Long In concert Poems
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A sweeping change covers the landscape
Autumn winds willfully weave tenebrous tunes
through trees trying to hold fast to their leaves.
Elusive, the sorrowful songs it plays in concert
to branches bravely bending and swaying.
Ghostly aspen bid goodbye to gowned limbs,
groaning with guttural grievance ~
I hear their caterwauling wails
always aware of the crime Nature calls "natural"
I watch as they're stolen, for I am the Eyes of Time
neither dusk nor dawn can delude me,
for I see the tragedy of thievery.
It's the same story when love is lost,
tossed on wafts of wind, aloft ~ falling apart.
Heartbroken, I've felt the woeful withering
of a leaf detached and tumbling down.
Losing love is a morose method of dying.
As trees cry a fond foliage of farewell,
I have shed torrents of tears
that fell from my erring eyes.
I regret words my tongue left unspoken
as the leaf of life sleeps upon my lips,
in a dank, dormant place life can dwell.
Oh, fall, let this lore of love be the last
I've bloomed as cunning Cupid nocked arrows
and suffered blows from Nature's throes.
I've felt the depth and breadth of death
as if cast to wayward winds like leaves
whose swan song left them alone ~ forlorn
lying on the ground as love's debris.
I've heard the siren's songs on a blithe breeze
that brought me to bended knees
and gave up dreams that remain unfulfilled.
No longer can I savor starlight
for when the soul ~ stars dreams and die ~
I become a leaf without wings to fly
with no desire to linger again,
in the grim grasp of grief.
She played her mysterious saxophone
as if we could be together alone
in concert halls
and Republican
and Green Democratic balls,
behind
and in front of
magisterial boundary walls.
She brought in a few million dollars
from quiet
more sedate
enraptured listening fans
Before her critics
complained She takes no risks,
no dissonance dare pass her wet vibrating reed.
Hopelessly romantic,
Without a hint of unpredictability.
Too many sustained wooden notes!
She is to saxophone performance
as communion
and compassionate communication
are to tiresomely pedantic religious orthodoxy,
behind
and in front of
multiculturing experiential walls.
About half a billion well-voiced dollars later,
She thought it time to respond
from a patriarchal position of musing strength.
"I invite those who don't like my ecofeminist natural music
to not listen with such obviously desperate disappointment.
Instead
make your own muse
on your own performing saxophone
or flute,
Your own drum of choice.
Become wildly successful
with your own well-tooled, but unweaponed, message.
Make tons of fan co-invested money."
"And, when you do,
I am sure I will have a chance to listen mindfully with you.
And, I hope I will become greatly amazed
with spatial wonder
and timeless awe."
"I will be so happy
to raptly listen
and write your superlative review,
to become your greatest co-empathic fan."
"Sadly,
until that great gettin-up morning,
I will continue playing my best music alone,
and hope you will now know
my muse and I best hope
to become your John the Baptist,
in faith waiting for your richer Messiah tunes
of even greater
wealthier
healthier rapture."
when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws
pistol whipped and hashed
tagged traitors who roared America
went bankrupt at sold at fire sale price slashed
when Donald Trump ran the country
into the ground evidenced by Molotov Cocktails residue
in concert with the sulfuric odor of hand grenades trashed
like some sorority or fraternity house
left the sanctified righteous West Wing
with powder puffs sans canisters
of pepper spray, whereby
most docile, humble, and liberal took a page
from playbook of Pandora, and took an aimless swing
at the root cause of melee by hurling objet’s d’art
at the pompous trump ping
Septuagenarian, whose platoons of goons
rent asunder peoples against their king
the donnybrook heathen, whose remarks
against libertarian rubric that made America great
wantonly soup peer egg go whist tickly
reviving prejudices declared dead
from yesteryear and his attempt to bring
back the glory days, when Whistler Blowers
getting water boarded and aching
deigning to implement dictatorship
of the Proletariat as a capital idée fix
weaving together, the salient strengths
viz founding fathers credo gave licks
to King George, and now in an ironic
twist and shout of fate through eclectic mix
basket of deplorables further shamed
by being routed by the New York Nicks
sewed jaws, heads of state, and dignitaries
with limping bodies spent like derricks
Oil used up and no place to go except
to keep Alice in Chains and
Alice Cooper Company with toys in the attics.
When I think about the definition of beauty
When I think about beauty that's true
All thoughts lead me down the same boulevard
And that boulevard then leads me to you
Place a kiss on your cheek, brush your lips with my own
Whisper [your name here] at the moment they touch
Breathing in synchrony, composing a symphony
In concert, we tune by the touch
A bow on the strings of a viol
A pluck on the strings of guitars
Savor the sweet sounds of rapture
Ascend to the most distant stars
Floating in weightless existence
The earth a good distance away
I'll come back when this dream is over
Although I wouldn't if I had my say
A scant twenty years
grieved a century or more
Poetically perfect
in spirit and lore
A man and his horse
alone on the range
The cattle his instrument
and music to play
Civil War veterans and blacks
from the South
Through dust and dark clouds
even blizzards they mount
Together they battled
in concert they fought
Each unto himself
through prairies uncrossed
The hardship and death
to him worth the price
Pushing always ahead
a stranger to fright
The only thing branded
to be left at the end
Was the legend he gave us
— and the message it sends
(Cowboy Poetry Gathering: Elko Nevada, February, 2017)
Maestro – 4-23-24
Dedicated to Dr. Stanley Chapple. Co-founder of Tanglewood. Conductor of the London Philharmonic. Head of the Music School University of Washington. Conductor of the University of Washington Symphony Orchestra. Beloved Professor and so much more!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Maestro
Music flowed from his baton
Like water from his English wellspring,
Taming trills in the perfume of restless scherzos
Coaxing shy adagios into lyrical splendor
Charming sinuous rondos into sinuous symphonies
Coaxing Thalia from cobwebs into tarantellas
In tangled woods and brick paths lined with cherry trees.
Bewitching a young baton to rise
Like a cobra hypnotized in west side stories
In concert with souls of Glorianna and Appalachia’s spring
And arabesques of rodeos to fanfares voces
Riding on concertos beckoning for east to oceans west
To streets glistening in an hourly carillon cadence,
Rain showers so like the Old City’s rhythms,
He found sheltered rests beneath gothic eaves
Soaring with scores of venomous revenge,
And octaves in librettos of a butterfly’s death,
To crescendo young symphonic dreams and emeritus chords
Maestro, melodic mentor, gift and inspiration
Friend of Lenny, Ben and Aaron.
"You have some questions about Corporations
working privately with government to spy on
Americans?
Honest Reporter:"Is the government involved with Corporations public and private and acting in concert as a Corporation
nexus, liaison, hub, headquarters?"
Official:
"Could you fix her microphone, it seems to be broken. We cannot hear her. In the meantime, next."
What about evidence of a weaponizes doj and a two tuer justice system?"
Official:
"I can assure you that we are not doing what we were caught doing.
I can tell you that if 702 surveillance measure is not extended you will all die from terrorism!
We have a division that will oversee it's lawful use,
by our own people.
Yes, right wing extremists are our number one priority,
they are a cult, their views are extreme and hateful.
Let's ask some different questions,
if you are not respectful you will be removed and your Press Pass, revoked.!"
Past:
Reporter:
Epstein?
Official:
"Ok ok fine, we will charge Epstein you cry babies."
(After hush proceedings and guilt they
could no longer hide:)
"Of course he is dead.
What, do you think we take care of our own,
I mean their own or you know what I mean.
Next question...
"Epstein, again? Flight logs?
No, we do not know who he trafficked to."
Reporter: "So he is innocent?
He trafficked to no one?"
Official:
"No more questions on Epstein,
the American People need to know about how great Bidenomics is.
Is she vaccinated? Why are you not wearing a mask.
There is an open box of masks
at the entrance that you can pick through
and choose any your heart desires."
Reporter:
"How come YOU are not wearing a mask?"
Official:
"I have to speak to you wonderful people."
Reporter:
"Were you given a saline shot instead
of the Pfizer vaccine?
Official: I want her fired and followed by the Marshals "Service"."
I strolled onto a forest glade
to hear a bird in concert serenade,
but when I heard him speak,
this issued from his beak,
"I'm not the bird you seek.
Some birds with pretty voices sing,
while those of broken heart and broken wing
have no worm on which to snack.
Some birds wear colors, bright,
and look so beautiful in flight,
while the hapless hit a wall and..."smack!".
But, I'm no such bird. This inky crow
(while there are birds that don't know which way to go,
in this world of birdy woe)
won't sing like Perry Co-MO,
or flaunt the colors of the rainbow.
I am the bird in black."
What if eyes could scan the globe?
core of earth, us shifting forward with
Legacies for us to cherish and explore
like coins, in fountain waters of clarity-
The bold, the brave helping each to weigh in
as though sky would fall with weight of sin,
The enemy of man as man himself
befriending the Maker of all things made well.
What if eyes could scan the globe
the core of our heart, us of one accord,
Ladies leading nations: right with brotherhood of man,
equality of spirits rising from ruins to see the clearing,
Creation made new in concert with the Master
class beginning anew, from
A to Z of minds over matter,
Would we study war no more?
My thoughts of you are the ones you gave.
The ones I cherish...
The ones I save.
Though we are separated by time and distant space
With you there is quiet...
With you there is always a place.
In His infinite wisdom the Lord has given me
A kindred spirit...
To have shared in life some company.
The times we have talked or played or worked in concert
Have forever been impressed...
By your love upon my heart.
Whenever I make my inevitable blunders
I often expect to hear...
Your uproarious laughter, so loud and thunderous.
You live with me like the shimmer of a glowing star
Though distant and gone...
We ever remain~~Friends Afar.