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But in the end, music is ultimately an aural art, pure and simple.

quote by Leo Ornstein
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Rap is only one end of a whole spectrum of verbal play and virtuosity. Rap is geared for aural pleasure.

quote by Rita Dove
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Every collaboration helps you grow. With Bowie, it's different every time. I know how to create settings, unusual aural environments. That inspires him. He's very quick.

quote by Brian Eno
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Teachers pet…?

Love is a freelance writer
If you want my real answer
Please don't take dictation
This is only an aural examination.

Students aren't they impertinent.
"Oh how I long for the moment"
Just to teach them the rudimentary,
Facts: behind this supplementary.

Extra curriculum those abstracts
Cogent analysis it just all subtracts.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Music Room

Enter this room of, profoundest bliss
Where knowledge anchors, black notes of soul
From caged aural form, to dark ravens wing
Fly perception’s tune, through yon window.

Return eternal as Escher would
Caw greetings to Mephistopheles
Pay his stanched toll, for my severed gourd
And sweet dirges sing, for my release.

Waste not one breath for carrion’s taste
Nor linger boughed, with crows in murder,
Nurture my caged soul, return with haste,
While I will pray at music’s altar

poem by Anthony Joseph Erangey
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Silent Night

I do not enjoy aural sex.
The creaking of the bed next door
is always guaranteed to vex.
I don’t use motels any more.
Especially the cheaper ones
where beds are rented by the hour
I cannot stand the ersatz moans
which some poor fool is paying for.
I bought myself a mobile home
where I can get to sleep in peace.
No matter where I’m forced to roam.
From sleepless nights I’ve found release
A salesman’s job is not much fun
when there is travelling to be done.

9-Oct-07

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Bleary eyed beauty in aromas sweet

Bleary eyed beauty in aromas sweet
By tinctures of air lilac on the leaf
Give not unto me that broken heartbeat
That crushed sense of being.., of belief.

Be not the pale pallor of unending grief
Be like the hedge rose in rosiness discreet
A warm little dear where bees compete
Garden a blush beneath your kerchief.

So that I might be your one knight's motif:
I draw lance that others meet defeat
Yours is the world above and below my feet
The moon climbs on aural wings all too brief.
Such allures are the stars in orbit
My souls heart for you spoken in sonnet.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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My Consolation

'Nay; I don't need a hearing aid'
I told Mama-in-law;
'For if I had I'd be afraid
Of your eternal jaw;
Although at me you often shout,
I'm undisturbed;
To tell the truth I can't make out
A single word.'

And it's the same with others who
Attempt to gab at me;
I listen to their point of view
And solemnly agree.
To story stale and silly joke
Stone deaf's my ear;
Each day a dozen stupid folk
I fail to hear.

So silence that should be my grief
Is my escape and shield;

[...] Read more

poem by Robert William Service
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C` i` r` r` h` o` s` i` s`

The vintage Jeraboam was like ether, an aural fantacide;
Mercurial Mind......irascible to the drumming of its walls;
Time escapes 'tween the threads of numbness and coma;
The Human Liver...labours deep, be it sotted...be it sober,

Yet only by the finest line that crosses Breath with Death.

Ostensibly brain-froze, still your nerves sense the needles;
Elixur potentate....might as well be injected with profofol;
The events, the illusion....that mirage in your Dreamscape-
All pass, as the movement of the Rapid Eye draws closure,
For the Mind not be born to sustain abuse so great as this.

And you awake to find your flesh a deepest shade of ochre.

poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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Of Winterscape...

Sprays of windglaced ice-dust...freezes mornings dew,
on the fresh needled spruce, immune to autumns wake
of feral gusts, that turn sprite colours...to crisp, dry leaf;
while listening to December's fifing...of its' winterwinds.

Grass blades stand like soldiers, silent, in rank and file;
rigid and still, from their full-bodied shell, of iced-armor.
Nothing be quite so sweet.....as winters first showcase;
it's virgin drape of white.....sweeping o'er pined hilltops.

Its majesty, forcing human breath's cold, fogging smoke,
and pleasuring the human mind....with flash-cube image.
There will ne're be a more aural catch....of natures stage,
than the crystal cloak, and crown..............of Winterscape.

poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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