Long Artmusic Poems
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THE COLOR OF THE WIND WHICH IS WEDDED TO WINTER’S MUSE AND
MUSIC
What, color is music?
Is it the color of your lover’s eyes as you wade at water’s edge?
Or more like the colors you view when a child’s giggle makes you young again?
Then again, they could be muted colors…………………….
opaque in nature,
but suddenly you breathe on them and alas they glow once more
Royal colors crowned and crowded with admirers who stand in awe of hues hewn with
precision
Yet if I had to make a decision
I would be urged to opine that music is the color of enjoyment enveloping this entire
planet which could be in peril
Allow the music of***laughter to echo through the deepest tunnels and over every
triumphant mountain
Or music could be the color an artiste must employ to duplicate a reflection of joy
which intrudes and reaches into one’s soul and tells you that no matter what, be
content with that which you were blessed to own,
And never fill your cup to overflow with the color of greediness or music made to
grieve
Music is not, of course the color of anger or jealousy
As for me I am making music my master who advises me to do things zealously
For after all, where would i be without the magic of music in the middle of madness
at midnight?
Whatever color music is I know it’s has to be majestically and brilliantly bright
Yet cannot deafen us to all but mellow melodies
That’s it
Music is the color of a mid-August breeze
when heat un-heavies your heart and music gives birth to ease
Music is blue as that breeze which gently blew
While Mrs. Levy’s laundry sways as it clings to a rope,
suspended on the serenity of a symphony sewn of silk
Music is the color of everything built and born of beauty that belies the notion that
an emotion is nay a color as well
And oh how much music is there in the vociferous voice of one single bell
Music is the color of a hundred pipers piping as their numbers increase
Music is made when a war has cause to cease
Therefore music must be the color of peace
© 2011.…. the indupitably prolific poet who, in a short time should be named
poet lauriet of this site....me.....phreepoetree
*t...* take the word “laughter” and make an “S” be the first letter before “L”
She had kneeled in the center of the stage with her head tucked under the arm veils of her
elegant gown.
The music would begin like a soft sweet drip of honey, as she began to move like a dove in a
slow motion wind.
For once again she and the music had become one.
And as many times before, she would lose the sense of having an audience.
All in her mind was music and moves.
And no music is a stranger to the dancer.
For there are no foreign moves that the dancer had not moved across by talent.
And as many years began to pass the dancer began to stiffen, as her ageing had begun to
catch up with her, and she felt the music surpass her.
For she was still the music, yet the music was no longer her.
As her moves began to shorten, the seemingly quick pace of the music would not move
slower with her.
There had been many young dancers of whom had come and gone, yet she had remained
for the love of her talent and the music.
As the moves continued to slowly vanish, they were still in her mind like a bright summer
day,yet at hand they were gone.
And like an annual flower after bloom, she too had become wilted.
Only to die soon.
For her life like a season, had came to a quick end.
Therefore, the brilliance in her talent shall live on in those few rare dancers of whom will one
day greet the end, of a blooming seasoned life of a dancer.
And the music a non-living thing, will go on past all dancers,yet to keep dancing alive.
Copyright@March 2010 MaryMMcShirley/Kilker
Did you ever Roberto Nesto … the reggae maestro
Decorating rocks in the ghetto … children’s falsetto
Rising for liberation from tenures of poverty
Logwood lit from the shredded ash of ganja smoke
Rising to rinse the heart of woe … the clarity
Of things about his ragged ghetto … father broke
Love pregnant on cornmeal porridge … don’t cry
O woman, don’t cry, memory in music exploding
And now the world will dance to marijuana high
Dreams rocking, shooting, looting the tenors meaning
We were left nothing, now watching mainstream sings
Tributes to us for gifts of culture and the game:
The balladeer circles the sun on broken wings
Oh he made melodies out of the ghetto’s shame.
(Sorry folks, I could not resist the temptation, the rebel I am, to explode High cultural
traditions and provide a door for the people to celebrate from street and ghetto their own -
since none of the classical masters means anything in the pop world. Robert "Bob" Nesta
Marley OM ... February 6, 1945 – May 11, 1981 ... was a Jamaican singer-songwriter and
musician. He was the lead singer, songwriter and guitarist for the ska, rocksteady and
reggae bands: The Wailers (1964 – 1974) and Bob Marley & the Wailers (1974 – 1981).
Marley remains the most widely known and revered performer of reggae music, and is
credited for helping spread Jamaican music to the worldwide audience. "No Woman Nuh Cry"
is rated a classic by many musicologists.)
The conch shell decorates the chest
With the ocean resounding in its soul
As the distinguished maestro plays his best
Soft, low, and inviting just to test
Which music touches the soul
The conch shell decorates the chest
While the cobalt blue waters of the ocean crest
The violin gently held and bow softly pulled
As the distinguished maestro plays his best
The gray hair and beard show his years stressed
But his love only sees his great gift while
The conch shell decorates the chest
That under the open window sits at rest
Sun shining on that bay as the violin music drifts astray
As the distinguished maestro plays his best
While his love just a room away dances and sways
To the music that touches her soul this day
The conch shell decorates the chest
As the distinguished maestro plays his best
(This is written from a picture that is on James Fraser's web site. I have his permission to
use the picture for my write. Thanks James.)
(The word maestro here means: a master of any art.)
The rage inside my broken heart is rising.
The fight I maintain is weak.
Tears fall as I sing.
My music is strong, but I am meak.
I will not give up hope though.
No matter whatt it takes to stay on top, I'll do.
I'll perform and give you the very best show.
My music holds the pieces together like glue.
The sound of my guitar will drive you crazy,
The beat of my drums will make you high,
The pitch of my voice makes your thinking hazy;
Me all together takes you to the sky.
I see that you try to help in the fight;
Together we can beat this
If we give it all our might.
I overcame this with just one kiss.
From the sound of my music
You will be lifted;
All of your thoughts will be shifted.
Just think of this tune as a drug,
Something that will addict you,
Not something that will go away with just one shrug.
A medication that is okay for you to do,
It will take you higher.
My music will lift your spirit,
Make you feel shyer,
And no one can steal it.
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