Long Overtones Poems
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The Segue Bought a sense of happiness midway through the
song
It is the songs signature
a segue that changes the actual mood through modulation
Written By:
A.Pseudonym. Of Whiskey scented Words LLC>
21 and Over Songs for People
a sense of betrayal
heartbreak over
a self-created image
I conjured it up myself
setting high standards
wanting to much
what I thought I was seeing
wasn't what it was
reallity
fantasies
how it's is
and the way you wish it
to be
Ain't nothing here worth
holding on to
trinkets and memories
sometimes ain't that good for you
my imperfection
or sometimes a overly need to please
leaves me heartbroken
as she's as mean as she wants to be
people like to keep you down
push you around
sometimes a man just don't wanna be alone
you do better ny yourself
needing someone else
makes you vulnerable
and you're still all alone
Hold up
if she Loves you
I mean really really Loves you
I'd shake your hand
call you the man
if he really loves you
if he really wants to be will you
I'd congratulate
and take you by the hand
bypassing the real work
relationships require
frustration, and resentment
can emerge
leaving you feeling foolish
wishing you wished you had
stresses cause resentment
you're often disappointed
frowning all the time
keeping yourself mad
at the same time
it aint to much to ask
wear something that say's were together
at aint much
showing up nbot to show out
but just fellowshiping
spending time together
sometimes that what
love is all about sometimes
just sometimes
heartfelt plea or longing
the urgency of self awarness
Wailing oboe
her task was to make
the meloncoly of this
instrument sound
happy and cheerful
breathing a need of
human stenght into
a situational conversation
lacking the blue overtones
to convey the
happiness that is to come lacking melocoly and frustration
flutes and drums
Segue
I take my pain to where ragers rage and writhe
in their self-absorbed gluttony on all-winter days
their tea cups are only for them
interspersed with silence and solitude
the streets are buildings without them
who are the signposts talking too?
I could have been one of them
I was one of them
and still am if hills facing the sun are cloud covered
and I don’t look out of the window to notice
then, in those un-costumed days, I am
but, and it has taken rotations of earth
backpacking through antonyms, through tropics
I have conquered tinnitus, now a comfort blanket
aiding sleep as a heart monitor line crossing a screen
I have conquered deep wells, now jews harps
jaw harps if you prefer, gewgaws, yes I have conquered
the cave of crawling space days
goblins are only a light switch and their rising finger away
but my rising finger plucks at overtones and distances
between neurons, between stars, between mees
its sound soothing, rubbing balm on a restive chest
the vibrations are fizzing and feeding me
I take my white noise and float away
sound, my therapy
Lifted from somewhere, reference for attribution lost:
"If there is any characteristic which separates poets
from writers of fiction, it is their particular fascination
with words in themselves. Poetry is normally written
more slowly, more painstakingly than fiction and the
finished work is intended for careful, repeated reading.
It is natural for the poet to place a special emphasis
on the overtones, the rhythmical effect, and the sound
of words."
I shuffle papers, reread
what I have written long ago --
impelled now by the urge to say
something, not necessarily new,
but perhaps of minimal importance
and imbued with some logical meaning --
structured and stated in an "artistic"
and pleasing style.
Those thoughts, though, must convey
some meaning, cannot be
(or should not be) empty babble.
And ponderous subjects
are of little interest.
So, what makes poetic
expression pleasing,
or illuminating?
It begins with clarity of thought
with precision of expression;
it depends upon
having something to say
that is worth saying.
You’ve lived through loss—
you’ve battled unuttered shame—
yet you hold onto Love like it is more
than a Delusion—it is Honor—precious
and rainbow-like—shimmery and
shadowy all in one.
You speak to her with Soul,
truths that seem simple—
truths that survive in warm hands,
in melodies,
in cadences,
in overtones,
in steady Voice.
You are creased at the edges
like a letter read too many times,
but your words—
your words are both
soft lanterns and sunlight—
lit from somewhere deeper than breath.
Some people are put here
to hold others when they cry,
to remind them that they are still real—
still seen, still envisioned, still worth
writhing, weaving weights of
Dream-drunk Love.
3.3.25
Just the two of us in this euphoric air
Except for the moon deep in the water
Shifting demurely to be on my side
Rising up resolutely to hold my hand.
You hold me closer, your hand in mine
Reaching for a kiss to claim your prize
Taking me to summit of eternal love
Residing in paradise since birth of time.
There is no care for we sail together
As skies rejoice with cosmic overtones
While gentle winds blow heavenly kiss
Urging milky-way to be part of our bliss.
A celebration grips the banks of ocean
Bouncing water-tunes of lifted emotions
As ocean commands the tides of passion
To deliver us gently to our destination.
A lone flower blooms in your garden
As nocturnal moth senses fiery encounter
When nectar exhales its scented whiffs
Signaling readiness of ardent cherish.
February 8, 2018
HM: Brian's Choice F Contest
Glorious hues arise from halo of morning sky
As dreamy eyes take me on a wondrous ride
Where cottony clouds scatter layers of purple
Adorning with shades of heliotrope flowers.
On my ride I visualize a celestial place on earth
Hearing fairy tales from fabled views unfolding,
And I ask my yawning bushes to vacate at once
So I can plant my lilac garden in sunrise colors.
Mesmerized by purple cues in orchid motifs
My day traversed gaily in enchanting overtones,
When clouds spewing gray darkened my show
Blocking twilight from glistening reddish glow.
Having lost sunrise, I hang on to sinking sunset
Assured by its scenic prowess I build my place
Near the lone lamp on street that is yet to be lit
Yearning for vistas of my daydream to repeat.
My place now occupies best of both worlds
Rising with mornings and setting with evenings,
Mimicking splendid hues of evocative contexts
Adoring fervent daybreaks and dreamy sunsets.
February 15, 2018
First Place:Sunrise and sunset contest by Silent One
Also placed first in ultimate 2018 contest by Brian Strand
Lost World
Wayward ships lost in stormy seas
Oceans of emptiness begging please
Ripples of tides in various degrees
Liquid cooled blue Icelandic freeze
Desperate land watered down trees
Capsized cruise on a beach unknown
Reality sets in now left all alone
Unseen distances of sand and stone
Island so empty with green overtones
Skeleton ship full of broken bones
Embracing life a castaways new home
Written for contest: World Cruise (Acrostic) 10/04/17
WON 3rd PLACE IN CONTEST RESULTS
see my hand it has a gewgaw in
and to my lips I kiss the day
with her sounds I repeat back
in overtones and harmonics
of a heart whose breath is wide
horizonal, for scope, there is scope
and much to fill with a beauty
of song and call and secretness
yet do I not keep the outside out
these harp filled moments
allow my alone to distant inwards
solitary in an openness of voyage
among this voice of many voices
for it is here in this everywhere
that soothes, that steals, that builds
and my direction honed, renewed
oh these moments pass too quickly
once I’m out of the eternity
but the whet and drive has thirst
see my hand it has a gewgaw in
and to my lips I kiss the day
PSYCHEDELIC SUNSHINE
psychedelic sunshine,
with cephalopod rays,
stretches upward
to the blue-eyed heavens.
commander of sea and skies -
the waistline of the bittersweet sun -
under the tendril waves.
sweet suckers stamp stars,
visible in twilight hours,
kissed and sent to bed until then.
effervescent overtones,
bubble and foam,
with toy ships that sail
with mighty magnitude,
limited by the mercy of the sea.
a savage, boiling beast.
tis crossed precariously.
cephalopod rays, can plunge
suddenly, into the ocean depths.
clouds scurry to lambaste
the sailors, without warning.
enjoy the euphoric waters,
but don’t be fooled
by their siren daughters.
9/15/2017
Mid-September Premier contest
I inhale the scent,
slightly sweet and smokey
pungent with the overtones
of alcohol to burn.
The first taste rolls
along the tongue,
Rich and Rare Reserve,
and I'm tasting you.
Smokey, smooth,
acrid overtones,
just a touch of bitterness
enough to recall: highs
are only as tall as their lows.
The amber floating in the glass
reflects that golden brown
flecks of your eyes,
nose to nose. Swimming
in your depths.
I close lid and lash to shut out
the HD video stream,
only to smell leather
and Armani blended
with a hint of muskiness,
and a shiver attacks
my spine. You.
Slowly, I open my eyes
taking one more sip,
Ensnared by a smile
across my table.
Eyes darker, warmer
Crown Royal Black
floods, heating my
cheeks and breast.
Yes, it seems I adore
my bourbon from Canada,
my men from Texas,
and my memories
rich and rare,
and bittersweet.