Long Tympani Poems

FIRST MOVEMENT (Minor Key)

Times such as these test body soul and mind
So should our thoughts be pain and dark confined
Or loosed to concentrate on brighter things
Like furry puppies, flowers and girls on swings

In this bright...

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...inspired by 'Portrait Of A Lady' by T.S. Eliot


On winter days the view outside is nebulous at best,
within, the furniture is as it always was, and I am waiting,
waiting for a glimpse of you to...

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...inspired by 'Portrait Of A Lady' by T.S. Eliot


On winter days the view outside is nebulous at best,
within, the furniture is as it always was, and I am waiting,
waiting for a glimpse of you to...

Read More

...inspired by 'Portrait Of A Lady' by T.S. Eliot


On winter days the view outside is nebulous at best,
within, the furniture is as it always was, and I am waiting,
waiting for a glimpse of you to...

Read More

pitch black ...
like ink ... or drowning in oil
only she could breathe
barely ...
heart thrumming in her ears like tympani
it was all she could hear
thankfully ...
she had awakened from dreaming
a good dream, too
(though it was now...

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On winter days the view outside is nebulous at best,
within, the furniture is as it alway was, and I am waiting,
waiting for a glimpse of you to silence my equivocating.
Somber is my attitude, the light...

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On winter days the view outside is nebulous at best,
within, the furniture is as it alway was, and I am waiting,
waiting for a glimpse of you to silence my equivocating.
Somber is my attitude, the light...

Read More

Enchanted was I with a cloying scent...
whiffs of wild magnolia
mingled with the woodsy tang
of her lemon verbena perfuming the air
Like Samson's strength, the sun's threads of gold
were clipped by silver shears 
of an ascending pearlescent...

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Enchanted was I with a cloying scent...
whiffs of wild magnolia
mingled with the woodsy tang
of lemon verbena perfuming the air
Like Samson's strength, the sun's threads of gold
were clipped by silver shears 
of an ascending pearlescent moon
...

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All music is relational
Even if the instrument itself is unconscious: 
Like tree leaves in a breeze
Telegraph their praise in God's presence,
Dot and dash an earthy hymn;
Like an earthquake whose rumblings
Remind you that in geological time
All...

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I slip in unobtrusively 
and take a seat in back,
the orchestra is tuning up, 
I open up my pack
and take a rolled up magazine 
with which to play along,
conducting is a passion
I have had since...

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I slip in unobtrusively 
and take a seat in back,
the orchestra is tuning up, 
I open up my pack
and take a rolled up magazine 
with which to play along,
conducting is a passion
I have had since...

Read More

I slip in unobtrusively 
and take a seat in back, 
the orchestra is tuning up, 
I open up my pack 
and take a rolled up magazine 
with which to play along, 
conducting is a passion...

Read More

I slip in unobtrusively 
and take a seat in back,
the orchestra is tuning up, 
I open up my pack
and take a rolled up magazine 
with which to play along,
conducting is a passion
I have had since...

Read More

There are concerts in the sky
playing cosmically on high—

be they grouping in formation 
or harmonious creation,

fashioned synesthetically,
astro-energetically,

with conclusion or collusion,
stellar scenes in grand profusion,

gravitationally steady, 
starry outbursts brilliant, heady,

like orchestral symphony
from the brass and tympani,

viols,...

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Ask Nothing of this World

What is this?
What sleek retribution is held within the
Slightest movement on the soil?
What slim issues stance is almost broken
In cadence and cascade?
Words shall leave the senses blind,
Enough, time will find a...

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Enticing beat,
ancient accolades, achieving ancestry
 backbeat barrage, buoyant beats
crescendo chorus  calculations
 dulled dirges, double drumming durations
environmental echoed egos
 faint, fading fervent falsettos;
Ghost-Note grooves
 hi-hat hoop heads hued
intended isolation idio-synchrony
 jembe jaunt journeyings
kidi kick knockings
...

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~ This poem is written in the 8686 syllable count style of one of my favorite Emily Dickenson poems, 'I Felt a Funeral in My Brain.'


'pon roiling sea a fierce storm brewed
  waves crashed...

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THE NUTCKRACKER

Did you see it
Hear it?
Balanchine’s choreography
Tschaikowsky’s music
The New York City Ballet

Speak of dancing?
Speak of music?
Neither can describe art
It must be inwardly felt – 
     color and music extrasensory

Mathematics – Geometry...

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If I was the rain
I'd be wary of
...friends like me;
one of those
"fair weather" friends
who curse my 
unexpected arrival
on inopportune days
-but then cajoled and
praised when needed.

If I was the rain
would it be wrong for me
to feel...

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