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White doves fly among gentle air currents,
carrying them to a distant sunset,
languid skies accept passing agents of the air
with no concern for time;
gliding in and out of low, bright,billowy clouds,
they fly in unison as if watching a conductor,
whose awareness of form and symmetry of flight,
sets a stage, where viewers experience a visual scene
magnificent in its splendor,
inspiring artists to interpret eternity
for humanity.
I want to raise my hands to the sky,
touch overcast clouds
as they float by my window;
my finger would create surrealistic forms
and my head would rest on cotton pillows;
as fantastic vistas shaped my dreams
into a universe of splendid rainbows;
You could join me only if you dream
of silk webs dangling
from below the silver moon;
your radiant hair flowing
in the cool breeze of a spring day
would fill the air with cosmic wonder;
and your charming spell would cast a thin net around the globe
as we listened to its dazzling resonance.
we are all crafted stardust,
floating on an island paradise,
sharing a common dream
revealed in conversation
a day at a time;
reality is sculptured slowly
with a chisel,
until a universal form becomes self-evident,
our individual realities
are golden bits of stardust
strewn in fields of yellow streams
upon a stage
where we perform
to an audience
clapping at each curtain close.
sparkle,
awaiting
to be discovered,
as they shine
among
the bramble
and the brier
of our busy
lives;
we often
don't see
the glow
of a jewel
as it merrily
lingers,
and when
discovery
occurs,
we are surprised
and often
startled
as the gleam
beckons you
to feel
its eternal
power
and glory.
Some folks chase dreams
as cats go after mice,
they hunger for a real life
which beats their dreary existence,
of polishing shoes and scrubbing toilets
weekly, for ungrateful masters
who treat them as servants
performing a service for a fee,
the chase lasts a lifetime
but the chains are firmly attached
and the dream becomes a sullen hope
in the pollution created by the masters of the world
The performer delighted in the notion
of music to conquer;
To display his talents on a stage
with 9-foot Steinway at his fingertips
dressed in black tuxedo and polished shoes;
He rolled thunderous cascades of sound
into a hall of curious onlookers
craving a menu of new sonic wonders
to add to their harmonic encyclopedic
repertory of musical tastes and inventions;
Knowing that what people really need
is a break from the familiar
patterns that make up our existence.
There once was a time not long ago
when scented flowers hung from balconies,
swaying in cool breezes by the pool;
when friends drank a toast to things eternal,
sharing love and revealing dreams;
when reading a good book to your children
was the entertainment for the evening;
when marvelous insights into human nature
was what you got from movies;
when listening to music was a social event
and music making involved the entire family;
perhaps a time will come when gifts
such as these will return the simple things to life.
Just as the sun's rays filter through cumulus clouds
blue jays fly into the horizon in unison,
a joyful return to form
for graceful birds
in command of wind currents
which brush gently against their wings
providing lift
as they sail into a new landscape
for the artist
who waits patiently to paint
the perfect scene
among a field of crimson lilacs.
We erect walls of sound
on musical scaffolds,
chiseling pitches as they hang
carefully on harmonic frameworks;
the muse supervises the event,
nodding with approval as
tone structures take form;
suspended on aural hooks
for consideration,
the austere composer
weighs each option,
discarding banality
for inspired excitement,
weaving voices in
a sound wave of joy,
as scaffolds collapse
leaving a structure, so profound,
as to leave you breathless.
Streaming walls of sound
hover in a garden paradise,
lush, sweeping piano timbres
cascade endlessly in a white, soft mist,
fragile arpeggios tenderly flow
in transparent, radiant patterns,
soothing fantasy along the banks
of a tranquil, composed river,
sailing effortlessly on buoyant streams,
the music sings a magnificent lyrical expression,
which carries us into a harmonious atmosphere
designed for a room of ancillary dreams,
echoes of ancient voices
whispering silent messages
calms your inner spirit,
and lulls you into a mysterious, secondary light,
a room of oracles
where flowered pedestals await
your splendid entry
in a lavender-rose, satin gown
filling the room of mirrors
with a divine presence
pleasing the gods eternally.
In the silence
we hear the music,
which was not heard
when the band played on;
we see the accomplishments,
which was not revealed
when work occupied the day;
we feel the love,
which was not conveyed
when words and intentions brought forth misconceptions.
now that the music is over,
we can hear musical fragments,
trails of sound fluttering
in golden silence,
sonic memories breathing
life in our soul,
inspired harmony floating
in brief segments
over endless time.
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