Horn Music
In the late forties and middle fifties
horn music and military marches tunes
were often parlayed in the town's park
and we lived nearby and bore the brunt
of this noisy music
to complain was not easy as the music
was seen as an expression of freedom
chasing the German army out of our
cherished country, admittingly with
the help of the Russian army, the
British took the credit
Horn music is simply horrible to enjoy
the noise one has to be unmusical
one would think the noise had stopped
with the arrival of modernity, rock and roll
and Elvis Priestly, but no
I was invited in the eighties to read a poem
in Oslo. When my turn came to read
the horn orchestra struck up.
From my English cottage
I can see America.
Éire sings, as it labors in my field of vision,
it's drunk on nostalgia as usual.
A great sail-winged albatross
glides across from one eye to the other.
The trip to Ohio
is a drawn-out unmusical note in a leaky
squeeze box.
From my Midwest window I can see
the top of a Walmart roof,
it has a beauty all of its own.
Morning and evening,
snow white seagulls fly in from Atlantis,
a dreaming place that only appears
when the sun perches upon
puffy eyelids.
In a twilit garden
(a place where paper roses
wrestle with living thorns),
time circles
seeking its way past another day.
The days hitchhike on my shoulder, I must travel
across the luna surface of my mind.
One deep breath should be enough
to push me just beyond the city dump.
I am not a musical person in any way or form
But my eardrums recognize musical genius
The trumpet player was featured in a local venue
His tunes were extraordinary. I had never heard such music.
He was the quintessential trumpet player
Tears came to my eyes as he played,
I knew there was a brilliance to his abilities
No one else seemed to notice.
I am always surprised that although unmusical myself,
my soul recognizes this kind of performance brilliance
Now burst forth your long-suffocated song,
You gagged lips with mute anthems sweet!
Speak of your celestial lays with angels high
In stillest skies above men's unmusical beat.
Say which den under heaven's serenest wings
Writhes most chargrined by tart mortal things.
Divulge rare trills piped by such celestial sum,
More dulcet tunes that finessed pickers strum.
Kindly whisper into this pen's Muse-eluded ear
The unheard-of strains that superior lyres pelt.
In gentler tones alien to poor harps herebelow,
Play fine ditties that earth's senses haven't felt.
Anon spill in over-millioned soothing tongues
Ethereal lines to sate this poet's aching pangs;
And in earnest buzz your time-perfected chant
To shame the best of man's cacophonous rant.
Your most inharmonic line in lame pitch sung,
Beats all tuneful vibes powered by carnal lung.
Silhouetted against a moon hung low, a lone wolf howls
Unmusical laments Mused-ly well up from the bowels
Of anxiety, restlessness, loneliness, excitement
Theory upon theory why he bellows his incitement...
He is become one of us
We see ourselves in his reflection...
Some would have him an unquenchable romantic
Others an emblem of devilish antics
Wildlife-righters say he's delineating territory
Or thwarting enemies from darkest purgatory...
Seek out his truth: Is he become one of us?
~ Our way we have lost in reflections superfluous
Love in a Name.
Crystal Falls, I saw this name on the net
I could so easily fall in love with a woman like her
Her name has so many possibilities a song
Or a dramatic love story that ends in loss of love
She will forever be a song in my heart even if
She left me with a man with diamond studded yacht
Crystal Falls know diamonds are forever
Love is a sunny day in winter land.
Why did people, tell me she is an ambassador for
A club of people who like dining at fancy restaurants.
Her nom de guerre is Crystal Fall; her real name is
Johana Solar how can I love a name so unmusical
A vase dropped to the ground it was made of mineral
Shards of broken love.
How like a prison is my cubicle
Within four walls, I feel I am entrapped.
How like a song unsung,unmusical,
My state of mind so far has not been mapped.
Inside my heart I used to have a room
Where space and grace and nature all did dwell.
But then a harsh man led me to my doom
The details I will never want to tell.
My walls fell down like Jericho of old.
My love became my enemy,my hate.
With rubble my heart filled,alas, not gold.
These cubicles each write my inner state.
What seems to be outside is found wit
No love can ever last when lovers sin.
He's the product of a ladies man
He knows how to take command
Grab her hand
Livening up those strolls throuigh the sand
And for you he will speak to the sea in a voice so deep
It could lull troy to sleep
Although nothing will become of it you"ll love it
Since he did it for you in public
And now your defenceless
To his sexual advances to his advantage
He's not a player but a slayer
Wants her body for unmusical chairs
So young ladies stay youthful be aware
More wolves than sheep and they bleachin all they hair
This beast that roams these unleveled streets
Has many names like hidden grief
Or he who eats but wont provide meat
The one who sleeps like born without feet
The passive addict with an aggressive come down
Your babies baggage that dont never come around
Mr no benefits and no working background
Or Mr she's headed east He's tryin to meet her westbound
He's that monster that would even ponder,
having her introduce her lil sister to the corner
So I emplore you be stronger, live longer,
and be a alterior motives conqueror
I once knew a man of the sweetest voice,
He sang when the day grew dark.
He would sing sad tunes of a person’s choice,
And sing them like a soulful lark.
I once knew a man full of heartbreaking tunes,
He sang when the night grew light.
He would sing of times gone many moons,
Of sorrowed love and plight.
I once knew a man whose lips pressed grief,
He would sing in the midday heat.
He would sing of ships that struck on a reef,
And of lovers who could never meet.
I once knew a man so heavy with song,
He lies in a pauper’s grave.
Though his tunes, for sure, did nobody wrong,
He succumbed to an unmusical knave.
But if you will open your window at night,
When the warm wind wafts its breath.
You will hear him singing of a singer’s fright
At a sudden untimely death.
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