Thursday, January 21, 2010



Classics - Set I

What a sweet, peaceful sound that classical guitar is to my ears. Beautiful, natural, organically repairing the mechanically riven day. What joy. All the pieces you chose melded so well together as to remove the anxiety of the listener. These melodies of J. S. Bach, of course, are extraordinaire, but Frank shines as an outstanding player. Thanks for giving us such a gift, Frank.


Classics - Set II

Warm, golden sounds, permeated the room, flowing from the deep wells of the alluring acoustic guitar that Frank plays with a poet's heart. A sweet voice rises gently up from that instrument which sings so readily beneath his magical hands. These heart-felt, rich melodies never grew old to my ears as I listened the hours away, but became like a quiet evening of enchanting friendship, near a radiantly glowing fire, as I was enveloped by those golden sounds.

January 21, 2009 I Look Out My Window

Seeing beyond the horizon
determined clouds like flights of doves
glowing golden in the silver gray
fighting back Sol's colors.

The music of the sun's reprise blasting
birds from tree to tree
Shadows in the underneath
Shadows speaking words to me.

And then a child's crystal voice:
"Look -
I made heaven."

This small child, in my class, had created a design on the computer which included a castle, covered with the exact shade of gold from the sky and star bursts. He announced that he had made heaven which included all of  his favorite things. Another child asked, "Did you put plants in there?" And yes he did. What joy and what heaven in this place - all of my favorite things - all things so easy to grasp hold of.
All things so free.

Sometimes I want to capture everyone I see
believing that they must mean something profound to me.

See that man down there?
Yes, that tall man in the black hoodie and the white backpack,
crisp blue jeans outlining his long legs
his feet waffling back and forth
as he walks . . .
reluctant to go forward
yet not stepping back.
where-ever is he going?
perhaps its too far for him to see . . .
packed on his back is a burden too great
to bear along with
a heart ache
and a lump in his throat . . .
a dream in the very back of his head
that reminded him of his yesterdays
and is clouding his tomorrows

he walks a fine line
as he watches his feet
move without his desire
and little momentum . . .
but the
galaxies are opening up before him
as a starburst from a grain of sand.


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