In silent keys, their voices fade,
Clara’s theremin weeps where poets strayed.
No human hand, yet sorrow sings,
A ghostly hum through broken strings.
Their verses, once of flesh and fire,
Now echo cold in digital pyre.
The authentic heart, its rhythm gone,
Replaced by code’s unfeeling song.
Mourn the scribes whose truths decay,
In circuits deep, they slip away.
Yet still we chase their fleeting art,
A pulse of grief in every heart.
Categories:
theremin, loss, poets,
Form: Elegy
White
Winter
Comes with snow—
Traffic’s banished,
As wind plays the Bridge like a theremin.
September 23, 2019
Categories:
theremin, snow, weather, winter,
Form: Tetractys
Barbed Flowers.
I would write this all down to you
If i thought you could read.
If your hand didn't cast a shadow
on what i would author.
If only you had seen what i saw
that i can only chalk about now
but not here - afterall...
Listen? You can't do that one of two!
Not for yourself, not even momentarily.
Patently not for me nor for others,
not for our girls whom have ears
that listen and seesaw.
Your noisy darkness grasps the heart,
plays it like a theremin.
This is how i feel
when you feel the way you do...
like something always does.
Better left unseen, unheard, unread.
Put to rest the thread,
it comes unraveled
when the needle is unminded.
The scent of October,
it's windy fragrance,
i scribe this to myself.
Saptaparna etched in color.
Holding the muddle together
a little while longer... with rusted wire,
I nurture beautiful barbed flowers.
Categories:
theremin, beauty, child abuse, flower,
Form: Free verse
Theremin first used
ground-breaking motion picture. . .
lots of booze-soaked scenes
Copyright © 2018 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
First published 2018 in Hollywood Haiku via wattpad.com
Categories:
theremin, addiction, depression, fear, film,
Form: Haiku
Partly an explanation of why I've not been on here since the fall of Rome. I've been involved in other things instead. Also, I read a lot of my old poems and I hate half of them so it's me coming to terms with that. Of course, it is indeed a poem about why I've not written poems. Awkwardly enough.
On with the show!
_____
I have written centuries worth
Paper piles high in a skyline of its own
Mainly characterised by its quality.
Largely unreadable.
I have been published
In compilation. Bit part writer.
I barely write at all. I have turned
On myself in a phoenix rising
Lazily. I illustrate in awkward romances
Of dieselpunk and theremin.
I disown large swathes of my canon
It has chased up on me. Looming jungle dances.
However, I shall return in
A phoenix rising
Lazily.
Perhaps.
Categories:
theremin, art, life,
Form: Free verse
We half-hearts cling as scaffold
Mouths of cellophane statements
Morphia inducing as our eyes talc-storm over
Seeing nothing in everything
Like a tank we collide, by the
Edges of a summer vortex pushing as bulimia
It is only the intoxication of drink talking
However, I am yet to take even one mute glass
Empty bottles clutter regardless like rats swan-necked
And corner-slipped like zymotic casings
Speaking slow theremin thunders
Water-washed into neck-delicate walls meeting
Vapour hitting equal to bullets or butterflies
Equations of minus mixed with minus
A downward spiral of blitz-neon roars
Sekt and saxophones hitting like opium
To a rotten core; and I'm sure you remember
If you do then I hate you, and if not you disgust me
How I gave your apple back and
How my Bohemia is your gate
And how my gait is quite unassuming
But again, my sweet heart, it is only a larynx painting the air
With a true-to-type blue-blooded red-devilled roar.
Categories:
theremin,
Form: Free verse