Your green-tinted rallentando,
beating on lovers’ bongo
is out of sync like a noisome
nail on a chalkboard. Calm down,
my love belongs to you precious
music maker; my heart’s beat.
88 Keys
Bass,middle, treble range.
Piano, favorite instrument.
Unique sound.
Array of strings abound.
Dust settles.
Million songs created.
88 keys.
Each sound is beautifully made.
Peddle travels volume.
A music maker.
230 strings.
Moon light, playing
Settle and soothing.
Heart resting.
Tears falling.
Songs moving.
Dressed in black.
Sounds from a piano are magical.
Pinches country song
so is Zirmerman Dylan
deepning folk urban
There's a sound of lightening;
A raging storm;
A pit vast in heat a fiery berm;
Whatever happen to the music maker;
The leader of the angelic choir;
Now near the muck and mire;
Who knows the lost one;
And what will become of him;
Just where is the lost one
And where is he hiding
Whom are the lost one
And where shall he go
Where is the lost one I want to know;
How can the lost one lead me somewhere;
Down to the fiery pits of a razing hell
Oh! well
The lost one can be found;
In the burning, burning, burning
pits of" Hell"
10/5/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Nimblest stick skims hit drum skin
Bring submittance to my ears afore deafened
Transmitted rhythm rips something
Transcribes fusion to percussionless essence
Slight vibration of battered recipient
Resonates hot with beat's cogent command
Arcaic lyrics kept frosted ambivalent
Snare wires wrap me tight with dire demand
Equipped persistent musician tender
Taps jazz ostinato out until my innards revolt
Sends suddenly a heart buzz centred
Haphazard feeds my ardent uncovered pulse
Simultaneous cymbal clash climactic
Existing utterly in thrum ghost note's vacance
Subdivision given in drummer's frantic
Twirled gut spasms driven by his incessance
17th October 2020
- Emperor Ultimate Music Maker, Ace -
I want to sing your name forever
Jampa further than Paris
green enters the houses
Otherwise Miami needs
Jampa needs not say
love me, mi ami
PS Miami is similar to me ame , mi ami (love me) in portuguese,
it has the same sound... Paris is known as green city, Jampa
is further than green,,, JAMPA is the lovely name od JOÂO PESSOA
capital of the state of Paraiba Brasil.
https://youtu.be/Ra8IbQ7-vcc
Sivuca album, dead music maker born on the state pf Paraiba
in a towm called Itabaiana close to my town João Pessoa...
he lived in the USA played with Toots Tilerman, Paul Simon and so on...
Gere a complete album with his songs in portuguese.
it up up high
going to the sky
lights glowing
paper flowing
non stop
at the ball drop
you hear pop pop
crowds with corlorfull
wear watch astare
at the music maker
and
NEW YEARS EVA FLYING
PAPER
I really love all you who believe
Doesn’t matter who you are, what you are
Music comes from the music maker
Believers have a special gift,
They can hear the sound
I have asked to believe, maybe
I will hear your song
But with sound comes light
For what is one without the other?
And two eyes with which to see the light
The Lord took spittle and clay,
Put it on the blind man’s eyes
And simply said “believe and you can see”
We can see you Lord, we can hear you
That’s why I really love all you who believe
the music wind
every breath of note
Beethoven Heaven
Some melodies to hold
Imagine the Composer
Making his songs like Wine
Stir it up on the wash board with sugar
The Sweetest ingredient is tasted by the lips
Those Melodic lips that open up to rapture
Sounds by the Man too few that one might capture
Breezes of the Air come to shout the Piece throughout Mortal Air
Who knows?
He or she might be one of us
(either in pigtails or wearing wire-trimmed glasses)
I would like to think that it might be THE MUSIC MAKER from THEM,themselves
I am a poet!
My pencil whistles my tunes,
And the ones who listen,
Are the ones who learn.
Nobody can tell me,
“That is a stupid song!”
I take the notes of this world,
The eighth,
The quarter,
The half,
And the whole.
I record them,
And play each harmony over,
As the background music,
In everyone’s life.
I am a conductor!
The master of the bands,
Telling all pianos,
To tune their keys.
As the chorus girls sing,
And the choir boys blow,
I wave my wand,
And direct the flow,
A swing,
A march,
A waltz,
And a tango.
These beats I compose,
By drumming the paper,
So the operas, the ballads,
And anthems are set free.
I am a poet,
The music maker of the world!
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