Long Diminuendo Poems

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A Song With No Name

A Song With no Name
From my grandfather and my dad and performed by their son and grandson, me.
It was an old melody with no name of a ballad my grandfather wrote a long time ago.
The melody was soft and mesmerizing creating a feeling of melancholy. One couldn’t help but feel the love, though the sadness was the melody itself with ambiguous, bluesy sounds that contrasted with our emotions.
As a child, I recalled how my father had gone off to war under the guise of killing commies, but had died there in a muddy hole in Vietnam; souring the celebration of his sacrifice.
But this was a beautifully written melody.
Blue notes written in the right places left us feeling the absence of love. I played it on my trumpet muted with a Harmon mute giving the piece a sorrowfulness ala Miles Davis playing in his Blue in Green record.
Later, I came upon a lyric written by my father stuffed in an old satchel, I took it and merged it with the music and got a singer to sing it and when the people heard it there was not a dry eye to be seen.
When you heard the lyric your heart jumped out of your chest.Though the only word LOVE that was mentioned came at the end but with the bass playing low Tibetan-like notes being held to the end; one felt it soul deep.
I whispered into the mike, “To my dad and granddad, I love you and miss you.That ended the ballad, but the bass sounds of the diminuendo were haunting coming to a final moan slowly vanishing to a soft triple pianissimo.
The crowd remained silent for a few minutes
then erupted in a five minute standing “O”.
I simply told the audience, “I never knew my grandfather, in fact, I barely knew my father, and any musical talents I may have were gifts from them. I found the sheet music among my grandfather’s things and later I found the lyric was written by my father.
“My performance tonight was my tribute of love to them. I’m grateful to have performed their song for you from them with great gratitude I accept your applause on their behalf.
And to paraphrase the great Lou Gehrig, the New York Yankees Hall of Fame first baseman, who retired in Yankee Stadium overfilled with his fans, in his speech he said,
‘Today, I am the luckiest man in the world. Well, ladies and gentlemen tonight, I am the luckiest son and grandson in the world, thank you for acknowledging their sensitive hearts.”


Sotto Voce

I 
am 
the 
voice 
in 
the 
early 
twilight 
calling.I 
am 
the 
voice 
that 
cried 
in 
the 
dusk. 
Am 
the 
limbs 
shaking 
and 
the 
lungs 
convulsing. 
I 
own 
the 
tongue 
that 
cracked,the 
lips 
that 
parched 
and 
the 
running 
nose 
behind 
the 
dank 
blanket.........................................................  
I 
am 
the 
voice 
among 
equals 
whinning 
among 
few 
unequals. 
My 
spine 
bears 
the 
many 
whose 
rags 
twist 
my 
neck 
and 
I 
bend 
her 
back 
and 
our 
fate 
coil 
side 
by 
side 
in 
one. 
In 
one 
our 
spalour 
binds 
us;mine 
a 
dirty 
stool 
a 
swollen 
limb 
and 
they 
said 
PEM 
too.She 
has 
the 
heart 
beat 
bleeding 
hot 
blood,the 
callused 
soles 
cracking 
and 
they 
sterile 
nodule 
pleading 
in 
vain 
servility 
behind 
the 
black 
blanket.........................................................   
I 
am 
the 
voice 
now 
mewling 
in 
the 
crust 
of 
the 
night 
and 
scorching 
by 
the 
day. 
I 
lay 
panthing 
and 
waisting 
from 
a 
redeemable 
curse. 
Am 
the 
limbs 
cippled 
and 
the 
lungs 
sneefing. 
Am 
not 
the 
fist 
clenching 
the 
playcard...eyeing 
the 
lence,but 
behind 
the 
mesh 
wriggling 
and 
certainly 
deing. 
Am 
not 
Abiku's 
emissary,but 
I 
die 
with 
the 
corn 
starch 
dripping 
from 
my 
lips 
and 
I 
pass 
the 
stool 
to 
anothe 
whose 
fate 
as 
mine 
lay 
in 
percent,whose 
memoria 
is 
their 
number 
and 
not 
their 
name. 
Now 
they 
chant 
the 
elegy 
over 
tomorrows 
cremains 
and 
my 
voice 
falls 
into 
a 
diminuendo 
and 
shall 
never 
rise 
again,but 
my 
bones 
continues 
to 
whisper 
behind 
the 
earth 
in 
sotto 
voce.
© Light Obi  Create an image from this poem.

Outo's preceded the latter

From The Desk of :Diminuendo Battuta Alcuna
President of Musicolgy School Of dance and Music
Groovey Beats Lane
Money Grip City U.S.A.
50005-0010

Attention: Suite Muisca Staves and Staff
Soothology and Emo_Glam Initiative
A>K>A>: "The Power of Opportunity"
Forward to:Bel Ragazzo and
Moglie Sessuale of Big-Money Music LLC.
and 
"No Jive Radio"

2.8 Diphthongs – Essential of Linguistics
Part One Precedes the Following
Consonants are the opposite of vowels. They are sounds made with a restricted airflow, where the tongue, teeth, or lips are used to block or modify the flow of air. 
Y as a Vowel:roasted pork tongue with lettuce tomato cheese and best taco sauce seasoned with cumin and cilantro and lime juice. on a soft shell taco
.gliding Sound:
Unlike a monophthong (a single, pure vowel sound), a diphthong involves a continuous movement or glide from one vowel sound to another. 
One Syllable:
The two vowel sounds in a diphthong occur within the same syllable.
Examples:
Common examples in English include the sounds in "boy" (/??/), "out" (/a?/), and "my" 
Origin:
The word "diphthong" comes from the Greek word "diphthongs," meaning "having two sounds". 
Not Just Two Vowels:
It's important to note that not all combinations of two vowels are diphthongs. For example, "book" or "sheep" have two vowels but only one vowel sound. 
Variations:
The specific diphthongs and their pronunciation can vary slightly between different dialects of English. 
Diphthong Definition & Meaning - Merriam-Webster

Pronunciation Practice Difficult Vowel Sounds [DIPHTHONGS]
 really great English practice for you so what the heck is a diff thong. it's a complicated word that you will probably

2.8 Diphthongs – Essential of Linguistics
Form: Ballade

Premium Member Double the Pleasure

A Pleasurable Life

The things that bring you pleasure
May be experienced one at a time
Or they may be combined
Into one fantastic time frame
To double the pleasure
And double the sheer bliss

The decadence of eating
With the satisfaction of making love
A combination bursting with pleasure
Warm melted chocolate
To be taken in from pleasure spots
Savored while the tongue swirls the chocolate before taking it in
Giving and receiving pleasure
And tasting….richness
Whipped cream or a touch of honey
Foamed up or drizzled will heighten the pleasure
Just a bit…….not too much
Makes the sweet….sweeter
Feeding body AND soul
Double the Delight
Double the Pleasure

The love of music
Blended in with the love
Of love making
Exhileration carried on notes
Moving fast and slow
Swelling and receding

Pianissimo….to make her melt
Slow slow….
Andante...Andante
The way to go...

Then subito
A sudden change of tempo
The element of surprise
Frozando….no escape...no turning back…
Demands of surrender
Fronzando giving way to Rinforzando
Thundering….again and again
A swelling crescendo 
Burst of sound and rhythm and light
Reverberations reaching the inner soul 
Suspended in time
The symphony of two bodies
In the throes of surreal delight
Forte…forte…forte

An then…..
Then diminuendo….calmando
The labored breathing of love
Receding with the waves
Al niente
Al...Niente
Fading to nothing
Peace….after Pleasure

Double your pleasures
For tomorrow comes with no guarantees
That your eyes will feast
On the celestial stars
Making love to the night
To the symphony of the universe...

So while you can...
Double your Pleasure
Double your Delight
In a double dose of LIFE

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Life and Music

With time we were linked to one another

Governed in a world with thin lines and dynamic rules

Whose origin, center and end are broken yet standing sustained

Between the borders that divide earth surface and the source of our arrival are inscribed with words that read “uncertain”

The interpretation is present in the tears shed by the neo-born after experiencing the matrix




With contingency plans rising, security is tightened in preparation for the unexpected due to greed, nature’s gruesome calamities and the survival of the fittest

That occasionally consumes them spontaneously




Humans, slowly learning from their fallibility are un-eagerly appreciating

further delaying change’s metamorphosis and are indirectly allowing maturation of problems and the accumulation of stagnation




Man still struggling, trying to set sight on the cure and get a grip on the antidote of liberation

That once existed if only the history of man and earth can be linked together

The missing pieces are present in the idealism of music and continually leads those who listen

To the worlds’ origin where it all began

As others in misunderstanding, spread messages of hate through different means, and even through the music

That simply explains its crescendo as convergence-unity-synchrony-togetherness and diminuendo as divergence-separation indirectly telling us “united we stand divided we fall”



We are still here fighting to ride higher in crescendo to the musical peak and striving to merge our essences embedding it with that of the history of the stars…
Form:


Premium Member Harmony Awaits

Harmony Awaits
                   by Odin Roark

So dissonant the surroundings
A world in disarray
Like but a discordant accompaniment
The clamor of people’s and beasts alike
Searching for the melodious link

Senses arrest

So many sounds and images
Clashing for lack of attachment
For loss of accepting absonant’s journey
The unmelodious quest for harmony

Like the oils mixing on a palette
The de poisson of a dancer’s effort
The diminuendo of a kettle drum’s fade into silence
The verb’s finding of a perfect object

So goes the many ways of inventive solution

Yet

Most accept the raucous way out
Unwilling to step beyond the threshold of compliance
Away from “that’s just the way it is” cliché

Even though

No different than the perfect coordination
Of a baby’s practiced step forward
Reaching out knowing security awaits
A repeat of trust’s innocence
Re-appearing as the harkening back
When honesty knew only to be
Solutions exist 

How pitiable

So many steps result in distrust
When a step backward
Might reveal a fresh start
A new open-eyed acceptance of
The many roads unpaved

Remember

One can always start over
Knowing more discordant experience
Will undoubtedly confront
But one is not destined 
To make the same mistakes twice

Unless

There is a need
To create the lessons
Over 
And over…

Until they are learned

Harmony awaits
© Odin Roark  Create an image from this poem.

I Shall Not Come Home Again

(Reflections on A College Reunion)

Too much of loveliness enfolds  the  ground
I walked in youth, again in age,
and I shall soon lie down beneath it
as my spirit wafts above its art
in clear salute to mind's eternal joy.

Too much, I stand upon the edge of a regret
I do not wish to re-explore,
though I did not succomb.
Old flowers would sigh with me,
and speak of gravamen
that memory could not restore to light,
of crusted wounds I had ignored for years,
then strange in their emergence
would leave their ghostly shouting in my ears.

Yet I had smiled politely as I watched
the curious melange of student mirth
among the pretense of a mellowed age
which walked beside them
for that shred of while last weekend...
and that inside a host of smiles
that flashed around in vain denial
of a fiercer truth.

The time was beautiful
inside that frail transparent shell
of grace that comes with blessed rarity,
and I departed with a heart and mind
in dialogue upon dualities
that never should appear, but drum
upon the tympanum of my perspective
on a world I caused to change
two generations past, and now impart
a flavor in diminuendo, a seasoning
refreshed, more newly wise
and in finality, more spacious in its love.
                     ~

Illustrated History of Love

Diminuendo/Pentatoni
Swooh's of oohism
oohgasmic ooh's and
 the ah-ooh,
 ah;ooh's of ooh-ah's
-

There's ah rhythm to this
that's what I heard
a prefered way of doing it 
that's what I heard
guess it aint that simple
Love is only a word
the cat's a little finicky
and the directions blurred
the chore of simplicity
my need to satisfy
a great deal of professionalism
that's the reason why
I can't eat if I 
aint working gotta do my thing
got the birds ah chirping
let's hear them sing
There's ah rhythm to this
There's a kinda groove
get's my foot ah tapping
make's my body move

 From The Book;
" The Better Understanding"
written By: Ditty-DeWright
The Sound's of a Distorted man
 To deepen understanding of love and marriage, 
it's a story about a man needing help after finding that love and marriage were not
the prime directives of Church and the Church Community.
Someone gave him a wordless song to help respirt
 his then drained soul.
and Offfered him a ticket to a retreat were
they dealt with issues of people and persons:
The Challenging of a Bassoon
Form: Ballad

While Listening....

Carefully her inner eyes glistened
As the music proceeded with utmost preference
The swift glissandos had cured and decorated her existence bare
Naked, she looked all alone
Beautifully stunned in awe appreciation of the “musical dew of silence”
The food of renewal for the soul

And as the chords rose
She was in no doubt lost in-between intertwining rainbows
While the orchestra proceeded
Blindfolding her visions in missions of star lights,
She appeared color stunned

Now I know that she had understood the essence and relationship between music and colors

As the waves and ripples brought her a gift of soothing relief from every form of grief
What some never achieve
Her inner self gradually awoke calm yet in crescendo with the music

And as the music descended
It unfurled with tears of understanding humbly from all eyes in diminuendo

Further magnified by the resounding applause dispersed in thunderous appreciation

Sealing the finale with a wholehearted emotional and heartfelt release ….
Form:

Night At the Necropolis

Night,
Ageless and porous,
Sang screeches of fireflies of
Crescendo-diminuendo sparks.
What hour?
In the midst of the hustles, I lost my hoursight
Different, tonight, is my eyesight, seeing even
Through the darkest foliage of gentle, but sinister
Caress sway.
On the broken, cracked slabs, squatting, dark torsos!
Pensive, broken, sad, old and so good the
Work of Italian sculptors.
Further deep in searching glare, the hardened
Mats of hurried sepultures of returning
Soldiers, whose wellingtons have squelched in
Mudblood.
Wars and battles never post blandishments
On peace.
What hour now, brother?
It is so dark and mean, and my hourglass refuses a
Moon reflection.
But now the hours move fast on march of the
Headless feet in wellingtons.
'Left, right, left, right....'
Dolts hasten among fleeing marabouts.
Stench from ailing, balmed smog
Stills the whiffs of roasting deer, all in
One silence of close hour canticles...
Such phalanx, brother, coldens the head.

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