Fugue Poems - Poems about Fugue

We Drink Ambrosia - Fugue

 
we drink ambrosia from goblets within our Hearts
browline meets browline you drink your own 
which dripped into mine hush hush the surfer 
and soldier homed, drinking ambrosia honed
yin-yang becomes yang-yin as frequencies ripple
from nerves slashing nerves when point pulse
point, nails dig nails, light entering wet wounds knuckles balloon, merged muscles sting sing,
bring strands blowing

Mouldy Fear Fugue

  
she drinks mouldy fear in morning 
the morning needing vit C vit C
team Alice alliterates twig pieces to be 
to be sprouting green leaves true blue 
sweeping bits onto dustpan hue true  
grit to cubes which only they read heed 
using time making dough row seed
painting faces so cute for pic to

Where Intention Once Stood

My thoughts walk barefoot on gravel roads—aching, slow, and scattershot.

My mind drifts like dusk in worn linen—frayed, faded, and folding in on itself.

My mind, grown tired of its tidy metaphors, slumps like a clerk at closing hour—unnoticed, necessary, numb.

My brain, vast as prairie land at sunset, lies fallow—dreaming the hush between thunderclaps.

My brain has taken

Fugue

I’ve lived here my whole life. 
I work here. 
Wearing slippers to work. 
So fuzzy and nice. 
My manager is tearing through. 
Every word is nothing. 
Grappling at every pause. 
This room is dizzy. 
Computer keyboards. 
Pens and pencils. 
Typing for hours. 
And nothing goes my way. 
Printing out blank sheets of paper. 
Lunch. 
Open

If Memory Serves me Well

Collated papers filed and the bills paid
as the kettle whistled invitingly.  
My son’s laughter drifting in through the window—
I have forgotten to close the billowing drapes. 
A sempiteral tableau. 

An ephemeral scene crowds in:
The loud curtains tucking at my memory;
my son’s voice trapped in distress.  
The kettle whimpered as it boiled dry— 
old

Toccata and Fugue in D Minor

It begins with a sky-split cry—
a blade of wind slicing the stillness,
gulls scattering like torn pages
as the sea holds its breath.
Then comes the first thunderstroke,
not from clouds, but from below—
the ocean remembering its anger.

The sea begins to speak in tongues—
lightning dances across the waves.
The ocean surges, climbs the wind,
rising in spiraled towers of spray—
a mind

Toccata, Adagio, and Fugue in C Major

Epochal courses a tamed countryside,
Spectacle sparkles glowing trees and boughs,
Pedestal weights and measures counter slide,
Sensible enshrine flexible reigned bows.

A sentinel taps chords and ivories,
The typical lose blues and notes the muse,
The miracle resonates mute carries,
A mythical being awaits its dues.

As Bach spirited his classical piece,
Some brought heart and soul, yet their ears came first,
Has God

Dismissed! Battles laid down for a dissociative survivor

Thinking about us
I come undone
Looking back I don’t know
Whether we lost or won

Voices in my mind
That I just can’t translate
But I know
I’ll learn to appreciate 

I’m not laying blame
I’m not keeping score
I just wish I could find 
Who I was before

All was taken
And more was lost
A dissociative fugue 
Cost us the lot

What am I supposed

Fugue Adagio Is My Best Freind

Abbiamo bisogno di
persone creativ persone
che voliono creace e avere successo nel creare
Abbiamo bisogno
che le persone
studino i terminie
mettano in relazione
termini della scrittura riuniscano le persone
e creino balli che le
persane possano trovare facili da fare
epoi trovine
professionist che stessi suoni per
creare una scena moderno disco
Ispirale affainche perfetta mente
davanti a un mondo

Fugue Flavor

pound and flaten one large turkey breast 
place 12 slices of cottage bacon inside

in a bowl add
1 cup of feta cheese
1/2 teaspoon of cumin
1/4 nutmeg
1 cup of spinach (Strained and chopped)
1 tablespoon of garlic
3 Tablespoons of dehydrated onion
1/4 cup of cooked bacon
One tablespoon of cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon of lemon zest
1 teaspoon of mace
2 tablespoon of

A Fever Fugue

Light crashes sounds like brittle glass 
Slashes shards across my worn aching eyes 
The colors reak of deep rot like blues 
Creeping green burning acidic sounds
In my ears like the Smell of some dead deity 

The tang of the streets are bright
gay they clash with the screaming 
red halls of my inner cell walls 
the

A Bach Fugue

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.

A Bach Fugue

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.

Vacation Fugue

At the deep end of night
when all that can be seen is the digital clock
and the light under the corridor door,
we slip out of our personas -
a fumbled attempt at drowsy love-play;
the plethora of giant pillows
hiding us from ourselves.

The hotel elevator takes us further
into a story we have already written.
Day 3 blurs, sight-seeing
pictures long poured
from

Juxtaposition 1: Prelude and Fugue

JUXTAPOSITION 1
Prelude for a Dying Loved One
Faces stricken,
painted in grief, 
peer through the glass barrier
into the room,
as ventilators is removed
from a loved one, and
last breaths are expelled.
Mother Earth awaits,
her arms opens to embrace
and cradle her child.

Fugue for a Newborn Infant
Faces, wonderstruck,
painted with excitement,
peer through the doorway,
into the birthing room
as a newborn infant is 
laid in

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