A country boy inherited a fiddle,
he bought a banjo -
never played a note.
His skinny wife
could clog-dance up a storm.
A travelling accordion player
beguiled her
with his beautiful instrument.
He burned the fiddle and banjo.
Now the guy
listens to old-time music alone
on a wooden radio.
Saxophone solo
Blowing like the wind through the valley so low
Niagara falls Waters falling calling the winds
Shark indicate Waters
Bugle trumpet reveling
Fish emotional streams
Like a symphony my emotions flow like a river stream
11/30/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
WHAT DO YOU DO WHAT DO YOU DO
WHEN YOU AINT GOT TO LOSE
AND YOUR PLANS DONT FOLLOW THRU
EVERYONE GOT THEY BACK ON YOU
AND NOW ITS YOU AGAINST WHO
WHAT DO YOU DO WHAT DO YOU DO
THE ONES THOUGHT HAD YOUR BACK
BE THE FIIRST THO THROW SHADE
NOW ADAYS ITS HARD TO FIND
THE REAL FROM THE FAKES
WHAT DO YOU DO WHAT DO YOU DO
WHATEVER YOU DO YOU DONT
BREAK AND FALL WEAK
YOU GOT ON YOUR MIND
BUT IN TIME YOU WILL FIND
JUST PUT IN A RHYME
AND LET THE MUSIC SPEAK
LET THE MUSIC SPEAK
TURN YOU PAIN INTO A BEAT
AND YOUR SCARS INTO YOUR BARS
IS WHAT YOU DO IS WHAT YOU DO
GOT ON YOUR MIND BUT IN TIME YOU FIND
JUST PUT IT IN A RHYME AND LET THE MUSIC SPEAK
LET THE MUSIC SPEAK TURN YOUR PAIN INTO A BEAT AND YOUR SCARS INTO YOUR BARS
IS WHAT YOU DO IS WHAT YOU DO
WHAT DO YOU DO WHAT DO YOU
WHAT DO YOU DO WHAT DO YOU DO
Allegro
Crystal decanter, wine in a glass.
Tabletop woodwinds court candlestick brass.
Fine sterling service, stems in a vase.
High-tone enamel meets low double bass.
Pale yellow roses, peaches and grapes.
Clarinet colors tint saxophone shapes.
Citrus in concert, lemon and lime.
Echoes of summer in three-quarter time.
Adagio
There are brazen implications
In these muted, pulsing horns.
The strings are thick and creamy.
The bass line’s strewn with thorns.
Scherzo
Nail-tap percussion, tremolo drill.
Twelve o’clock whistle sounds cranky and shrill.
Shipping yard sunlight, loading dock shade.
Forklift holds pallet in mid-serenade.
Mustard-stained napkin, Styrofoam cup.
Strains of a power saw being tuned up,
Baritone belt sander wailing away.
White glove allegro turned grease monkey gray.
Rondo
Without darkness, there could be no light.
The sun would rise unnoticed.
Without silence, there could be no song
From either bird or locust.
Without winter, there could be no spring.
No flowers for your lover.
Without music, there could be no art.
They flatter one another.
You are my favorite song on the album of life.
I am sure others will agree.
Inside I drown in an ocean.
A boy peering into the kaleidoscope of a crush.
A beautiful voice, the progression of how far you've come.
Me appearing to see you in concert.
People don't appreciate you.
Rather comparing you to someone else.
It's exciting to see you covered in bright lights.
That nervous jitter you get.
A star crossing what's left of my life.
My faith in good music restored.
What ever the song I don't want it to end.
I love the way you say love.
The chill felt as you walk pass.
Hunty you never let me down.
The instrumental of your voice.
Even on bad days I listen to your song the most.
God bless you for taking the time out
“Hey, Guitar, you’re such a prima donna,
Always out the front of the stage,
Thinking you’re the biggest in the band,
With some drugged, delusional rage.”
“What’s that Drums? I can’t hear what you say,
Walk up here and tell me your woe.
Just walk over here, like other instruments do,
Anytime, during the show.”
“Yeah, whatever, I’m too important to move,
I’m better than a little fretted thing,
I am the beat, the tempo, leading the entire band,
And I own what the singer can sing.”
“You two, cut it out, neither of you are the real big thing,
You aren’t what the crowd wants to see,
We all know they come to hear my blues,
Hear me, the harmonica, play blues in key”.
Let's see what we can do with this
the struggles all supposed to be in bliss,
we know that none of this we'll miss
once we're leaving for the promised land.
But then again it's close at hand
that you might play another band
tomorrow.
But oh - who cares 'bout what's to come
when what we need is not yet gone
and what we want is short a song?
Come on, let's light another fire
and take our dreams a little higher.
You look at me with stary eyes,
I feel quite taken by surprise
as you speak these words I summarize:
"I think we'll take
A thoughtful
Instrumental brake."
Instrumental
Can't help but dance
Tantric romance
Beautiful and magical
But havin no lyrics is tragical
5515
(Instrumental)
Music is the liberation of the mind
Many nights I get lost in its depths
Eyes closed, in each moment of solitude,
Forgetting about life and its loud parties
Feeling the spiritual mending in my heart
There are well written lyrics
in most of the songs that I love,
But if my poems were put to music
There wouldn't be any words…
And it would be the same feeling,
and feelings are where all meaningful art is born
That’s what music or any art should do for someone
It should make them feel something
Feeling the art is better than hearing it
Do you get where I’m coming from?
Or are you just reading these poems?
August 14th, 2013
INSTRUMENTAL INFATURATION
The piano man stopped playing when you walked in
And that’s when I heard the brass begin
The flautist was taken aback by your grin
And then I heard the voice of a violin
The drummer stumbled over his beat
As I bumbled over my feet
Then a sax and the trumpet came to meet
And suddenly the syncopation was complete
I heard the shrill of a single piccolo
Played sweetly and haltingly low
The mellowness of a melody began to flow
As the band put on a thrilling show
You were a bigger star than the guitar
As the bass and bassoon began to spar
The rhythm was hotter than steaming tar
As you and I made our way to the bar
Your sashay got an okay from the crowd
And the singer’s song was not too loud
Dancing with you made me so damned proud
Pride born of the beauty with which you are endowed
Suddenly the song was over and done
As you smiled brighter than the summer’s sun
The story of a song had, at once, been spun
And the entire band knew I love you more than anyone
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
INSTRUMENTAL INFATURATION
The piano man stopped playing when you walked in
And that’s when I heard the brass begin
The flautist was taken aback by your grin
And then I heard the voice of a violin
The drummer stumbled over his beat
As I bumbled over my feet
Then a sax and the trumpet came to meet
And suddenly the syncopation was complete
I heard the shrill of a single piccolo
Played sweetly and haltingly low
The mellowness of a melody began to flow
As the band put on a thrilling show
You were a bigger star than the guitar
As the bass and bassoon began to spar
The rhythm was hotter than steaming tar
As you and I made our way to the bar
Your sashay got an okay from the crowd
And the singer’s song was not too loud
Dancing with you made me so damned proud
Pride born of the beauty with which you are endowed
Suddenly the song was over and done
As you smiled brighter than the summer’s sun
The story of a song had, at once, been spun
eAnd the band knew I love you more than anyone
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
I'm sitting by the river in the centre of Inverness
In a place we call the islands, beauty in capture finesse
It's late into the evening as I listen to the cold grey flow
So soothing in this tranquil setting, inside I'm all aglow
I take this time to pause and close my eyes and listen
For in my mind I picture the full moons rivered glisten
This winter coat instrumental resonates with echoing sounds
Pipistrelle bats and Starlings flock, the latter in roosting surround
Whilst in the distance canines bark in a language we can't even comprehend
The picking up of natures delights, in unlimited voiced transcend
As I sit through these melodic notes I begin to realise
That I am here to hear these sounds and every ones a prize
I'm still sitting by the river in the centre of Inverness
If you ever desire to sit beside me, please do, you'll be my guest
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/inverness.php
Strumming the guitar,
His soul speaks through every riff:
Dialogue of strings.
Surrender to rhythmic initiations,
Moan and groan with accusations,
In foreplay rushes see passion release;
Intoned rumble in her fermented pleas.
Fulcrum strokes in the crazy display,
Freaked-out embedded techniques?
Rapture tunes these percussion beats,
Anticipation bolts in delight of thrill meets.
Love squeals in her ecstasy shrieks,
Quivers torment the resonating geeks,
Smitten desire bitten and tweaked,
Brimming lust probes petals sweet.
"G" flows on high in the heated pitch,
Pulse and quakes in the drum stick glitch,
Bewitching thump and the hard kicks
Drum-rolls tenderness to my tricks: