Where have all the bison gone
shot by Sharps shooters nearly every one
where have all the shooters gone
done away by Indians more than some
the red man revered the buffalo
of Manitou's abundance living proof
to the white who sent them
to the not-so-happy-hunting grounds
a gold mine on the hoof
the paleface ways in olden days long gone
were somewhat less than perfect
and should be frowned upon
to soldiers bison were target practice
indigenous people to quell
while hunters killed for the hides
by 1884 the Black Hills buffalo death knell
lies were spoken treaties broken
but revenge was none too soon at hand
Sioux Cheyenne Arapaho attacked
and briefly turned the tide
on what was their rightful land
beside the Little Bighorn
one frightful day at Custer's last stand
Your vanity is insanity.
And it is a painful sight to see.
Whilst looking through the looking glass.
How did your life become so crass?
Why did we all become so vain?
Reflections in a windowpane.
Remember when that no one cared?
Now everybody seems so scared.
With thoughts that hurt the way we feel.
Like peeling back an orange peel.
And as the surgeon sharps his knife.
Now these procedures are so rife.
Why do you want to look the same?
Lip fillers are in part to blame.
Conform to look a certain way.
Procedures that are so risqué.
Whilst looking for the right procedure.
Whilst scrolling through your social media.
Not comfortable in our own skin.
Just looking like a mannequin.
Our beauty now it runs skin deep.
Procedures done, yes, on the cheap.
Procedures done more harm than good.
We are beautiful, not made of wood.
Obsessed about the way we look.
When really no one gives a ****.
Our beauty, yes, it runs skin deep.
And while we get our beauty sleep.
We'll dream about there was a time.
This beauties yours and so not mine.
Can you hear the music of the night
Softly it plays its melody,
Whistling a tune so soft and sweet
It is a cure from your remedy.
Frogs and toads lend their throat
To the wind that rushes through the trees,
Softly playing its majors and sharps
Upon leaves, branches and the seas.
Somewhere in the distant wild
A bird chirps in, its harmony
Then foxes paws smartly add
A clawing to the muffled colony.
Song of night with words profound
Unheard by any human ear,
If in harmony with nature are you,
You’ll hear the verses sweetly cheer.
I’m a fan of that background sound,
the world’s underlying rhythm;
Life’s glass has a melodic rim
amplified with every shot downed;
To the sharps in the air I’m bound,
it’s who I am I’m cool with that;
The wallflower among chitchat,
still I crave the quiet sometimes;
In the moments that static climbs;
solitude can calm a hood rat.
I've written Sonnets in C Major key ~ funeral music to me
No notes on bars in flats or sharps ~ fingered morbidly sour on stringed harps
DIMASH THE SHEPHERD
(Story of One Sky Conclusion)
I am
Shepherd
Cloaking myself
In God’s soft simplicity
My tasks complete
Songs sung
Light shone
Souls ignited
Each day seven wheels
Revolved their full degrees
Now the Awakening
know that Love is the Strike
of Light on the sleep
of a hundred thousand
years of wrenching knots
I return to You
to dissolve again
in your gentle
Ecstasy of knowing
Yourself as Voice
Each of Your atoms
in a chant or falsetto
resonated in freedom’s
True radiant White
How you ached to know
if You could go further
than planets not yet discovered
You did through each of my
Harmonic breathes
Now I’m done to
cuddle frolicking lambs
and hold my staff
as heaven’s drumstick
It will beat the
silent space between
Resonating genes
You are well pleased
Our art of evolution
continues to vibrate
in every fingertip
each sea-sponge and
Sand grain
Refreshed I will descend
then ascend again
as You instruct
to expose muted layers
My F-sharps alchemising
wolves with nightingales
I bow to You
As I hood !
©ghairodaniels2022
I've met myself
many times coming and going...
generally a quick smile
and respectful nod – seldom
pausing to chat, both of us
longing for more together
company
I (me/myself) have met so many
other pairs...traveling together/alone,
the double nature of a
human journey...half inclined
to linger and experience, nurture
and service
while the other, at a manic
pace, seeking one's self, yet
expanding the divide
I guess, would us multitudes
of separations ever join
together, it would mean the end of
warring...but of music, and poetry
as well, as we know it
no need to fire canons-of-being
if no one to report their twang
and echos....sing of and chronicle
triumphs and failures ("dreaming
the impossible dream...")
the flats and sharps
of a lyrical soul....
Vivacissimo
guitar
sitting unplayed, unlearned
beside its counterparts:
piano, saxophone, koto,
soon to be joined by a banjo
a silent quintet
untouched, unheard
why do I not put my hand to them
why do they sit in this orchestral mausoleum
is it because there is no music
within me,
no euphony bursting from inside
that must find expression
in the movements of my fingers
is it that I fear
untamed chords and notes
will come of the tumult
of my mind,
cacophonous sharps and flats
that refuse lyrical composition
and what if
the clefs line up and Aeodean
beauty and grace emerge instead,
flying from me in a frenzied vivacissimo
how much more frightening
is beauty than silence
Quirks
Lennon and McCartney
Composed a song for harps,
But neither one was very good
At reading flats and sharps.
DaVinci was a total whiz
at graphic arts and science,
but could he run a marathon,
or wrestle with the giants?
Transformers bring us light,
As Tesla had some genius.
Yet, he had no business sense,
Thus perished impecunious.
Descartes declared, "I am,"
And Marx united workers,
But when it came to music,
Both of them were shirkers.
Socrates taught others
By making pointed queries.
Although he was illiterate,
We understand his theories.
Lincoln, Ford, and Edison
Are considered rather legend'ry.
But for all of their accomplishments,
They never finished second'ry.
The moral of the story is,
If your marks are wanting,
Do not be dismayed,
It's really not that daunting.
Each soul has its genius.
Each soul has its quirk.
If you follow both of those,
Then your dream can work.
Somewhere beyond your misty horizon
where clouds bow low to receive the sun's benediction
of brilliant amethyst and gold-rimmed glory,
and where wind shapes the sharps and flats
of an endless siren song~
does the one I love still sail home to me?
Somewhere beyond time counted and gone,
as your waves come and go and come again
to the place on shore where parting once was sweet,
where now I wait as one half-alive and existing in the shadow
of a solitary memory~
will the minutes never bring him home to me?
They weren’t going to like me anyway
No one else ever had
So I gave them my sharps and my pokes and my sneers
I gave them my toughness. To let them know.
They were right.
I was so bad, no one could love me.
No one ever had.
And no one ever would.
Well, one had,
So I killed her for it.
Because I could not stand how wrong she was.
Everybody knew I was bad to the bone.
Why hadn’t she gotten that?
My mother had.
My harmonica cries,
in tones of silver sighs and golden tears;
wailing bittersweet joy.
Sound of sadness; sound of laughter;
it’s in the wailing that color blooms.
Mouth-harp memories fill many family albums.
Circle of breath, circle of life;
winding in and out; among the reeds.
As we all wind down life’s road.
Diatonic monotones blending with
chromatic colors of sharps and flats;
my harmonica sings the music of diversity;
notes in keys of primary colors and unending shades.
12-8-19
Your Best New Poem Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet
MUSIC IN THE LISTENING LAB
Notes! Notes of music
Bouncing
Off of walls – off of chairs
Off of ceilings and off the floors
Running down the hall in half steps
Flooding every inch of space
In atonal tangos - rhythms searching for their time.
Notes! Notes of music
Bumping
Up against each other
Up against the lines of scores
Vibrating tension pushing hard
Against a measured tempo -
Shrilling to be heard - only now to lose their pitch.
Notes! Notes of music
Crawling over one another
Trying to find harmony
Trying to discard the dissonance
Jamming in, losing sight of their rest,
They squeeze into the space -
With no resolution, unseen voices in a crowd.
Notes! Notes of music
Tripping over downbeats
Tripping over cadence
Falling flat upon their sharps
Phrasing key notes rise again
In soaring sound tracks arranged in one accord.
N/A 3/21/20
My harmonica cries,
in tones of silver sighs and golden tears;
wailing bittersweet joy.
Sound of sadness; sound of laughter;
it’s in the wailing that color blooms.
Mouth-harp memories fill many family albums.
Circle of breath, circle of life;
winding in and out; among the reeds.
As we all wind down life’s road.
Diatonic monotones blending with
chromatic colors of sharps and flats;
my harmonica sings the music of diversity;
notes in keys of primary colors and unending shades.
Music touches the human soul;
conveying emotions through sound.
Vibes penetrate the subconscious,
fueling fragmented feelings.
As bodies sway to its tempo,
music touches the human soul.
And we dance, experiencing
a high only it can provide.
As subtle as a tranquil sea;
or a wave, loud and expressive.
Music touches the human soul;
transcending talent and technique.
Sharps and flats add a rhythmic voice;
to this universal language.
And arranged by cords, clefs, and keys,
music touches the human soul.
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