Time keepers

What is there

to hear, here beneath the rain

falling?

The pianist across the street,

a poem being typed

after-thought,

above or under sirens and 

howls.

Fingertips dance

with swollen pads

across the scales;

ivory teeth, black cavities,

chatter seeking vibration 

or resonance

held in a line

that holds a tune.

Or thread of meaning-

unraveling feeling

and translating thoughts 

not our own

into sound 

between and beneath the horizontal cradle

where echoes may overlap hints of truth

there is a sense of unfolding

like pages turning 

a chord is struck

accord is sought

or scores kept 

for a record nobody keeps.

And all this may be 

called

keeping time

as if melody were many things

more than harmony

knocking and sending 

unanswerable notes 

called music or just

muse. 

Image credit:Baldomer Gili i Roig, Museu d'Art Jaume Morera, Lleida. 2555 c. Nov. 1899 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Conductivity and Rhythm

The bass was low all day,
the only thing that resonated
was my deaf ear toward the treble.

When my eyes bulge with tears,
it is time to surrender,
when the bones feel metallic and leaden,

light notes miss their harmony.

A dread tastes sour and acrid
in the back of the mouth.

An idea of where one is and
what must be done is conjured
in a line, the music keeps time

alive, lightening the load

a feeling carries a tune
echoing the heart and human
need to be moved by sound.




Painting by Johann Carl Loth (circle of) (1632 - 1698) – Painter (German)Born in Munich. Dead in Venice.Located at the Palace Museum in Wilanów [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

In our places

In winter it is warmest
in the pale sun
and under your light,
even behind the dark glasses

your eyes smile bright
while we talk softly,
without effort
the breeziness knows

understanding the sky
without words
needing to hold us up
against our own presence.

Placed here, like so,
sharing tastes and sounds,
noting the harmony
we share by proximity

and savoring alike. I know
you know, it takes two
to not let go
with one glance,

promise me
one day-
seasons will allow
a change-

when we lift our eyes
holding out hope
over all others
like this

there was no need to explain
how a line catches
all it can tether
together in one sky.



Painting by Johan Christian Dahl, 'Winter at the Sognefjord, February 1827 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Harmonic Anthropic Principality

Obviously,

the world around us demonstrates consistency so beautifully,

at least, that is what we prefer to see.

Moderation, enough and contentment and some

conservation of raw necessities and bare dirigibles.

This perfect white light can be too bright to look upon directly,

as when the sunlight dives too deep in

behind your eyes.

You may see empty spots being eaten by black holes bouncing

off magenta frazzled strings-maybe...

some hear C, some do not see (not heresy),

some say this in synesthesia,

most are cured from this disorder

by adulthood through normal amnesia.

Not to worry, what is out of sight does not mind.

What is behind is aftermath,

Insistent remainders which prove

expansion is true and mostly

more lies, well

beyond our view-There is more.

Listen does not change the sound that comes out.

It is answer. It is not your answer. It is hidden in harmony.

We can only

Here

what is most touching (outside).

Painting by Willem Cornelisz Duyster [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Revelations

Some days
                  I see everything
just
                  as it should be
Grateful that the sun blazes
                 safely so far away
Lucky that the moon is so close by
                 and I still cannot feel
my own heart beat
                 or sense the spin,
a feeling of reeling along
at more than fourteen miles
                                   per minute
still.

How far
                I've come and gone
making a present of the past
pulled into others gravity
and laced in fine ribbons
                of harmony.


Most days
it seems blinking and breath
                                  proceed without
preference-
                                  all the same
never was needed nor noticed
how it all blends together
                                 by degrees
always perfection
                                 in reflection
just
Today
I said
It has never been Up to blue,
It was
Always red.





Painting By Otto Freundlich [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.