I saw all my colors in spirit, before my eyes.
Wild, almost crazy lines were sketched in front of me.
~ Wassily Kandinsky
Is it a bird? I ask trying to decipher rational from naught,
And then I weep turquoise imploring a God
I cannot feel, cannot touch ~
But to see sound and hear color is a gift
Of spirit ~
Shall we soar with yellow trumpets
And red violins, blue cellos,
Or stay earthbound
Trying to make sense of a bird
Where only essence exists?
NOTE 1: Kandinsky experienced colors as having distinct sounds; he associated yellow with a high trumpet, blue with cello or organ, and red with a violin.
NOTE 2: Native Americans, particularly in the Southwest, revered turquoise as a sacred, living stone—often called the "Sky Stone"—believed to be a gift from the spirits that bridged heaven, earth, and water.
Of Romance she told me
as long as it was with you
who am i to argue
it's the way to keep it
right with you
Promised you the world
try to myself
it needs some collaboration
you and I together
truing and trusting
keeping our thang together
aint know selfishness
it's all about you and I
coming together
to be as one
lover to lover
freind to freind
you're my woman
I'm your man
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String-laden songs often feature lush,
arranged or intense string sections
(violins, cellos, orchestral arrangements)
that enhance the emotional weight of pop,
rock, and ballad tracks. Iconic examples range
"You and I"
to
"We as One"
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Boron fusion, specifically proton-boron-11 (p-B11) fusion, the path to clean and sustainable energy> Advantages is that fusion is safer because it produces no neutrons, only alpha particles, and uses abundant, non-radioactive fuel.
The same Sub-atomic reactions that power the sun and sssssstars.Monitering dust accumulation, using techniques called glow discharge cleaning.
The natural of the beast
in it's creation
one looks toward
its significance
to understand it's value
looking to the future
one would wish to
hasten and rushing
through the frivolous ends
to get to the
main event
the day they
we have achieved
our goals
and maintains then
is the only
obstacle
we are facing
represent the concept of fusion energy
synthesizers, strings (like violins and cellos), and percussion (especially gongs and timpani, a drumroll in introduction.
An orison to hope
Shattered into smithereens
Its keened tongues and teeth gnash and lament
A despairful cry of a cutthroat womb.
Cacophonies cry out
Cellos and violins bow, inexorable and unforgiving
Until then, of their finale the southern bells will ring;
A testimony that God has returned.
Savior of humanity,
Entwine us with arms that bleed
For those arms' warmth and nurture
Extricates us from a demise with a lamenting dissonance.
Skirt hiked up
legs ungracefully spread,
sexually inviting.
The cello drums her,
blind angels
gyrate in a deep darkness.
The cellos voice is her own,
her body sings through
one hollowing mouth.
I am mesmerized by her closed eyes,
her moon drenched emotions.
The bow is low
it nudges me somewhere,
there is no name for that place,
it is somewhere inside a sadness,
a cavern of fading echoes
where joy waits
to be noticed.
Those New Gods
evacuate the violence
simulating patience
they were once created
to guide us, they overtook us
snapped our heads off
every time we thought of violence
Those New Gods
came to reconcile us
with the act of servile silence
we lay down let them take us
like we were beacons
hearts captitulated in black boxes
without god heads or sirens
Those New Gods
with voices like cured codex
placed us like cellos
between steel tight legs
we were smaller violins
our bows vaccuous and vain
crushed on Love
from the Tree
we were plucked
divineless
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Audience is abuzz.
Boldly,
Conductor emerges – black tux.
Draw
Ethereal patterns with baton– marv.
Flutes, trumpets, cellos, drums dance for me, for you.
Gentle, light…
Heavy and dark…the music evolves
Into something more meaningful, deeper.
Joyous – a tranq
Killing, temporarily, stresses – they stop,
Lost to the rhythms and harmonies. And so
Melodies salve our inner woes – a balm, a boon.
Notes are born, they mix, they fade. And I’m
Overawed by power wielded. I am making a musical
Peregrination. My task –
Quixotic hajj –
Round go I,
Seeking solace in this temple of sound (sigh).
Tonic for soul grieving,
Unable from pain to calm itself –
Veritably impossible –
Without help from song and chord.
Xing over…with music,
Yes, I climb…
Zenith bound, toward nirvana.
Come cover me with taffeta blue
let the shine rub onto you
when joined with cotton the feel becomes joy
in its pure state
I love the touch of man-made materials
when I speak with my cello silence prevails
when cloth unites with the subtle texture of painted wood
the touch is overwhelming my heart becomes raucous
But then I play my cello silently
it groans in soft delights
the audience wriggles in their seats
heaven itself can’t contain the beauty of the subtle pianissimo
“Hush,” I said to the multitudes, they became quiet
I played a blue cello; a golden muted trumpet accompanied me
we began with a melodic mezzo piano playing with restrained bird calls
softly the bird songs sat above lilting melodious notes
Notes carry one toward into soulful ecstasies
long panoplies of chords flow like water into a placid lake
cellos then come to the fore filling out the symmetry of music
the full composition is luscious manna to the ears and soul
Chaotic chords flow to their beginning
returning to resolve to the tonic
to peaceful respite like humans require
to final rest
Such a melancholy note plays in my head
I could swear I’d awakened the dead.
Bass fiddles and cellos and skies made of lead
And a melancholy note plays in my head.
What strange muted colors dance up ahead
Am I dreaming?
Do I sleep in my bed
While a melancholy note plays in my head?
Don’t go yet!, Don’t leave!
Then I pled,
You promised you’d come back to my bed
As a melancholly note plays in my head.
You’ve gone now,
Is that what I’ve read?
No wonder I’m chilled, filled with dread.
A melancholy note forever plays in my head.
Guitar
Violence
Chelo
Chello
Did we say
Cellos!
Ah ooh vhee
Tah; ah ooh
Vhee tah!
Brasses
The night
The saxophone
Call the women
Of need
Speak her yours
That she refuses
Your affections
To make myth of
You as we laugh
Evily,!
Grand Piano
Exquisite
For my soul
a true delight
Anticipation rising
for the pianist
to arrive
Upon his stool
so comfortable
flexed fingers
and closed eyes
No music sheet
knows every note
and plays complete
Concerto
Looking up
A baton raised
Fingers are alive
I’m in another place
Transported to Utopia
Conductress
asks of violins
A gentle
calm refrain
Then cellos add
a depth of sound
music playing all around
Crescendo
takes on hidden depths
Pulls me in
My tears doth flow
Rachmaninoff
reaches deep
into my heart
into my soul
A magical spell
'tis played
upon
Exquisite
Grand Piano
Written 13th March 2022 after seeing the London Philharmonic Orchestra playing live...
Contest A BRIAN STRAND INFORMEL
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
Contest Magical Spell
Sponsor Robert James Liquori
n/a
Heaven is both above and below our feet, so vividly recall that ground likes feeling your knees and breeze likes spinning your hair. By Poet
cogitates on rousing heaves my treasure
glorious sunrise becomes murky to pink
as the sun sets the sky turns gold
my brooding nearness to daisies and cellos
a rainbow arched across far wing amid rain and sun
overcast gloomy and sluggish
the gist of the nature mesmerism
detected illusions covered quietly
blooms of the wilderness in the woods
cognitive murkiness that dims fanciful notion my treasure.
Written: March 6, 2022
1st Place contest winner
Form I - Imagism - New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
There's another virus going around.
Flustered by everything COVID-19;
I am grateful I still have a job,
but grumpy I have to drive there in the rain -
I need to get to the fast lane or I'll be late...
What's this?
A driver slowing down to let me in their lane
with a smile and a friendly wave.
A news report of teenagers with cellos and violins
playing a quartet on the porch of their
"self-isolating" elderly neighbor.
A good Samaritan
giving away toilet paper
to whomever has need.
The new guy in our coffee co-op
making a pot of decaf while
grinding beans for the high-octane pot AND
cleaning out the sink.
A friend sending out an email
asking How is everybody?
Knowing we're all hanging on by a thread
Please infect me with this kindnessvirus
I want to pass it around
Illnesses besetting
Parents aging
Chilled waves of anxiety
buffet the shore
Thunderclouds dampening
soil and spirits
Cellos, subdued in minor sonority
play Eleanor Rigby in my mind
Painted ponies gnashing
at their metallic captivity
In February
Health returning
Sandpipers scatter as we approach
Collecting shells
with smiling mother
Children's laughter rains down
on half-filled sand pails
Thundering gales of glee
as they test the frigid ocean
Trumpets dance to the melodic riff
of Good Day, Sunshine
The painted ponies go up and down,
'round and 'round
the brass ring again in sight
In February
it has been a few
hours since walking
away but there will
never be a completion
like Wagner's ring
cycle but he
and i share
oh no do i
compare my
pittance
against
his HIS
i'm a Berlioz
fellow who
always gladly
doubles the
cellos in fact
may i apply
doubling to
every section
if the orchestra
now i
feel com
fortable
and can
breath
then
suggest that
i return to the
melody of this
SYMPHONY
so at twilight
i know not
hesitate to
complete
this performance
and so back i go
and lift the seat
as if the sheets
to reveal what
Freud would
say but i don't
agree is like
going back to
the warmth of
the womb but
truly i just have
more
poetry
to re
lease
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