Now burst forth your long-suffocated song,
You gagged lips with mute anthems sweet!
Speak of your celestial lays with angels high
In stillest skies above men's unmusical beat.
Say which den under heaven's serenest wings
Writhes most chargrined by tart mortal things.
Divulge rare trills piped by such celestial sum,
More dulcet tunes that finessed pickers strum.
Kindly whisper into this pen's Muse-eluded ear
The unheard-of strains that superior lyres pelt.
In gentler tones alien to poor harps herebelow,
Play fine ditties that earth's senses haven't felt.
Anon spill in over-millioned soothing tongues
Ethereal lines to sate this poet's aching pangs;
And in earnest buzz your time-perfected chant
To shame the best of man's cacophonous rant.
Your most inharmonic line in lame pitch sung,
Beats all tuneful vibes powered by carnal lung.
it tastes like spoiled chunky year old milk
from a broken wine glass
left in a burning shack
hidden deep within a green forest
barricaded by a black haunting mountain
i mean my old lover's mansion
at least it was spacious to me..
and it tasted like something..
it tastes like he brought my love as barters beg for freedoms
inexpensive love
bruises from broken wine glasses love
nurturing and nutritious
spoiled
free-falling on the Milky Way
love
tastes similar and simplified to doves taking flight
love that breathes life
love that hides
that bobs and weaves
love that survives
but i am sick from spoiled chunky year old milk
and tastes disappear
for his poetry is all that i hear..
thunderous
and inharmonic
rainfall is all that i heard..
rainfall is all that i heard..
Tiny bar percussion instrument, I am in awed.
I rhythmically stroke my thumbs across your tines,
My soul floats upon your notes; my heart applauds.
Tensions and sorrow float away; your music unbinds.
It seems natural to hold you in my hands.
Your inharmonic overtones, to some, may seem odd.
Sweet dissonances lull me like no marching bands.
Simple reverberations discover my inner-self's facade.
I love to hear your pure tones resonate, floating.
Upon the breeze, contrasting sounds drift away.
Trickling timbre, like a bubbling brook…naturally calming.
Together, we become one with nature, joys stay.
Dreams drift to forever where fantasies thrive.
When you are in my hand, my soul soars.
I become ecstatically thrilled to be alive!
Awakened by the freedom your music implores.
INSTRUMENT: Thumb Piano A.K.A. Kalimba
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
October 29, 2011
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