Amy Lee's long, dark hair was worn like velvet shadow. She wore a dress of lantern grey, blue and green as she approached the lantern and the microphone panel.
She inhaled and breathed like fire of all the refreshed repression she had been administered. Halloween? Heh. Life!
Her thoughts were of that nature that her idols of darkness would one day rape her belly naked of its jubilant features of virgin antiques. And with that, does she linger? No, she trembles a bellowing roaring cry of "My Heart is Broken" and "Wake Me Up Inside", for she was now Evanescence, something more than a god....! A goddess of light, imagining.
Can this be a whisper? Can this be a whisper in the depths of Hades, neath her befriended Afterlife?
No. It is a warning; a message. Thou shall not be caught...DEAD...without...percussions.
Thou shall NOT be my witness, my maker, my sleeper, my undeserved bringer to me to Life.
This Hades Pluto, tempting her in her life, her wake, and in her dreams.
Bring ME to Life, Your Reaper, Charon--Fate--
For WE are VIR-GUNS, too!
drum beat
of raindrops
on the rooftop
its rhytmic percussions
echo
Late November,
and lonely resonance of harmattan
salutes this solitude.
A weaverbird's contralto, in one
gale-sweep, lays bare the lower balustrade
of a maisonette,
and the romance of the last seasons
shoots the long throat of the clarinet...
O'classicals, on wings
ye come;
leaf cusps and petal ears —
classicals, swearing oaths of
mellifluous assembly...
Calm rhythms hasten to the
ears of Beethoven —
summon him for a serenade,
lest the dark shelter of a
decrepit day strips this solitude.
Anodyne hisses among
this hidden threshold,
curing and healing the weakness of
Clepoatra's hair, dampened with
the venom of haters of vanity.
Classicals,
rid us now of this grief of mundane
dances...
Even in death, Stravinsky hails solitude
on notes of the keys.
From the clarinet,
the bimetallism of barter —
the platitude of life and death
(symbiosis of percussions)
epitaph to the aftermath of
inveterate tradition —
now and forever...
And the clarinet looms.
"seen" is through notation
more apparent to our senses
more palpable through
physical sensations.
cog rattle the percussions instrument
a modern take on sound
what inspires might to
create
the invention of
make music visible
visually represent music
attempt to visualize sound waves
in the village of Blatten, was the Birch Glacier
the debris of the crumbled Birch caused the
Lornez to flood
a prolonged period of an elevated mood
they seemed unmoved even through the differences
seasonal effective disorder
I heard one say it was more a
amusia, musical anhedonia
They refused to allow them
to narrate there condition
nds of music shall please hte senses
where happiness can allow the moods
can mend the minds where folk
"can again construct on Gods land"
spoke a fella near the situation
structure and stabilty
the notes shall make sounds
visible sounds
"what a sight to see"
Globi and Hanswurst in Swisserland
Inverse Kinematics
swaying to the sounds of music
Composed, he walks towards the podium.
At first to applause, until a hush forms.
His heart beats like a water pump,
sweat drips - eyes fixed at his ensemble.
Audience anticipates,
as he stands at the nexus of musical creations.
With a brief glance - nods and closes his eyes,
baton in hand and a flick of wrist,
an oboe penetrates the silence,
violins trill and bass begin to roar.
His empathy connects with each note,
as his wand moves to the tempo,
conjuring symphonic magic,
softly then dramatically,
as emotions ebb and flow,
like waves weaving solo tones.
Spectators lost in imagination.
Gradually the melody flows faster,
as trumpets and trombones blow.
He feels a sharp pain in his chest,
as his pores drip like little rivers on his lips,
but he still guides the harmonic mood
with precision and clarity.
As the horns blare and percussions echo,
he loses grip of his baton - falls onto his knees,
clutching his breast - the music stops,
pianist plays her last key - audience gasp
he falls to the ground - curtains close.
A distant mumble, a muffled drum roll.
Seconds on, come the serious decibels.
Heavy rumbling with sharp percussions.
Squeal of the steel; wheel scraping on the rail.
Metal clatter loudens then dies to silence.
Spent fares alight and new fares climb aboard.
Ting ting. The cream and green is off again,
Above it, brief flashes of lightning blue
As straying volts are lost to salty air.
Soon far off the rumbling fading away.
Interst he found it hard to stay
interested, probably due to his
lack of relating to the subject matter.
Things I had never seen
words that didn't relate to the subject matter
" love what do it look like
and what does it want me to see"
" concern for all people
who has such concern for me"
What is love that you wish that of me
what is the conflict when i ask if
you love me?
than in retrospect one must ask one's self
Love detail's what: especially when
you have someone else.
Than that love is unseen but felt
it involves things in return?
No the voice inside of me say's
Love often involves no return.
I love you Groovey Sounding Orchestra Song
that makes people jump from there seats
I love you Orchestra grooving song
That makes people dance to the beat
your Percussions and strings
when they "Whoomp" with the horns
Description of the strings
they are created and formed
groovin'- groovin' yeah
that's the one!
I love you something song
those lyrics are right on!
She spoke of her love for him
to say how she wished him
to be her husband "Nocturne"
the romantic word.
Spoke sweetly against his lips
her kisses made
him see those days ahead
a love affair
to speak of through
the ages.
When the music
shilvered the timbers
and the percussions
moved to the rhythmn
the need of harmony
entasngles them to embrace
as kisses
sweetened
their lips.
the need to love.
a sweet romantic
togetherness.
I can still feel the weight of the heat colliding with my face as I first stepped off the plane,
And how beads of sweat would tickle my neck the same as when it rained,
How the harsh odor of the atmosphere would nauseate my nose,
And the courage of a people despite our impose,
I hear the splashing of the Tigris as I kneel to rinse my hands,
And how it felt to think that nothing’s promised, even on promised lands,
From wailing sirens and the buzz of the Phalanx at night,
To the popping of shots and the whooshing of helos in flight,
From the honking of horns and roads without lanes,
To swishing through traffic and the jingling of chains,
I hear the whispers of prayer being broadcast through the air,
And the murmurs of locals and their unwelcomed stares,
To the thuds of percussions from bombs in my chest,
Detonated afar but still rattled my vest,
But of all that I remember, I’m fully aware,
That I've left a piece of me there.
Heed close, Heed well,
As I on a poem dwell,
It ends not here,
But in the gateways of Hell
In sound mind I evade,
The inevitable work through man's spade,
Percussions and thunders our state invade,
And roar like a lion on a raid.
What to you is forbidden,
To others must be forgiven,
That must be forgotten,
Which dawns like a memory of poor decision.
Legends are not made in a day,
They refuse to believe in mere pray,
Or in fire treated lacked allay,
I’m the only lion living without a prey.
The fortress is not without,
To find it is neither a sin,
Flood your heart unlike drought,
What you want just lies within.
Sounds of screams
Rains of bullets,
Beat explosive percussions
For the demon of war.
Heads of men
At the hem of her skirt,
Sweep floors of blood
On the shambles of earth.
Peace’s wings clipped
And clutched to her hands
Has her eyes dancing
As fast as her feet.
Why must one stall her?
Peace never shall be free
Until we kill the demon
Lurking within us each.
My silence is as loud as the Djembe
Calling on people to gather together in peace
My silence is as loud as the African drum
A skilled drummer is one who can make the Djembe talk
In silence I cry out but my voice reaches no one
Though skilled this drummer can’t make the Djembe cry
No matter how hard he beats the drum he can’t make the Djembe cry
And my voice is cracking with a painful cry
In silence I cry out but no one hears my cry
My pulses are percussions, I feel the vibrations of their sound waves
I play them harder hoping these vibrations would cause an earth quake
Though the earth shakes no one questions the reason why
In my silence I move the world but no one seems to notice
My silence is as loud as the African drum
Today is the day
To get things done
Come on girl
I know you have it in you
Roll your sleeves up
There's dishes to be washed
And laundry to be spun
There's checks to be written
And groceries to be picked up
Your hairs all matted
And oh my god!
You look like an episode
of the walking dead
Sew back on your skin
And walk straight
for god's sake
And put on some makeup
You can't look a fright
When your fighting
For your right
To move on and heal
Come on girl
I know you have it in you
Go through your closet
Pick out your favorite outfit
And a matching pair of high heels
Girls work best
When they feel their sexiest
Come on girl
I know you have it in you
Slip into some bubbles
And get all washed up
While singing your
freeing songs
adding drums and percussions
Come on girl
I know you have it in you
Roll your sleeves up
And let's get to
this work of
getting things done
When you struck me,i vibrated like a kettle drum
then as smaller percussions and repercussions
echoing from all the glassy surfaces
creating a balletic geometry of sound tracks
in space and time.
When you knocked me down,
I fell against her and her and her;
we were like a row of skittles
and we all went down with the lifeboat;
the infinite chain of being is.
When you hit me,the Fall spread across the world
Now there is no Vertical
All is undivine and graceless.
By the Rod it's ruled
When you left me,I left myself,the world,the rocks,dry land
I weighed down sank to the ocean bed
with coral eyes
gazing.
When you struck my mind
I became an instrument of a foreign power
Singing a song I didn't kmow.
When the glass was smashed
the splinters flew into all our hearts.
You didn't know what we couldn't see.
I lay on barren ground and gave birth
To my own Creator in the desert.
He was not dead at all.
But you killed him.
TEMPTATION'S TOUCH
-----------------------------
His palm soothes the ridges
Furrowed in her starlight skin
Her masseur, he replenishes
Each and every aching extremity
The chiming bells of his strokes
Ring again and again
Summoning her to his lair
Collaged in deep affinity
Her rock solid attraction
Draws her savory soul
Into a lustrous world
She's never seen nor known
A vibrant virgin caressed
Then clasped by her first
Drowns her soul in his lake
To diffuse her thirst
Heaven's hallowed sheet
At last drops her drapes
Unveiling her cast concealed
Behind the stage
Lines from her script
Long lavished in capes
Sifts and locks his eyes
Embellished by each page
Chastity's cloud exiles
Then expurgates her existence
Extracted by he who
Extricated her innocence
Alive and awake, she shows
Herself just the same
Fluorescent radiant flower
Who bears a different name
Restlessly she reclines
Atop her apple green ground
While her heart percussions
Her wedded lover's sound
Each tantalizing twine
Designs his touch so sweet
Tightly tying the tongue
Of the tasting rose
Flooded in fervent favor
From Gehenna's heat
Deteriorating the stem
Decimating her pose
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