Shadows of Time

Detail in Cimetiere DuPere Lachaise, Paris

I find myself in a
place where it is always 5 p.m.
and I am needed to set the time straight. . .
I must be here or I will disappear,
like the cat who left only a smile
as a reminder . . .
of his demeanor . . .

The moon peers down at me through
the skylight in the library . . .
he wishes to read some of the tomes . .
that line these dusty shelves . .
we have an agreement . . .
and I offer him my book of poetry
and a cello song . ..
where there is dignity . . . and grace . .
simplicity . . a cup of cold tea sits at my side . .

This moon is hard and marches forward
like the iceberg .. .. known to carry small children
from the peacefulness of the north pole
where they were conceived
in innocent gardens found
buried deeply in caves of icy blue . . .

that old moon looks like a wedge of lemon . . .
and he patiently watches me . . .
his eye foreboding . . . as he is
inscrutable as a chair . . .
I gaze at him wishing that he were
a lover type .  . . or at least capable
of conversation . . .

I remember walking through the graveyards
in a local town . .
reading every inscription . .
and wondering about these people
who mattered to somebody  . . .
and while I read . .
his face watched mine
as I shed a few tears for these unknowns . . .
and I wondered if anyone . .
would care about me . . .

perhaps the moon
will erect a marble angel to watch over me . . .
or blaze a poem in granite . .
to withstand the elements and time . .
or perhaps my bones will gather flies
like icing on a dark cake . ..
and my flesh will shrivel
becoming dust that unites with dust . . .
perhaps his gaze will reflect on the stillness
of my eyes . ..  like a beacon showing me the way . ..

I saw shadows on the other side of the brick wall
deep they were . ..  like bottomless pools . .
aching to hold
a ray of light .. .
These deep damp blanks
are the loneliest things I know .. .
At least as lonely as I am . . .
and the moon that walks by me . .
even with his luminosity
cannot reach every shadow . . .
or cut away the loneliness
with his sharp beams . . .

He just is . ..  always . ..
and I am the one that sets the clocks . .
for the march of time . . .
and the things that were . .
have gone away . .
sliding down into the pools
of everlasting darkness . .  .

Detail in Cimetiere DuPere Lachaise, Paris

***********************************************************************************

Beautiful music ... ...

 










 by

Daniel H. 

The Sea . . .

Oregon Coast at Lincoln City

The colors and dreams of this music . .. 
flowed through me like a vision . . ..
long and drawn out . . . smooth as a swell on an ocean . . .
shining and reflecting a starlit sky .. ..
a calmness descends . . . the swoop of a sea bird,
a ship on a distant horizon carrying lights
that flicker and dance .  .  .
a beast of the sea . ..  remote as an island,
displaces water as clear as waves of glass . . .
a trail of foam, like white horses,
drives across the endless waters . .  .
seeking mystical shores . . .
somewhere, a great distance . . .
music rises along with the mist
on a great sea . . .

Sea and Sky
by Neuromanter

Royalty free music for professional licensing

Oregon Coast October 14, 2011

The Gift . . .

Cadeau
by CHRISS ONAC

Royalty free music for professional licensing

Two poems written while listening to Chriss Onac's gorgeous compositions . . .

The Gift

Slipping through the shadows . .. 
a silvery moth . .
flutters in the breeze . ..  from flower
to humble tree . . .
the nectar of the gods flows
out to greet a
most yellow and fuzzy bee . . .
the youngest feline . ..
ventures into the golden day . .
watching the sunshine . . .
and where the shifting shapes
were meant for play . . .
*****************************************

To Err is Human . . .
for creation itself is a stumbling block
to the oblivious . .. 
and the Divine sets the course, 
and the way thereof for
the threads of dreams and human connection . .
slide on under
the heartbeat of the creator . . .
where love is recognized and felt . .
as the music of life . . .

so we dance or we fly . . .
we run or we crawl .  .
time itself is not still .  .  .
we must move or we will fall . . .
*********************************************

Muse

Cloisters - Secret Garden

Deep in the dark and loneliness of the night
I wake up and look at you . . .
your silent breath leaves ripples
of neon lavender .  . traces like footprints
on sandy shores . . . filling slowly with the
reflections of the dancing stars
that trail languidly across the skies . . .
the luminous foam
riding the ocean waves .  . reaches higher
than a grain of sand . . .
a world in motion . . .
a universe throbs . . .
reflecting my heartbeat . . .
I listen for yours . .
but you have vanished . ..
and the night
is lonelier than the song
of the mist falling from the edges of
the dark leaves on the last tree
standing on the brink  . . .

Racing the chiseling of time . ..
the face of the hollow mountain
melts before my touch . .
and the salt on the edges of my teardrops
paint the patterns of my dreams . .  .
my wings are shredded
from the echoing, violent winds . . .
and my soul
is trailing blood . . .

No review written but was listened to as I wrote

the poem above . . .

so thus was a measure of inspiration . .. . 

That Somebody's NOT You
by DeE[J]LuX
 

Royalty free music for professional licensing

 **********************************************************************************

Jamendo . . . From the Poet's Heart . . .

Fern

Cool and Smooth . . like stardust in a river flow . . .

The lone runner . . .
landscapes moving by as a vision
smoothly . . .
slipping from our grasp and observation . . .
the feel of wind whipped cheeks
cool and salty like tears . ..
a tempo settles in and moves
the listener . . .
we can fly too, with the wings of our feet
kissing the earth . . .
the soil of our beginnings . . the cradle of our desperation . .
our dream . .
brilliant stars move beneath . .
lifting us higher . . . each speck of flame
in the black universe. . . a song . . .
a melody which flows like a breeze
through our soul . . .
the dust of the stars . .. build our bones . . .
and give us strength for the race . . .

Thank you for the music to inspire me and cool my burning bones. . .

Lone Runner
by Pascalum

Royalty free music for professional licensing

************************************************************************************

Magical piano . . . the musician is a magician . . .
causing emotion to roll through my heart in big waves . . .
I gulp down the music like a thirsty being
lost in a desert
and finding an oasis . . .
a tree grows, offering shade from a brutal sun . .
the night falls . . . a clear endless darkness . . .
deep as a well . .
and the starlight . . .
dances and shimmers across the cooling waters . . .
in the distance . . .
the song of a wild thing . .. calling .. .
intense . .. vibrant and piercing . .
what is this river
that runs down my cheeks . . .?
leaving patterns
against the dust
like an enigmatic message . .
of truth and pain . .
of love and despair . . .
I am moved . . in my bones . . .
the sharp edges . . . ragged and telling . ..
a bloody beating thing . ..
is throbbing in the center .. .

I cry . . .

The Illusionist (incomplete, without applause and vocals)
by JOSE TRAVIESO 

Royalty free music for professional licensing

********************************************************************************

A Certain Fragility . . .

Sometimes I sense a fragility
in my house of cards and find
myself frantically looking
for a way to shore myself up
against the gentle breath of the breeze
that seeks to snuff out this unstable frame

lost in the construction
of a desperate devising . .
never able to push
the way out . . for a lack of doors . .
the walls . .
the walls they haunt me . ..

The dream is always there
the hope is always fair . . .
we say . .  we say my friend
this was the other day
I walked with you
I talked with you
I held you by  the hand . . ..

there was a child who saved a quarter a week
to buy the microscope
that sat on the top shelf
of the White Front store . .


the smell of silver as it slips
through the fingers . . .
a memory of yesterday . . .
oh so long ago,
the fairies danced beneath the stream . . .
like smoke drifts in the wind . . .
a life so short . .  so temporal . .
snuffed out on a whim . .

The stars are always bright
on the other side of the clouds . ..
I dream, I dream my love
that I was meant to die . .
and yet I find the chance to cry . .
and grab the heart of life . .

I have no patience for this small amoeba . .
slowly, slowly dying against the light
of my bright sun . . .
. . . a sort of love developed . . .
the seeking of something unknown . . .
a world of alien population . .
smeared thinly on a strip of glass . . .
the voiceless . . .
trembling and demented
existing unknown beneath
my white hot gaze . .

The heart,
the heart is always black
my love
with ancient hardened blood . . .
it aches within the breast of me . ..
and etches symbols . . .
upon my brittle bones .. ..

What will come tomorrow
is as eternal
as what came before yesterday
My place in the moment,
like the crawl of the amoeba
is to dig holes
in the face of time . . .


I find a way to travel small distances
into the unimaginable . . .
never taking the consequences
of being a god
over an endless universes . . .

******************************************************************

Below the Lint . . .

In Strasbourg, France 2011

The Empty Hole


I practice what to say
before I leave the building
I say "good bye . . "
it takes a moment's care
not to say something foolish
or blue;
the flies gather at the corner
where the sun settles,
pushing to find the weakness . . .
an obligation to stand still
at the bus stop
turns into a restlessness
wandering
    traveling
testing each step
each stop of the route . . .
a failure to
realize my place
in the hierarchy,
can result in dismissal
from the ranks
and banishment. . .
its always safest
to take the lowest place,
below the lint perhaps
which only cares to annoy . .
the wind . .  rustles the leaves
on my road
as I walk,
the pale of the morning
precedes me . ..

Open Air Museum, Cuzals, France 2011

******************************************************

http://www.jamendo.com/en/album/99602?refuid=1088547
Melodie in der Nacht
by Linda Li
************************************review by me . . . .

Sweet lively listening . . . many of these songs sounded familiar to me;
they were romantic and sentimental with a sad yearning, a plaintive melody . . .

In Strasbourg, France 2011

. .. and plucking at my memories . . .
something from long ago
drifting like a lonely cloud
across an empty sky . .
returning through my dreams . ..
a half remembered waltz . . .
a kiss, a tender look . . .
all faded away like lavender ink
on old love-letters . . .
happy memories cut short . .
a sadness . .
a melancholy . . .
a crumbled dried rose . . .
dusty petals on the floor . .
there was yesterday . .
and now it is nothing more . . .
than the breezes knocking,
knocking on my door . . .
a candle quickly snuffed . . .
sits sputtering in an open window . .
and the silence in this melody . . .
is more than I can bear . . .
. . . is more than I can bear . . .

http://www.jamendo.com/en/album/99555?refuid=1088547

The 4 elements
by Peter Kind 
********************************review by me

A breath of fresh air . . .
Love is the energy . .
from which all things come . . .
creation upon creation . . .


beauty in the "earth" . . there is no compare . ..
except for the dreams and fantasies . . .
of the visionary listening
to the music . . a temporal thing . .
a dragonfly's song . . . an angel's wing . . .
lost in the melody . .


Fire in the darkness . . . a light,
a warmth, the listener hangs on to the quiet . . .
humbled by the unknown . . .
sparks rise to kiss the stars . . .
and the night descends . . .


a dance of energy .. .. a lightness
of gentle feet . . . pattering, and frisky . .
lifting higher with the wings of the breeze . . .
as the dark trees on the hill sway . .
they lift their branches in praise
and they dance in the wind . . .


water drifts down from the trees . . .
and pool in the shadows . .
silver with ambient light, small leafy life boats
float across on the mirroring surfaces . .


the stillness of the earth . . . a sail in the wind
the light of a distant fire guides . . .
as a star in a darkened sky . . .
and the water, as spirit, moves the soul
throughout . . .
Tender is the music . . gently to be moved. . .

Maison Henri IV, Cahors, France 2011

http://www.jamendo.com/en/album/99476?refuid=1088547

Spiritum contra spiritus
by Alejandro Vallarino

**************************review by me . . .

I remember hiking through a beautiful mountain forest,
long ago with my sister. . . and finding a small crystal spring,
bubbling up between the toes of a large mossy tree . . . magical . ..
and this album cover reminded me of that . ..
and, not surprisingly . . . so did the music .. .
it has a rather magical clarity .. .. a twinkling of unusual notes . . .
and surprising moments . . . as if suddenly transported to
a place undefined . .. a moment that makes your heart feel
like a fragile bubble and you catch your breath
in wonder . ..
piano . . . guitar .. . dreamily expressed as if in
a perfect trance. . . very nice and very unusual .. ..
I like that . . it dances and whispers . . .
sparkles and flies . .. like a drop of spring water . ..
on the edge of a cliff . .

Inside a residence, Sarlat, France, 2011