Late November,
and lonely resonance of harmattan
salutes this solitude.
A weaverbird's contralto, in one
gale-sweep, lays bare the lower balustrade
of a maisonette,
and the romance of the last seasons
shoots the long throat of the clarinet...
O'classicals, on wings
ye come;
leaf cusps and petal ears —
classicals, swearing oaths of
mellifluous assembly...
Calm rhythms hasten to the
ears of Beethoven —
summon him for a serenade,
lest the dark shelter of a
decrepit day strips this solitude.
Anodyne hisses among
this hidden threshold,
curing and healing the weakness of
Clepoatra's hair, dampened with
the venom of haters of vanity.
Classicals,
rid us now of this grief of mundane
dances...
Even in death, Stravinsky hails solitude
on notes of the keys.
From the clarinet,
the bimetallism of barter —
the platitude of life and death
(symbiosis of percussions)
epitaph to the aftermath of
inveterate tradition —
now and forever...
And the clarinet looms.
-------------------------------
I'm so in love with you
_______________________
_______Disclaimer________
________________________
"She told me remeber that time
when you were having problems
I wanted to tell you what it was
I didn't cause I thought you'd
fall in love with me and wouldn't
leave me alone. It aint you or us it's
me< I don't want a love affair that
fizzles and fades. Love true love
last forever and a day."
Written by" The Soprano
who was interrupting for the
Contralto.
----------------------------------------
reminder
It aint Love until she
responds to your forwardings
---------------------
YES / NO
------ -------
I didn’t plant that garden tree
But thinking, I just let it be
I knew I should have cut it out
But felt within to let it sprout
And so, as seasons came and went
I pruned this tree, its bole I bent
Around the gable of my shed
But left the limbs above my head
The years passed by and I grew old
I hated heat and shunned the cold
My garden work became a chore
As summer days my patience wore
But resting underneath that tree
Allowed me time to watch and see
The beauty of my garden wrought
And all the neighbored friends it brought
A bunny comes to taste my beets
While shaded so, I rest my feet
A bumble-bee’s contralto thrum;
A promise of much more to come
Badgers, robins, the house finch red
All come with hopes of being fed
And I, too tired to wield my hoe,
Am glad I let that elm tree grow.
A strong song in mine heart
profound ever so souls awareness starts
MINE HEART MISSIONS VISION-
intense low-pitched high
Sweet essence by N by
MINE HEART MISSIONS VISION-
•
•
contralto bass apocalypse deep destruction
alto thick mystifying grit end time revelation
MINE HEART MISSIONS VISION-
inscrutable mysterious cryptical conditions
recondite cryptic just short of mystic
Devout renditions holy missions vision
MINE HEART MISSIONS VISION-
10/6/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
My eyes glittered into the eyes
Of thee who cast a spell on my heart
They glanced each other with pleasure
Upon hearing thy contralto voice,
Or seeing thy sight;
Thy presence in all:
I smiled with passion.
Under the proximity of the roof we communicated.
At last, we settled our funny dating.
We watched not each other of fear,
But overshadowed by the confidence of love
We, albeit the impediments enhanced from outsiders,
Loved our dear selves innately.
Didn't they say we aren't fit to be dearer?
Bravo! that we hearkened not unto them.
My love for thee exceeded the heights of the stars—
Which could not be succumbed to fall.
Aye, our love was no fancy
'Twas agapic as the natural world itself
We both couldn't say we loved each other!
Balanced unto that time
Not till when some other person,
In his calibration incomparable to mine,
Bewitched my thee to make her fed up with me
Our love, therein, became fancy,
Thus, fancy! 'cause we were no longer dearer.
It went deep to my faith!
I thereafter realized the troth of the saying:
"The beginning of Trust is the end of Deception."
I've heard him sing: The Mulatto:
By fat hotter than Roberto
Like Pepper is to Pimento;
Lost to him, too, one Alberto:
The boy friend of Fine Talatu...
Alto in all shows he goes to,
Even when beats are Staccato
Or long remains The Legato...
Yes, A very Good Contralto,
Overly fond if Sweet Potato
He would eat with Mashed Tomato...
Harsh words for Irish Potato;
Yet harsh Teeth of Alligator:
In anger bites in their ghetto!
JAR OF LIFE....??
Like the thighs of a fresh virgin
The softness of your lips embraced my origin
You contralto voice like the echoes of the Moon filled the room to the brim
Each thrust into your thirty-two made my heart sound gbim! Gbim!! Gbim!!!
The awesomeness of your salivary gland
Like the pool of a wet nurse baptized my origin
Blessed is the angel that carved thy cheeks
More blessed is he that carved thy firm-fleshed riped fruits
In them my soul is buried
It is the sight of them that motivates my inner man
Watching you rise like the mother of dragons
Sent a wave of pleasure down the tails of my drogon
At that point did I say to myself...
If I perish, I perish
Indeed deep within your warmness truly I perished
The welcoming and opening ceremony of your sleekness
Succulence of your inner estate
Your solemn contralto voice of many notes
All worked together for the good of my adventure
In the business of your satisfaction
I was busy making profits till I felt the last drop of my last seed
Into your JAR OF LIFE...
©ABSOL
????????
How does the music flow?
Subtle single soprano notes and chorals sing out
in whispered melodies, blustery bravado mix doubts
when one tenor voice begins its solos on the rise
blending with the symphony surprise.
At first comes the birthing lullabyes
raising smiles and laughter to a mother's eyes
followed quickly by the growth spurt years
with know it all, rebellious tessitura teenage tears.
A young adult determined to be a trembling soloist
with every decision made too fast, too quickly confessed
in life's lover, warrior, passaggio falsetto blessed
wavering in decisions and earlier dream quests.
Mid life crisis drops us each to our knees
in lack luster timbre bass keys
of pain and loss upon a lifelong analogue
marked high and low with vocal pedagogue.
Time is faded and easily slipping away
contralto hymns flow deep and low yet never stay
as the background orchestra continues the sacred cantata
of life's moments culminating in our final sonata.
Unlike an opera Diva,
a writer hides his age
Scores to bear eternal youth,
a Contralto dies on stage
Ink reclaims the Land of Oz,
Dorothy to know
Toto barks—old lyrics march,
Peter Pan aglow
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
Lavender green, lavender blue
She sings; her voice suits contralto.
Magnolias are in full bloom
Each bloom like a lotus flower
Spreading its petals as if readying
Itself for Buddha's fleshy thighs.
The rill flows clear as dew
On a spring day
Caressing her feet
Azure Summer sky is a delight today
Sensing the honeydew love.
She had been in love before
Fives times.
Once in her late teens.
Four in early twenties.
Late bloomer she was.
But fast
She caught up in love
And lust.
This one is different.
He is tall, warm
And lovely.
Yes lovely!
Lovely she needs more than
Anything else today.
He offers her his arm
Getting on the fast train.
They venture into Europe
Paris, Venice, Barcelona
Then Far East.
He is the one.
She will bear him children
Soon.
Chipmunks, squirrels collecting
bitternut hickory, chirping
against a small owl cruising
low beneath the trees.
Everyone has gone this morning
to school or work. Laundry rolling,
carpets vacuumed, cleaning
in the bathroom on my knees.
I'd like to be Whitman, praising
the pure contralto, Wynton practicing
all day. But like my father dying
I cannot hear what I cannot see.
Locally there's politics, processing
points of view. Eventually coming
to a decision, building or not building
windmills on the sky, bridges in the sea.
Insignificant and mighty happenings
seem the same from my vantage ageing
gratefully, inexorably, planning
how to die in my own damn way.
blueberries gasoline and prostate gland
breast cancer Wonderbread and pacifier
controlled experiment space travel and honey
peanuts inductive reasoning and electricity
tornadoes torture chamber and biscuits
copyright car radio cantaloupe
golden eagle lunch break tomato
Romanian songbook rhubarb and barbed wire
always hungry nevermind meat loaf
goosefoot mango juice Ipad
mosquito bite city street and broccoli
Chinese cabbage female sex drive water sport
pure contralto goat yogurt new year
black death white light and green tea
Demons Had Been Caste Out
God, need your great help and to be my guide
While You stay inside me and will always abide
Successfully take me through each poem I write
Whether it be morning, noon or by bright night.
To thank You is what my poems are all about
For helping me remove each and every doubt
Along with all of the trouble I forever was in
Not only that, surely saving me from all sin.
God prepared me to write poems everyday
Taught me what to say showing me which way
Will be best to relay my lethal poems to people
From high ivory towers and each tallest steeple.
Each poem has been sung in Church as a hymn
And such a stunning choir still hear all of them
From tenor, alto, soprano backed by each base;
They even saved a jubilant contralto just in case.
What they did, God helped through everything
Made voices marvelous when they would sing
They even saved a tremendous solo for very last
So out all the demons they were sure to caste.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
PS. So how tight have you been holding
your sides from laughing real hard anyway?
The monsoonal matriarch cradles her pregnant belly
Delirious with life giving blood from the womb of all nature’s gifts
As she lays distended, expectant and grey
Upon the craggy summits
Her breath billows above the bloated forests
Nurturing ominous notes as she sweeps through the trees
Like the phantom of the opera
Tuning her timbre, yet masking her desire
And now
Her contralto; it begins…
Her song breathes across the valley in rhythmical sheets
A symphonic auditorium of liquid splendour
Inciting a libretto of Lyre birds to concert in the mist
A monsoonal medley
Enticing insects to assemble in an ensemble
Their raucous chorus imploring the humid madness
Through a cacophonous chorale
Teasing the tempo from the maestro
As the crescendo climaxes to thunderous applause
Her encore; a sweeping army of waterfalls
Advance upon the sodden valley
Roaring to deafness over
Exploding banks and streams that gouge and tear
And then
It all stops
To a breath of drops…
Leonora Galinta’s contest: Rainy Days
12 September 2014
The monsoonal matriarch cradles her pregnant belly
Delirious with life giving blood from the womb of all nature’s gifts
As she lays distended, expectant and grey
Upon the craggy summits
Her breath billows above the bloated forests
Nurturing ominous notes as she sweeps through the trees
Like the phantom of the opera
Tuning her timbre, yet masking her desire
And now
Her contralto; it begins…
Her song breathes across the valley in rhythmical sheets
A symphonic auditorium of liquid splendour
Inciting a libretto of Lyre birds to concert in the mist
A monsoonal medley
Enticing insects to assemble in an ensemble
Their raucous chorus imploring the humid madness
Through a cacophonous chorale
Teasing the tempo from the maestro
As the crescendo climaxes to thunderous applause
Her encore; a sweeping army of waterfalls
Advance upon the sodden valley
Roaring to deafness over
Exploding banks and streams that gouge and tear
And then
It all stops
To a breath of drops…
Leonora Galinta’s contest: Rainy Days
12 September 2014
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