many people
From drivers to conductors
From bus manufacturers to bus sellers
Without you we are Nothing!
Professional motivators,
The bus conductors,
Always in command of "go forward"!