As a violin cries, my voice soars
And as I move towards The Lord
With my chords and my cords
Singing of the heavenly rewards
(We are God’s instruments)
It is He Who invents
And uses us as His instruments
He produces with musical implements
Every instrument that repents
For The Holy Spirit (you see)
I am a wind wood who breathes
And gives up each breath
As the symphony will progress
So play on piano (ebony, ivory and hoary)
God has given us gifts for His glory
And God is instrumental in our salvation
(As He was also in His creation)
As the stars sang and in each angel’s refrain
Listening for the trumpet blast at the end of days
And we sing of (God, as He descends from above)
Jesus: The Way, Truth, and Life, The Ancient of Days
Just listen to the nightingale’s song—
you will know God’s compositions
are flawless, without error.
No earthly force can drown its melody,
woven with beauty and complexity,
for every ear to savor.
Its voice never cracks nor falters,
a gift no man can bestow.
Whistles, trills, and warbled phrases,
unwritten, yet always pleasing,
teaching us that music
needs no single tongue.
Hence it is often said:
music has no language.
Songs can stir the feet to dance
without a single word—
as the birds themselves have shown.
The wind too hisses its song,
yet it charms the earth.
Trees, shrubs, and grasses bend,
swaying back and forth
to its rhythm,
delighting in the dance.
Nature sings without instruments,
its melodies whole and pure.
We copy and claim them,
yet God never claimed a copyright
when He composed the first songs.
Through nature, God is the teacher:
the flight of birds in aeroplanes,
the sailing of fish in ships,
the motion of beast in cars.
Nothing we sing is truly new.
What we call song composition
was already in His creation.
All beautiful songs are first His,
for all good things begin with God.
Every day…may acceptance and compassion in each of us increase…
and may we continue to comfort one another
and be instruments of peace
Fox is on the violin
There is a viola for the hare
We clap a little rhythm
That is beyond compare
The meadow is alive
With the sounds the animals bring
I love the string instruments
They make me dance and sing
Keys pressed ignite hope
Random order permeates
Souls are touched tonight
Hands of the piety
Phalanges of work and charity
Driven to spearhead not stoop
Enliven and share not droop
Fingers we dip on stoupe
Churches of the holy in troop
Our faith we lathe with pride
Strongly we hold not stride
Images we fond and draw
Murals we touch like straw
Gentleness in open hands we pave
Roughness in helping hands we stave
Our works and thoughts are one
Over thorns and bouts of man
Skins and colors of faith
Fins and winged colors of the laith
You are a work of art
Embellished with paints of heart
Filled with a well of hope
Influx of worth in the hull of rope
Ropes are extensions of hope that purport
Strengthened by faith and hands of support
To improve the world spiritually...
prayer and poetry
are feasible instruments
*Image of People of the Dawn by Pixabay.
Instruments of Mercy
Amidst the wailing whiplashed 'neath a moonlit plight,
Against the cowered beast of demons gnashing white,
Angst men in their temporary shanties walled bubbles,
Atheist fated them to wile their skill with steel shovels,
Apologist to the bitter end proves it's never supported,
Absolutist self-denial raw display ne'er to be thwarted,
Awarest who'd weathered the conviction of strong will,
Awkwardest fretted near sunk rocks, lost eyes wet still,
Aptest met their latest neighbor, old-timers now closer,
Antichrist organized bits of their faith sitting as a poser.
2022 January 22
Guitar
Acoustic, Electric
Strumming, Resonating, Soloing
Modern, Popular, Antique, Anachronism
Plucking, Projecting, Accompanying
Medieval, Baroque
Lute
By The Barrow In The Yard,
I Waited,
But You did Not Come.
There Were No Halls Or Music;
There Was No One.
No Moon Or Light
Throughout The Night
To Comfort Me.
Morning left
My Body Chilled
For All To See,
By The Barrow In The Yard.
Where I Waited,
But You Did Not Come.
Seduce me with your thoughts about me
Lust…
Undress me with the look that you give me
Lust…
My fingers and my mouth are hungry
They… lust for you
The moon… is bending wanting to watch us
Bodies are glowing when we touch
just like the moon
I lust for you
Our bodies are instruments
I compose the lyrics, you play the song
And I will sing along
Your mouth… teasing me
Bliss is consuming me.
Feel the rhythm of the music and let yourself go,
From the top of your head down to your toes,
Get up and dance and let it show,
Feel the rhythuuuuum.
{pause 1 – 2}
Feel the rhythm of the music as it makes you spin,
It gets into your mind like a bottle of gin,
It takes you on a ride you don’t want to end,
Feel the rhythuuuuum.
{pause 1 – 2}
Feel the rhythm of the music way down in your soul,
Don’t hold back just lose control,
Listen to the beat with both earholes,
Feel the rhythuuuuum…{pause 1 – 2}
Feel the rhythuuuuum… (softer) {pause 1 – 2}
Feel the rhythuuuuum… (softly)
sponsor:Brian Strand
contest:END FEB 2019,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines
Knife and pen, both should be warned,
Tools of deed and death,
Heart and life, they were scavenged,
By any means, please keep your faith,
Perhaps, you can dream like Creath.
Metronome heart beats in 4/4 time while mandolin chimes in staccato voice. In the background, guitar hums and banjo sings. Bluegrass echoes across southern winds; blues and mountain music force a dance from tranquil feet; it’s a concert fit for country royalty, at the Opry. The East coast clogs and smiles.
On the rolling winds,
Echo strains of the southland;
Gaia’s toe tapping.
WE KEEP OUR JAM IN THE CELLAR
AND THE BASSOON IN THE DEN
GO IN THE CELLAR AND BRING UP
THE JAM
CLICK YOUR FINGER IF THE MUSIC
IS TO YOUR LIKING
SEE THIS IS THE JAM
AND THE BASSOON
WE DON'T GO AROUND
PUTTING JAM ON INSTRUMENTS
AND LICKING IT OFF THE INSTRUMENT
WE EAT OUR JAM
AND WE ENJOY OUR JAMS
WE DON'T DO THIS
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