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Cynical Musician Poem
Fuller House premieres
Jaleel White silently cries
O did I do that
Copyright © Cynical Musician | Year Posted 2016
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Cynical Musician Poem
It’s still the smile
From decades earlier
The one that lit coral pearls
That convinced the imperfective wrinkle lines below nostrils to stun
Rubied lips doused in cherry ChapStik
Framed by bronzed coils that never knew taming
She stares up
Into me
As chemicals surge from neurotransmissions
Cherub palms grasp at my cheeks
Drawing me into succubi’s slavery
Oxygen diminishes
Seven hundred and forty six degrees of molten desire
Passed back and forth between probing tongues
Slipping out of self and tripping into us
Years haze much of the rest
The decades dim
But it’s still the smile on those darkest days I cling
Copyright © Cynical Musician | Year Posted 2015
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Cynical Musician Poem
Time creeps further by
A wealth of horror stories
A pittance of joy
Copyright © Cynical Musician | Year Posted 2015
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Cynical Musician Poem
I take a deep breath
I spew forth innermost fears and triumphs
I embrace the sizzle of pain and the dull darkness of fear
The room swims with my hatred and love
I spew forth innermost fears and triumphs
My fingers provide the stresses deemed necessary
The room swims with my hatred and love
Each note a dangerous combination of angst, wonder, and life
My fingers provide the stresses deemed necessary
Plastic assaults steel then conducts through hundreds of watts of dripping distortion
Each note a dangerous combination of angst, wonder, and life
I lose sense of time and place
Plastic assaults steel then conducts through hundreds of watts of dripping distortion
Shreds of soul bleed and echo throughout the edifice
I lose sense of time and place
I transcend to consciousness scarcely appreciated with catharsis in view
Shreds of soul bleed and echo throughout the edifice
I embrace the sizzle of pain and the dull darkness of fear
I transcend to consciousness scarcely appreciated with catharsis in view
I take a deep breath
Copyright © Cynical Musician | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Cynical Musician Poem
Thoughts plucked like red roses
On a page in black-blue smudges
In agreed upon meanings of characters
In arrangement of sounds and syllables
So that hat is the thing that lays upon the skull
And not the fire that lives within it
That transforms the desolate page to be a beacon
A beacon for shared words and ideas to resonate
To reflect on common understandings of life or what we think it may be
On this page
I can share thoughts
I can share thoughts that have no form until spewed
I can share with the hope of being understood
Of other eyes and ears that accept the carefully constructed connotations
The rhythms inside rhythms with feet that march with the unseen drummer that leads
Or the visions
The cloud-like froth of breath on windows overseeing snowflakes’ descent
The shimmer of heat rising from the summer concrete after a child’s chalk invasion
These sounds and sights that somehow tickle the back of the throat like carbonation
Causing that spray of warmth up the nostril convincing the head of a pleasing bouquet
A bouquet of cinnamon swirled around vanilla in a mug with gentle mists of aroma
These senses we share enable us common understanding
The poet then, perhaps is the conveyor of thought in puzzles
Puzzles of sights, sounds and sensations that turn the abstract concrete
Originating from an unformed electron
Neurotransmitting into fingers or tongues
Then coming to rest in their desired targets
So that I and you become us
And we understand one another which makes us all feel better in the end
Do you think?
Copyright © Cynical Musician | Year Posted 2015
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