Short Orchestrator Poems

Words are a peculiar kind of magic.
Alone, they do nothing of themselves,
and yet through the Great Orchestrator
they became everything else....

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I had words penned from thought in white cloth
Then words penned for your view 
An orchestrator of words I am not - 
bring the two into existence 
But with undying love to unfold them to one
I’m at a loss of words as of how
Delectable words of desirable fashion
Gleefully laughing 
Oh how unmasking the words will make passion flames take place...

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Listen to poem:

the telephone wires
fan out just like the sun's rays
but offer no warmth
they are but lines up above
connecting all the houses

the warmth of the sun
covers all during the day
but not if hidden
the sun just is and will be
connection hangs in the sky

the orchestrator
the one who dictates my warmth
surely is myself 
if I sit quietly cold
I can make changes to that...

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The things I've wanted to be
Is a list running to eternity.
Once an administrator,
The head command orchestrator.
Perhaps an artistic brush
To paint life with colors fresh.
Or a singer, a husky voice
To spin golden chord out of noise.
Maybe a poet of ole lore,
Waking magic with words galore.
Nay, shall make a studious nerd;
Soaring above better than a bird.
Oh, what have I become now?
It must be none of the above....

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