he listened to me talk, then said, in voice most odd -- "if you do not know jazz, then you might not know God"
Tag: Music
The Song
Just walking through a grocery store
And then he heard the song;
Somehow, it brought back everything
He’d buried for so long
They were so very young, and she
So beautiful and sweet;
The first time that he kissed her
He could hear his own heart beat
Why did he throw it all away?
How has his life been spent?
He loved her then, he loves her now –
He still recalls her scent —
But then, back in the grocery aisle
Her “kiss me,” fades away
And sixpence none the richer, he
Goes on
About
His day
(“The Song” – 1-7-2015)
To share is human:
The Seasons We Might Call Our Lives
Reverberant anachronism
Strains of Tin Pan Alley lyricism
Played as through a 1940’s radio
(Twixt flashes on the fascist overthrow)
Before you were alive or even thought
Another world, a distant era caught
Between the seasons we might call our lives
While one young set of eyes somehow connives
To make it to a world of ice and snow
For whom old music conjures up no
Long ago
To share is human:
variations
what can’t be said in sentences
might still be felt in phrases;
ubiquitously goes the theme
through all its many phases
a harmony of many pangs,
a fugue of many sorrows
that speak of our lost yesterdays
and still to be
tomorrows
To share is human:
String Quartets
I’m writing this on New Year’s Eve
And listening to string quartets
By Shostakovich, and
They’re awesome.
For, while life is full of messes,
Stains, and blotches — these, instead,
Are absolutely
Perfect.
And it makes
A nice contrast
Photo credit : ID 53562673 Ukrphoto | Dreamstime.com
To share is human:
Encircling
Pandiatonic and encircling,
In wind and waves of sound,
A song of connection and
Contemplation,
Surrounding and
Full of the numinous
To share is human:
A Different Kind of Gratitude
We sang, for we were born to sing:
The five of us, at home;
For harmony was quite the thing,
And music, polychrome
In wintertime, the carols flew,
The images, as well:
Each story, be they stretched, or true,
Delivered on the tell
Yet fierce the moments sometimes, though –
Like winter wind that’s blowing —
We grew the way we had to grow,
Then went where we were going
But music stayed: a dancing fire
Lighting up the cold,
In melodies of innocence
And echoes for the old
And though the veil comes down for some
And soon will claim the rest,
I’m grateful that I had the chance,
And that I can attest
To music and to harmony,
To love that lingers late,
And all that makes us who we are:
Our legacy
And fate
To share is human:
guitar schooling
when you don’t know
that you can’t, you
pretty much can
