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I was for a minor amount of time but I was probably a better pianist at 15 than I am now.

quote by Josh Silver
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Edge to Edge (Post post modern poetry)

When I slept in the afternoon after going through the ordeal of riding a cab in the heat only my Donna Karan glasses less by one degree in darkness and covering all my eyes protected me from fainting I wore my shirt which was stinking from sweat when I threw myself on the bed escaping the eyes of the old widow in the other room the fan went off I concentrated to sleep even without and I did after intense fantasies remembering the movie “The Pianist” I had watched the last night and the inspired soldier who let the soul of the pianist survive and himself landed in the war prison camp because he wanted to contact that other foolish violinist who instead spat on him being German and he could not be saved by the pianist as the pianist did not know his name because when the German soldier was getting inspired by the music in ruins he forgot telling him his name we are all victims of romance the German soldier could have made a bargain the pianist was too hungry to know about him and terrified for what he had seen when I woke up I got hold of my guitar similarly inspired as the German soldier was I entered into a black shirt on whose collar is written ‘edge to edge’ with an emblem of an animal having one long horn I went to drink coffee before I took a bath when I picked my phone to make a call one dear number of mine with me since a decade I found that it was stolen by someone my dreams shattered suddenly in the wake of reality of the number from the pianist now I was in deep trouble I came out my appetite was no more I entered a bakery to buy myself a burger that was wrapped in polythene there was no place to sit the burger was put in oven some of the polythene melted into the sauce my fingers burned to open the ketchup sachet I came into the dark corner a dog was sleeping I preferred sharing my burger with a cat on small concrete steps the cat could not take diet coke pieces of chicken slipped down and she was eating I rubbed my hands on my shorts and thanked the cat for she was my friend on dinner

8/8/2009
PS: These are real events narration in what I call 'post post modern poetry' writing straight what you feel without giving it a form or even punctuation

poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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A Time To Feel Forlorn and Reconstruct What's Torn

There's a designated time in the universe for everything:

A time to limit, a time to expand.
A time to rise, time to lower and lend a hand.

A time to maintain, a time to abandon.
A time to develop, a time to rest at random.

A time to communicate, a time for silence.
A time to kiss your enemy, a time to concede wins.

A time to spite, a time to please.
A time for respite, a time to tease.

A time to process, a time to confess.
A time to do more. A time to do less.

A time to dominate. A time to captivate.
A time to plunge. A time to resurface straight.

A time to maximise. A time to minimise.
A time to diminish. A time to optimise.

A time to sacrifice. time to insist on rights.
A time to be selfish. A time to be concerned about plights.

A time to be big. A time to be small.
A time to care for a special one. A time to love all.

A time to add dimension. A time to simplify.
A time to advocate egalitarianism.
A time to exult.
A time to default.
A time to be accepting of imperfect humanism.

A time to enhance. A time to simplify.
A time to criticise. A time to dignify.

A time to produce. A time to use.
A time to relent. A time to refuse.

A time to demand. A time to give.
A time to die. a time to live.

A time to survive. A time to admit defeat.
A time to lie. A time to walk on your feet.

A time to compete. A time to not.
A time to remember. A time to concede you forgot.

[...] Read more

poem by Hercolena Oliver
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Blues In Minor Key

'Twas a lovely night in gay Paree
The stagelight was beating on him and me
He took my heart and spoke so well
And told me things no one else could tell
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key

He was a lonely tramp in the world of rhyme
With words that caught me just in time
I gave him my body I gave him my soul
In front of the stage I played my role
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key

The chimes of freedom rang that night
And stars in heaven were shining bright
The songs he sang were like ice and fire
Leading me through the bush and brier
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key

Behind his mask and behind his name
He left the stage with nothin' to claim
Like a shooting star in the empty skies
Our love was done without any ties
And far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key

And far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key....

Copyright © 2011 Göran Gustafsson. All rights reserved

poem by Göran Gustafsson
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Obsession

Obsession
The pianist Albert has got a job in Loulé last time
I saw him in Faro and fell over a pollard, he said
he was not my father. When he spotted me he ran
into a café, they let him run through the kitchen
into the back, a dead end; I waited for him there.
“If you don´t stop following me I will have to call
the police, I´M NOT YOUR FATHER.” To mollify
him I said: “ I know you are not, but I do admire
your piano playing. ”This pleased him and we had
a drink and he told me he came from Yugoslavia,
had wanted to be a concert pianist, but there was
no money, so he ended up as a café pianist… just
as my father I thought but said nothing… then he
had to leave for work, saw him walk out of my life
just as my father did, there was nothing I could do
to stop this man who refused to be my dad.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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Unheard Elegy of a Widow Pianist

In a quadrille of his flimsy fingers
He lambently imposed tranquility
In between the brunt of his calloused soldiers
That the phalanges strangulated in a knot
And trudged and snapped and broke
With the heart of the widow pianist
Whistling his vapid tune from weaker towers

With the streets teeming of faceless strangers
He played the elude of his phantasmagoria
And groveled with a bleeding sonata
With shambling notes of empty words
That singed brusquely in a queue
Among their empty swollen ears
The schmaltz plea died with the violins

He sedated himself with the picture
Of familiar peoples crammed in a rotogravure
And the melancholy disembogued of verve
When the pictures pranced with deluded scherzos
And the listening thawed unto their toes
As he gnawed upon a drunken smile
The pianist's elegy strode a thousand mile

The widow pianist crooned to bargain
For an audience to the unfurling morsels
Of his slivered mind and its elegy
And ferry the silver euphonic melody
In a place divorced of harsh veracity,
Where triviality would be unwelcomed,
And benediction is in a saccharine orchestra.

poem by Norman Santos
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Turn! Turn! Turn!

Pete seeger
To everything, turn, turn, turn
There is a season, turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain from embracing
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of peace, I swear its not too late
Original source
To every thing there is a season, and a time
To every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time
To plant, and a time to pluck up that which is
Planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to
Break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time
To mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to
Gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a
Time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to
Keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to
Keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of
War, and a time of peace.

song performed by Nina Simone
Added by Lucian Velea
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This Time

Lookin back on my life
Lookin back on my life
You know that all I see
You know that all I see
Are things I couldve changed
Are things I couldve changed
I should have done
I should have done
Where did the good times go?
Where did the good times go?
Good times so hard to hold
Good times so hard to hold
This time, this time
This time, this time
This time Im gonna find
This time Im gonna find
Lookin back on my life
You know that all I see
Lookin back on my life
Are things I couldve changed
You know that all I see
I could have done
Are things I couldve changed
No time for sad lament
I could have done
A wasted life is bitter spent
No time for sad lament
A wasted life is bitter spent
So rise into the light
In or out of time
Gonna rise straight through the light
So rise into the light
In or out of time
In or out of time
Gonna rise straight through the light
Woke up one other day
In or out of time
The pain wont go away
I am growing
In peculiar ways
Woke up one other day
Into a light I pass
The pain wont go away
Another dream, another trance
I am growing
This time, this time
In peculiar ways
This time Im gonna rise into the light
Into a light I pass
In or out of time

[...] Read more

song performed by Verve
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Rubaiyat Of A Robin - After Edward Fitzgerald - Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam

Jest plays with rubaiyat and, four by four,
unseals for your amusement more and more
verses together thread in rosary
unreeled to bloom till tomb will curtains draw.

Repealed are value judgement and perspective
revealed through standpoint purely introspective,
darkside concealed of moon’s yin-yang shines clear
when we’re in orbit, - option more effective.

Rolled form performs rôle midwife to perception,
sprung tongue in cheek, tweaks sense of imperfection
or willingness to leach between the lines,
impeach entrenched ideas of self-[s]election.

This prose arose as stream deprived of section,
where ‘dip at will’ will still sustain inspection,
the current’s sense, at odds with current views
ignores round holes, square pegs, top-down direction.

Here there’s no fear of critics’ peer rejection,
contention treated with due circumspection
intention is to mention for retention
an overview or clue to extrospection.

Life’s curtains are a veil through which few see,
as many haste taste-waste eternity,
mixed up, ignore life fixes finite sum
to/through infinite opportunity.

Can “Truth” exist? all ask, who seek its core,
we, modest, etch our words to sketch the score,
diverse the verses which converge to link
reflections mirrored many times before.

Vast content, style, a while, united are,
aim at soul stimulation, nothing bar,
to pleasure, treasure, or discard at will
as minds outreach to other minds on par.

Meditating, we shed light on what
tomorrow’s tot may factor into ‘bot’ -
the poet’s lot, forgot, to help all think
ahead of time, enhance life for a lot

Some seek Nirvana, Faith speaks more than “how”.
Others reject Salvation’s wraith, - w[h]ine “now”.
Verifying facts? Inventing dreams?
Each furrow-burrows with a different plough.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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There Is No Time

This is no time for celebration
This is no time for shaking heads
This is no time for backslapping
This is no time for marching bands
This is no time for optimism
This is no time for endless thought
This is no time for my country right or wrong
Remember what that brought
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
This is no time for congratulations
This is no time to turn your back
This is no time for circumlocution
This is no time for learned speech
This is no time to count your blessings
This is no time for private gain
This is no time to put up or shut up
It wont no time to come back this way again
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
This is no time to swallow anger
This is no time to ignore hate
This is no time to be acting frivolous
Because the time is getting late
This is no time for private vendettas
This is no time to not know who you are
Self knowledge is a dangerous thing
The freedom of who you are
This is no time to ignore warnings
This is no time to clear the plate
Lets not be sorry after the fact
And let the past become out fate
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
This is no time to turn away and drink
Or smoke some vials of crack
This is a time to gather force
And take dead aim and attack
This is no time for celebration
This is no time for saluting flags
This is no time for inner searchings
The future is at head
This is no time for phony rhetoric
This is no time for political speech

[...] Read more

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dreamworks

DREAMWORKS
Eyes saw reflection Monday, when World War II was won,
emerging, letters learning, to betters bowed, begun
a journey spread like butter upon life’s bread, which seems
to be about to stutter before landlord of dreams.

Eye Tuesday schooled, life's masquerade began to understand
how letters strung together rung bells brain took in hand,
soft strength no bitter toil required to channel patterned streams,
blood flood no rudder needed to feed forever's dreams.

Eyes which advanced one Wednesday upon emotions’ tide
to woo, to win, together, as groom to beauty bride,
felt joys would last for ever, like strawberries and cream,
tapped hope's sap, never'd sever eternity from dreams.

Eyes which in turn one Thursday sired fruit so well desired,
who queried much, yet stayed untouched by vain ambitions tired,
felt feelings frank, not clever, that seek 'together's' gleams,
to sow, reap, harvest, gather the essence of shared dreams.

Eyes which Friday celebrate, see seed to stripling strong
stretch skywards, never hesitate, sift just from wrong's pronged tongs,
subjective views eliminate, zest tests through searchlight beams,
shows all may know glow grows, fair flows, to feed tomorrow’s dreams.

Eyes weary on this Saturday sense Winter drawing near,
reach through rhyme’s interplay to transmit loud and clear
before Time’s ‘weak~end’ weather may ravage, mock soul’s gleams,
this theme: ~ that one should never compromise on dreams.

Eyes which one Sunday may pass away, life legacy would leave:
ideals unbetrayed, pray none know poison, prison, grieve.
Life's cycle turns as candle burns, warms all within its beams, ~
road cats' eyes snake, make no mistake, tomorrow takes your dreams...

9 May 2005 minor modifications 21 April 2008 revised 30 April 2008,8 March 2011

for previous versions see below

DREAMWORKS

Eyes saw first light one Monday, when World War II was won,
emerging, letters learning, to betters bowed, begun
a journey spread like butter upon life’s bread, which seems
to be about to stutter before landlord of dreams.

Eyes which were schooled one Tuesday began to understand
how letters strung together rung bells brain took in hand,
soft strength no conscious effort to channel patterned streams

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bomb In C Minor

There's a minefield set inside my head
Any little push and I think we're all dead
The barrel is loaded through my twisted neurology
Which social miasmas set in motion the trigger
Leading tainted endearments that lead me to linger
A hyacinth aborted, in the killing fields bloomed
caution were you tread, or this roman candle will yield

There's a bomb playing c minor, it's my schizoid sonata
Cracked coronets pick away my head with an axe
The violins scratch impressions on mahogany lines
While the Spanish guitar paints me to a far away time
And nobody hears the pressure point crescendo to the drums
as the bomb goes off for session number 1

Everyday is navigated combating a barbed wire planet
For eyes and subtle sneers, firing the shot penetrating fear
Wounds fragrant the body and make a casualty worn
Without notice to recoil the shrapnel lodges your thoughts
And every scar to the insults engineers a damaged mind
Leaving you on guard from your friends and your foes
Your never really sure, if their just exchanging roles

For every move in public view,
Exposes you to the gunman's cue
Get a role with Madam Guillotine
When you slip up on your tongue, in an open dialogue
And its blind date with a scaffold,
if you expose your heart to wolves in the sheets
Your maggot buffet if you don't have the resolve
Of a good poker face, under duress of public charge

Wisdom from the sludge has taught me how to run
To hide from the snipers who smile to brazenly
Sincerity is cosmetic, every emotion is synthetic
Every word is a code with an ulterior motive
Intimacy is segregated only a shield keeps me safe
Attachment is exposure to Greek barren gifts
Let them in and you receive a poison ivy handshake

Becoming a veteran at the age of adolescents
In a waiting room, reiterating old terror hit songs
Perpetual cycle of the dark thoughts of yester year
Brings poison to dreams of the things of today
Fear than blooms of ashes from future surprises
And everyday feels like a fly in a spider's web
Under the spotlight for the monsters teeth marks

There's a bomb in C minor, its singings as soft as lilac burns
There is a drum beating slowly with a disconnected cadence

[...] Read more

poem by Kevin Patrick
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Urban Time vs. Rural Time

3 am:
Urban time: Alarm clocks, hoots and toots
Rural time: Cocks crow, cows moo and weavers beaker

4 am:
Urban time: Whoever snoozed the alarm? Dress up… very scarcely
Rural time: Dust the mat; grab yesterday’s very hard ugali and into overall

5 am:
Urban time: Marikiti and Gikomba beat traffic – rush hour
Rural time: Milking and feeding; early bird catches the worm

6 am:
Urban time: Office not open, tarts hover at Koinange zonked with sleep
Rural time: Coffee farm supervisor calls out names – mine missing

7 am:
Urban time: Offspring sings national anthem in academy playfully
Rural time: Sibling barefoot sings “Yesu anipenda” without blasphemy

8 am:
Urban time: Yaaaawn! Hate work before it even begins – so monotonous
Rural time: Tea baskets at back, yard stick in hand, water jar on head

9 am:
Urban time: What took company tea so long? Was tea boy fired or what?
Rural time: Sing Mary oh, sing Mary oh… Market women return with empty baskets

10 am:
Urban time: Finally the tea is here… (Chit chat) I love this job!
Rural time: The sun’s scorching – take a breath beneath shade

11 am:
Urban time: Silence and whispered gossip, functional smiles and fake hugs
Rural time: Shout greeting from ridge to ridge and insults from bush to bush

12 pm:
Urban time: Yaaaaaawn! Bad date - fear the approach of the next hour
Rural time: Any one with a watch? The sun has hid beneath the cloud

1 pm:
Urban time: Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures – am dieting…
Rural time: Carry produce to factory, take a nap in the wilderness, and water the livestock

2 pm:
Urban time: Oh how I hate this! Parliament session on, but ethics dictate TV without volume
Rural time: Women plot today’s chama as men discuss the local barmaid’s “possessions”

3 pm:
Urban time: Who tampered with the office clock? I can see some hawkers outside…

[...] Read more

poem by David Munene wa Kimberly
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Youre Just A No Account

S. cahn / s. chaplin
Youre just a no account
You never will amount to nothin at all
When there is work to do and someone yells for you
You dont hear them call
The good lord set aside his sundays
For folks to rest
More that one days rest is wrong
You start restin sunday and rest so hard
Youre tired the whole week long
Youre just a no account
You never will amount to nothin at all
I just cant figure how each time you milk the cow
The tit gets so small
We got machines to do your work for you
But you wont press the button on the wall
Youre just a no account
You never will amount to nothin at all
Youre just a no account
You never will amount to nothinal all
I just cant figure how each time you milk the cow
The tit gets so small
We got machines to do your work for you
But you wont press the button on the wall
Youre just a no account
You never will amount to nothin at all

song performed by Billie Holiday
Added by Lucian Velea
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All This Information

All of us seem to walk away from everything
It takes a certain amount of originality to describe this place as home
And all of us seem to walk away from everything
It takes a certain amount of originality to describe yourself as interesting
And all of us seem to walk away from everything
It takes a certain amount of originality to describe yourself as home
All this information that we have to choose from
It means nothing to you
It means nothing to you
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's all so meaningless
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's all so meaningless
All of us seem to walk away from everything
It takes a certain amount of personality to describe yourself as interesting
And all of us seem to walk away from everything
It takes a certain amount of personality to describe yourself as truly truly honest
All this information that we have to choose from
It means nothing to you
It means nothing to you
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's all so meaningless
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's all so meaningless
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's all so meaningless
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's so needless when things change

song performed by Idlewild
Added by Lucian Velea
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In n Out

Yeah, Ive been in debt, from conception
And Ill pay for the rest of your life
As long as I mail my bills and look me in the eye
You can have it now, but you gotta pay for it later
You work me up, I pay my plan
Now youre working for the man, yeah
Hey got you goin in, they got you comin out
Same amount, in n out
There aint no way round the system
Money makes this world go round
All the way, they got you down
Sing and add it up, for throwing yourself out the window
My conscience loves to stick around
One more payment, lay it down, on the ground
Same amount, in n out
Uh uh uhu yeah, uh uh uhu yeah, uh uh uhu yeah, ooh cmon
(solo)
Hey it all depends how you see it
Its a plan or an opportunity
One thing for certain, youre gettin nothin free
I never met a man doesnt owe somebody somethin, no
No way to get free n clear
Only deeper, year after year, oh yeah,
Well they got you comin in, well they got you goin out
Got you comin in, for the same amount, goin out!
Uh uh uhu yeah (in n out), uh uh uhu yeah (in n out)
Uh uh uhu yeah (in n out), uh uh uhu yeah (in n out)
Well they got you goin in, they got you comin out
Same amount, in n out
Uh uh uhu (in n out), uh uh uhu (in n out)
Uh uh uhu (in n out), uh uh uhu (in n out)
Uh uh uhu yeah (in n out), uh uh uhu yeah (in n out)
Uh uh uhu yeah (in n out), uh uh uhu yeah (in n out)
Oh they got you comin in, for the same amount
Goin out, in n out
Uh uh uhu yeah (in n out), uh uh uhu yeah (in n out)
Uh uh uhu yeah (in n out), uh uh uhu yeah (in n out)...

song performed by Van Halen
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Minor Key

A minor key, a minor key
has really taken over me.
It's got me low, so darned low
as low as I can ever go.
Those saddened tones with its minor 3rds
have influenced what I say with words.

So many days have passed me by
when the minor 3rds have made me cry.
Tomorrow I'll raise them a half tone
to stop the pain that seems to have grown.
Oh sweet music take me back
to a major sound. It's what I lack.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Landslide

(john farrar)
Cold winds rarely blow
Here at the end of the rainbow
Guess its hard to believe
Id be willing to leave
Someone walked up behind me
Seemed to find me
I felt him standing there, I turned around and
Saw the face of an angel, I fell
It wasnt fair, it just wasnt fair
He took my heart, it was a landslide
You know it was a landslide
My head was saying this is the man
My heart agreed
My minor desires turned to major needs
My needs wont be denied
It was a landslide
Somehow Im thrilled by all he says
High on his campaign promises
I dont wanna come down
I dont wanna come down
But no promises he made me could persuade me
Like the loneliness that comes on when i
Try to go on without him
Try to doubt him
I confess, I have to confess
He took my heart, it was a landslide
You know it was a landslide
My head was saying this is the man
My heart agreed
My minor desires turned to major needs
My needs wont be denied
It was a landslide
Im in heaven when hes around
In heaven when hes around
And Im hoping that he might be
Feeling the same as me
Im in heaven, heaven
It isnt hard to see
He took my heart, it was a landslide
You know it was a landslide
My head was saying this is the man
My heart agreed
My minor desires turned to major needs
My needs wont be denied
It was a landslide
Im gonna tell everybody I see
Hes the only party for me
It really was a, it really was a
You know it was a landslide

[...] Read more

song performed by Olivia Newton-John
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Melody In Soft Gilded Brown (Revised)

There's always a heroine playing the ivories in my heart,
she plays Schubert's Impromptu in A-flat major beautifully
tonight - light-flashing notes, rolling whirlpools encircling
a melody in soft gilded brown

I follow in dance, turning whorls twirling, move to and
fro, up and down, weave musical lines in my heart until
circles heave in emotion, reach a peak and melody gilded
in soft velvet brown breathes tranquil serenity

My heart's secret place engulfs everyday life, revels in
memory of every great love, assigns delight to everyone,
each ray of sunshine, all moonbeams safe in a place
where no blight of being can touch - a Platonic world

Perfect of ideas where beauty remains an ideal
calling the dreamer forth - briefly adorning the
face of every smiling human being…

No.4 in A-flat major

The fourth Impromptu, in A-flat major, actually begins in
A-flat minor, though this is written as A-flat major with accidentals. The opening theme consists of cascading
arpeggios followed by murmuring chordal responses.
These are repeated and developed, going through C-flat
major and B minor before finally reaching A-flat major.
A subordinate theme is accompanied by the arpeggio figure,
varied with triplets. In the central section, in C-sharp
minor, the arpeggios are replaced by a chordal accompaniment venturing into the major mode towards its conclusion, but
reverts to the minor. The opening section is repeated and
the work ends in A-flat major. The tempo marking is
Allegretto.

http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impromptus_%28Schubert%29

poem by Margaret Alice Second
Added by Poetry Lover
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Are These Not Our Choices?

we are sometimes
as human beings
as inferior beings

too smart
too sharp
too insolent

for our own good
for the good of others
for the good of community

the quick wit
the ready wit
the sharp tack

may be entertaining
may be a joy to behold
may be a blessing to friends
may be a blessing to us all

or is usually of good heart
or is relatively harmless
or is a minor inconvenience at worst

a minor discomfort
a minor difficulty
a minor annoyance

the clever
possessing intelligence
mental alertness

can be witty amusing
or disrespectful
impertinent abusive

but the shrewd
calculating
in business
other dealings

may bless aid us!
or fleece curse us!

the sharp minds
may perceive protect us
or cause sharp
stinging sensations
as they cut into our senses

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
Added by Poetry Lover
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