music

Constellations of Thought

He stares out of the misty window
into the fogged, greying world
illuminated and sliced open
by one warm Moonbeam of Hope.
Cruising down this Highway Avenue of Life –
the nostalgic Music filling the voids left behind
by the chemical wars fought inside –
he is at ease.

His blue eyes stretch beyond infinities of Sky…
His glossy gaze meets the Moon’s Rays
of Hope in this bumper-to-bumper world:
a Constellation of nine Stars smile brightly
through the darkness of space
as they frame the Moon’s Secretive Smile.
It is here –
in the Honeymoon of his Thoughts –
that he finds the Mysteries of the Moon’s Beauty
tucked away neatly in a Pocket of Sky.

His Thoughts are held together by his five star Mind,
found dancing in the Moonlight of Inspiration,
as his body is showered in his tears
with a ceiling of glittering Stars staring down.
His sadness is blown away with the withered words of hurt
he releases from his Mind,
like a thunder-cloud that releases its darkness
to create Newness.

Four-cornered gods of reflection dictating their insecurities
are reduced to simple stardust in the Moon’s Fire
which ignites his Mind
making real, through word, the Daydreams of his Love.
He has one less problem of heartache tonight
as he lays his pain to rest in his marshmallow lined thoughts
in the creative cloud-mansion of his Future.

Manic Music-Making

stave-life fill in lines and spaced
dot on a page lines skyward downward
up down and around
sharp ways
flat tears
time my time
common time march
to the beat of the song
now dance!
swerve slide drop
and now bounce!

let the sounds engulf
swallow
transform
to another place!

music soul!
electronic beating
heart pounds
sing and belt
vibrato all over worry not!
repeat alter lyrical physical

and fade
fade fade

beat

silence!

Musical Tears

It sits like a powerful god in the centre:
a black sheen reflecting the room’s light.
Standing proudly, firmly on four solid legs,
it waits for the talented to take its seat…

As he sits down on the cushioned seat,
he lifts the solid black gently.
His fingers rest softly on the ivories and ebonies;
a deep breath before the prelude.

Sound stabs through the sombre silence –
it fills the voids of pain.
He sways to the touch of his fingers;
the music takes him away.

Mozart makes the tears slip down his face,
but it mends his heartache (even for a little).
At least the keys accept his truth,
even if his own blood does not.

Guitar

Tuned and plucked
until satisfied.
Played and played
over and over.
Frustration and pride;
mixed emotions.
Strings snap.
Metallic pain erupts.
Abandoned for
a while
then found and
relearned.
Feeling like
a melodic
waste of space.

Played by a fool;
the sound is dirty.
Played by a lover;
the sound is pure.

Yet knowing beauty
is made from the string
and sound lights up
the darkness,
it is okay
because a guitarist
will find the guitar.