She Loves The Glisando Rubato Sound
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El *glissando rubato* consiste
en deslizarse continuamente
entre notas (*glissando*)
mientras se toca con
un tempo flexible y expresivo (*rubato*)
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Grito Verse
"whats your name
what's your number
are you single too
I see you listening to my
every word
I am listening to your's too"
-----------------------
'Grito Afinar'
En lugar de deslizarse
a una velocidad
constante,
el intérprete acelera
y desacelera el
deslizamiento para añadir
tensión emocional
y un matiz humano
.---------------------------
Jarana Cumbia
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Frottoir and Grito
---------------------------
"What's your name
what's your number
Can I call an talk
with you
we can be freinds
we can be lovers
Darling what do you
wanna do"
(Grito start's again)
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“Fall sings its song in a rhythmic glissando voice”
for the feathered leaves on flight, rustling to rejoice.
Inspired by : Autumn’s Russet Leaves by : Lin Lane (2025)
Glissando sings ah Swag- Won
Call and Response
Rang dang
giggle ling
doffy dop ah doddle
mixin grooves and tones
gigging on-ah new-dell
Ding dang
can you sang
Giggy got a new won
say ya
say ya
Sweetie whats that is
whisk me
kiss me
sorta like ah
zookie
smiling styling
looking cool and dapper
knowing showing
sangin, sangin
concerted music
chatter
see mi music
groovin all ah-round
it's so lovely
cute and cuddly
beautiful music sounds
Dheeze dheeze
Jingle dheeze
singer sing
that one
Dheeze dheeze
swagga dheeze
dance til the
music's done
please please
Jingle dheeze
singer sing that one
Please please Jingle dheeze
dance til the musics done
Fingertips
fall—
not like
stones,
but like rain,
plucked silver
threading the air.
Each string
holds a hush,
a breath not yet
forgotten.
The musician builds—
not a score,
but the curve
of a heron’s wing
skimming dusk
softly vanishing
in a single glissando.
The guzheng does not speak.
It spills:
vibrato,
a tide rising
then breaking
against memory.
Sound leans back—
not toward silence
——but toward a
distant shore
we once
heard.
________________
Note: Guzheng is a traditional Chinese musical instrument.
Si una dirección para tocar glissando
los embrates del amor
de la musica
puso uno a novia
la seda francesa
le calla musica
el bife!
el bife!
un broche de diamantras
a par como casi
pero en realidad
The embarrassments of love
of music
one gave a girlfriend
French silk
The steak!
The steak!
A diamond brooch
Qué es más asombroso que tales obligaciones, lo que debemos hacer? Para remediar la tensión del hambre.A la hoja de laurel en tal.
Retire la hoja de laurel.que hermosa musica.
Bailaremos esta noche si no llueve.
Almost even
But in reality
music silences him
Written By:Leon Wade and Terry Callie
Two Guys listening to the song discussing
the catsup stain on the woman's blouses.
No te importan las dells(feminine)
No te importan los dells
I murmur like a rivulet through the
hitch of your hands, where the canyons
carve their parched longing into your fingers—
where silences sublimate like cera,
pooling beneath your glissando touch.
Your tremolo breath convulses rough and low
like sibilant submersion in water—
spilling, sinking, staining everything it meets.
I watch the estuary of your gaze split my horizon—
watch you hush abysmal eyes into
celestially arched surrender.
There is no stillness between starlight,
only the pull of mighty magnitudes,
fuses lit beneath the ribs,
pulses and throbs teaching the air
how to cleave—how to…
sforzando!
Love, here, is neither reserved nor reticent—
it is lightning bottled in glass—
hellfire burning beneath the tide—
language that deconstructs
even as it is uttered.
I step forward—some faltering cadence,
some submitting ascension—placing my hands into your fire,
not to be consumed, but to remember
how stars revel and rain.
From: Now That She's Alone
Story of a Man's Wanting
( the mention to play glissando
and to sing aria)
Do you know what to say
does it make you
wanna just walk away
seems it's clear to me
something more
obviously
maybe it's all in the song
those glaring melodies
something for ee
I swear it alluded me
Villainized by it's potential
scammed to be exploited
all in the attempt of bragging
such is easy for some
to ignore and
I sort feel
they wrote it like a song
maybe it's in the song
It's gotta be in the song
Stand dominates
it's all so complicated
sit down to see
the bright blue sky
the puffy pretty clouds
watch as they go by
when I stop my ponder
get my mind right
and understand
looking to my woman
reaching out to hold her hand
Keeping my lady Happy
Ya'll know I don't wanna be wrong
stop to read the lyric
Maybe it's in the song
Maybe it's in the song
Originally written in Italian
interputed into English)
He ate a Yankee Pastromi sandwich with
Russain dressing running down his cheeks.
Love might she whisper
her sweet nothings
Love might she wish to ignore
Love might she want to hear me
sing
Love
My Love
the one I adore
Love might the warmth of morning
greet me as I kiss your face
Love endearing and calming
Love
oh Love a sweet embrace
Love our melding
might we be together
Love
oh love
my lovers embrace
Septuagenarian Serenade
By Sy Roth
It wants to warble a fine tune
It wants to fill the night with a pleasing glissando
Rising and sliding into joyful jig
Instead, the brittle vocal chords are ill-defined wolves
Howling at a laughing moon, a dismal lunarscape
Ripe with lingering pains engraved in time
A dusty bin filled with some dismal memories
Working hard to shake out the motes that were in their eyes
Tearful threnody of movement closer to the door.
It wants so desperately to dance that two-step
A pas de deux of clever invention
But the hip sings a screechy declaration
Voids the temptress to ignore the mirrors
That auger the realities of time
Begs for the release of the agents of calamity
Where upturned carpets, lost spectacles
Dings on the fenders of vehicles long past
And missed names and familiar faces fade.
The song will have to remain in the head
Whirling from broken synapse to broken synapse
And the eyes will have to tell them the story of desire.
MELANCHOLIA
Had he left putting me
in reverie of melancholia?
Rather I left him
and since then peace had left me forever
while I am whirling in rue of turbulent tornedo.
Wearing charcoal mask appearing dusty dusk.
Pricking pain of buried passion piercing my mind.
In morose fading twilight
birds are chirruping in glissando.
I am sinking in fathomless abyss in grief of ocean,
Where pearl of dolor is taking shape
from tears of amour
oozing from chasm of broken heart
cascading opulent on inflow of ambedo.
I am drowning down on cosmic illusion
in this lugubrious night.
I am floating to descry:
My love once lively lovely like Full Moon
now lamenting in lean crescendo.
11/04/20
Second Place
'Ambedo' Contest by Silent One
bleeding guts busted
hankering urge hoisted
dark drips dribbled
mending torn treble
felon fashion flawed
cuddling callous crawl
drooling diminuendo's crest
gaunt glissando bled
crushing concerto's best
tamed dreg tilted
sassy syllables guided
sumptuous slavery greeted
la-de-da wits worn
on funky forms.
'20:03:19:13:23
Note: Dedicated to Robert Frost.
voluptuous voice elastic
rustling rhythm rustic
eerie extension etched
drooping callous crest
caressing glissando gulped
nocturnal octaves numb
lusty lyrics seeped'n
sumptuous squashed thrills
dainty dances drip
heightened fame fostered
vying veil triggered
hoisted days hanker
lofty twitch tossed
by blitzkrieg bought.
'20:03:06:13:45
Note: Dedicated to Sia.
hoisted hankerings puke
nauseating vying view
lofty lust yawns
puncturing pulpy lawn
twain tainted tune
mystic melody prune
rusty riffs blush
under octave's touch
callous crescendoes' crush
smirking pitch pitches
gaunt glissando clinches
birthing sumptuous A6
tuning atmosphere tenses
malady melts music.
'20:01:30:06:18
It started on D - flat,
succulent & succinct
soft & rhythmic
loaning hearts pats.
the wail of the piano
caressing the voices' glissando
riffs tampered with the tune,
notes trailing tracks of crest,
demisemiquaver pruned
by the demigod crochet:
parts of belts
accompanying baritone,
baroque & tormenting bass
nursing decrescendo,
an atlas
And then clef,
embellishing the melody,
encore spill the best,
swift fortemente
Hearts lured,
esophagus of the musician
shifting. Pure
steps moving in pleasure,
as the lyrics complimented
the melody
A coda:
a flat accompaniment
severed the passion
as the keys & notes did melt
tumult in rhythm,
sundry languages inflected
the lyrics.
like concerto grosso
of courante on
bagpipes, accordion,
harps, obeos & paino.
now we're stuck
in the maze of this music,
no virtuoso could make meaning of
the tune, lyrics or melody
but we're moving our bodies,
till those that gets weary
goes to hear death's string.
19:09:22:18:47
Distant piano music,
or is it the speech of a banjo
unearthed from some attic prison?
Wait, do I hear a flügelhorn moaning,
or is that a different conversation?
Brahms plucks at his peppery beard,
glissando and arpeggio flutter
into mountains of buttery mutter.
We the players and listeners
twist our ears into ad hoc rock bands,
countering the contradictions
through inaudible librettos.
Bless you, you fish-faced plods,
can't you hear the bubbles in your heads
how they practice and refrain -
echo-on as your own wagging
tone-deaf tongues?
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