Thursday, September 29, 2005

Poor words for high sentiment

Caffine dictates that I am awake for two more hours
So in this buzz I await sleep
Staring at the ceiling
Thinking of you

Of late, this is no rare occurrence
Indeed you owe me much stolen sleep
For you invade my mind and occupy it
As a victorious queen occupies newly conquested land

In a world of relativism
Where I define objects with greater than, less than, or equal to
You evoke the use of superlatives
Though my logic finds this naïve

Involuntarily you ambush my mind
And I pray for your perfection
Not that you be flawlessness incarnate
But, God willing, that you be perfect
f o r m e

Ten Fingers

Ten Fingers Dance on the Keys.
expressive
stroking ivory
using a caress most reserve for the face of a beloved.
Ten Fingers Dance
an elegant ballet
choreographed by a long dead Muse.
The vibrations echo down ten feet,
and from there permeate space
this tribute to a genius.



Ten Fingers Dance on the Keys
wild
seemingly random
but in the long run shows the glorious symmetry.
striking with force, indiscriminant of color,
but without crying out in pain, the Keys strike back.
In this playful manner they engage in faux combat
the Fingers and the Keys.
the eyes of the song would sparkle with mirth
if it could see.
The song is dead, but it’s restless Soul is in tonight’s noise
as the chorus ends, the Fingers and Soul are in communion;
they compare notes,
then the Fingers show this Soul a few new tricks,
adding to the genius.




The Ten Dance
The Fingers paint a new portrait
on a blank canvas
they wander along a machine
there is no plan, no destination
but the fingers know beauty
so they feel along this uncertain landscape
when they find hidden fairness they expose it
the conception of Art
The Fingers tread over The Keys
often surprised by the result
but trusting prescient instinct
thus emerges fatalistic Art
now, joining The Fingers, is a Voice
this Voice knows not what is sings
but what must be sung is known
at the finale, The Fingers retire, their duty complete
they embrace fresh genius


in this ensuing white silence the Muse, the Soul, and the newborn Art meet
they compliment eachother in their differences
and together, conspire auditory delight
stimulating modern genius

Friday, September 02, 2005

The Forbidden Poem

Read
Read waery traveller,
I tempt thy thirst for art
for information
Read
Read my poem and have
All that I can promise
It shall be thine
Read
Read this line and know
Like all failed temptations
I have deceived thee

For I have not said a single thing