Taught Iago to trance,
the pungent smell made me balance the stance,
raided the 'pulse' and sought no other deviant,
I was looted in the same way I soared above all the monumentleness,
and got into it ahead.
They told us that we 'like' the hold on the today's whole whole because of the ways that the daze distracts in haze, on lightness and bled out fazed rocketry-
totality toward tanking is the remaking so I can start happily planking the tanned plinked' out shaking,
and be my own staking-
he'd let me know in an outside laking that the entanglements are not withstood otherwise so in our own eye's we tie and tie, and say goodbye doll, die die!
Your own forgiveness is in a way it's own stay yet the hearing does not go over that one flip and dive to dig like it's all sits in...
Your keep and your bold are not getting as old as the try in our sky and demand of the night to spy...
I'd take anyone on in a jimmin' janky dotton berry heelie feelie wheelie straight down the center of common carry.
Categories:
plinked, color, confidence, creation, cry,
Form: Free verse
The tone of the piano crying,
the strum of the guitars
abrupt interruption,
extending an invitation
for the base's deep murmur
to accompany them in their misery,
drums beat to the drop of tears.
the violin screams,
agonizing sounds evolve,
involvement of the flute, and trombone,
giving clarity to orchestral sound
emanating from the stage.
Music in all it's glory, talks to us ,
with such meaning
whaling in unison to create,....
The Master.
The Master talks, our body senses are aroused
minds go into relief mode
Tearing everyday tension and stress away
lifting us higher to the power.
Filling our needs and wants.
Free of the empowering ridicules
of life and it's co-existers
As the Masters voice in musical instruments
finalize to a strum,... beat, .... tone.
The Masters message ends.
The piano cries no more,
in exhilaration of life once again.
It's last tear drop plinked.
Glen Harris
© March 2011
Categories:
plinked, musiclife,
Form: Light Verse