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Posts tagged ‘music’

from smoke

composers
hold the wires of their brain
together, creating sparks
to collect smoke, dust, and dark
into a musical melody
to paint light across the night
or to pen night into the day
a shot of spontaneity into
the monotony,
music is an alchemy
all different, yet made
from the same words the universe
has to say

__
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: genius

the orchestra

music writes hearts
silence writes souls
somewhere in the grey area
art unfolds

of music

music is my love
she’ll bleed for me
or laugh for me
when push comes to shove
she’ll yell at me
or accuse me gently
yet will always leave me
a little above that lower place
i found myself stretched across
before, she’s the only one
who seems to carry with ease
what’s on the surface and what’s
below the floorboards of my heart
she’s the one who carries
every single part and makes an
orchestra of them, making
them easier to chew on, to swallow
to walk away from, to slowly depart
she’s the one who writes the words
that carry my heartbeats
like each one’s a work of art

____
backdated post a day poem for September 9th, 2017

la valse de l’amour

the music of accordions
press their lips together
creating sharp, light sounds
which drift up and away,
kissing the sun and clouds
carrying the night away

murmurs

there are songs
you feel
pressing their faces in
vulnerable places
and you grab them by the hair
let them stare you hard in the eyes
reading everything between
the lines
and when they rise,
to form words
you savor their taste
in your mouth
then let them roll out
against the skin of the night
to be heard

repair shop

heartbroken and filled with beer
the lonely one tried to tear down the walls surrounding
fears of love, but pushed and shoved
a little to much, and with a harsh touch
the guitar shouted and snapped under the distress
the lonely one drags himself and his musical mess
to the repair shop. the repairmen daily, nightly
mopped up the dreams, emotions, regrets, and desires
which often pooled in drains and collected under
tires as people tried to wash away, drive away from
all of the things that just seem to stay. the repairmen
looks every which way to mend those bent, broken,
scratched, and ugly things – he attempts to do this without
poking at bruises and sore emotional seams, he brings
up the weather,  it’s a shabby grey rain, eh? and
his customer sadly reaches out and pets the window,
drawing lines and circles into the raindrops
with not so harsh of a touch anymore, he was worn
out, wondering if his guitar would still have the
same voice, familiarity, and warmth as before

instrumental

if our life stories
were instruments
and someone pressed their
fingertips or lips to them,
what music would
rise from the ground into
the air? or would it
sit quietly in the corner,
here and there a
barely audible hum
as it longingly stared
out the window, lost
in a melody but
forgetting how it goes?
or would it be
an instrument of which
no one knows how
to play, which is why
at times, in beautiful
moments, we can never
find the words to say?
sound cannot reach our
minds, because it got
caught between the rungs –
climbing from our lungs
to our hearts – or what
if the piece is incomplete
and we are still
trying to find our part?