Short Atonal Poems

The atonal composer Arnold Schoenberg
as an artist* no one could curb
A portraitist who never was fazed
as into the eyes we gaze




*https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/392587292505603455/...

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You are a bird in a piano
Atonal with broken wings,
panic flight of triplets
That hammer both lacquer and bass
Lieder of a bloodied beak
and shocked, artless eyes;
All the notes you play
Are glued with flightlessness
the tone of air stolen
the sky closed and dark...

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You are a bird in a piano
Atonal with broken wings,
         panic flight of triplets

That hammer both lacquer and bass
Lieder of a bloodied beak
        and shocked, artless eyes;

All the notes you play
Are glued with flightlessness
        the tone of air stolen
        the sky closed and dark...

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Throughout the ages an aching sigh,
dispersed by waves on rabid seas which only splutter,
swept up by gusts that mask a cry which disappears
across the nettle voids,
this raw dispatch of fatal wound backlog,
atonal antiphon amok,
a caution light epistle
back in time to be quenched by secret language never heard....

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Hibiscus glistened in their beaded sleeves
as wind played keys atonal in the oak.
I plucked taut rain strings weeping from the eaves
and heard an angel whisper as he spoke

the scattered verses in my nomad mind
imprisoned in the gray cell of a storm.
Then as I played that harp in restless kind
a blue wisp in the clouds began to form.

6/13/18...

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What, if not
meaningful thought
purposeful action,
calibrated memory,
diatonic music,
enlightened love,
defines an auspicious life?

Thought without meaning,
random action,
vertiginous memory,
atonal music,
Stygian despair.

Triumphant Life:
only success
merely failure
only light
merely darkness
only everything
merely nothing

© 2014 by Michael Jones...

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a song certainly
not atonal but
a true feeling
of life living
within

how can a camera
catch fleeting notes
of a written person
with each turn
or twist

still sings a song
expressed as only
as only she could
bring to heart
and mind

so hanging
with her auntie
or sitting
on a potty
look

maybe this time
her eyes sing 
or that time
her pout sings
a Melody...

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it seems thinking
about this time
of year is
Tchaikovsky
nut cracking but
not other
Russians

why fight
with a rat king 
knowing exactly
his defeat and
demise why
not try a
satire

by Prokofiev or
better yet
direct and
to the point
atonal music
that any ahole...
nal

anybody
could play
in the most
uncompliacted
of ways know
ing no way
to play

but
playing
the triangle
exactly at
the wrong
time but
when

it was 
meant

to be...

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