Like Heartache

Cresting the tidal wave of sunlight
ending in points
of color                      
blue and yellow              
contrasting        
golden filters
reflecting               

yesterday's                      
         butterfly . .
a habit of watching

rewarded . . 

cresting happiness
joy                             
which though
so ephemeral                                 
as effervescent             
as a bubble
a moment where wings                   
lift the spirit
which crumbles                     
so easily crushed        
against the harsh
embrace of                               

planet                   
and universe
with all its glory                        
and beauty
red stones in the road                    
like drops of blood
burnished and turned
dusty                                          
each left                              
like a sign                  
to the wanderer
the harvest is contentment  
fleshy fruits           
hang low
to entice
the hungry soul
like becoming         
fingers
like fish in trees              
like patterns against the blue
like many hued clouds
bursting with dew . ..                 

Like music                   
      in the wind . .
the birds                       
       on the wing

a sky so blue          

a sun so warm . . .

I dream of innocence

for in the end                          

when all the stars           

are gone:

the darkness 

remains . . .

  Krzysztof Malinowski, "Catharsis"

This was just what I wanted to hear . . . Uplifting music, with a clear sound; conducive to smiles and relaxation . . wings that lift me up as I listen . . . a breath of fresh air relieving pent-up pain . . . sorrow and grief flow away into an endless streaming breeze . . . Music has a way of touching the soul's deepest feelings . .. reflecting and inspiring the mind of the heart. This album is a tale . .. a tale of darkness and pain . . . a tale of escape and desire . . . . a tale of death and re-birth . . .

Royalty-free music for professional licensing

    Lines Build Walls by Ehren Starks

Hello My Sunny Girl

Hello my Sunny Girl . . .
my tasty sweet and wild girl. . .
you create the music
that makes my world
whirl like a top
and a dream . . .
there is a roaring
in the atmosphere . . .
somebody's moon is melting the slow ice . ..
and cold crisp water runs down
the walls of my blue prison . .
I remember the song you sang
on the day I first heard you . . .
but now my feet are cold
as winter grips them
in chains woven of tears . . .
and the black skies lower their bellies
to smother me . . .
my design is a tree
that grows me to you
my sunny girl . . .
waiting to be held
in strong branches . . .

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Royalty Free Music - Stock Music Library | Jamendo PRO

               This Beautiful Music:

                       Peaceful and quiet,
         floating in a still sky . . . 
                           weighted like a feather . . .
             drifting
                          silently by . . .
                                  Moved by the winds
             that blow o'er the night,
                          dreaming in the meadow
         beneath the starlit sky
                   The snow falls down around me,
                        a blanket smooth and bright
              the music fills the atmosphere
          with melodies like bells . . .
                                teardrops slowly falling
                 crystal daggers
                             in my blurring eyes . .

18th Century Chinese Vase

You were my universe . . . turmoil seethed in me
like star fires and billowing clouds of darkness,
bright with light reflected
from the unknown gods . . .
a small bubble of blue; a magnet
for lost souls and questing angels . .
do you know what I feared more than
anything else? Not being loved . .
and yet I managed to survive for a time . .
without another soul to comfort me . . .
Alone, I was, on the green meadow . .
still trying to cross the river that seems
to be but a trickle . . a mere wisp
dangled like a carrot before me . . teasing
with offerings of bones full of helium  . . .
and gifts of grace to float away . . .
sailing up a sunbeam . . . I always felt they were ladders for souls . . .
for angels .  . . and I would gaze at them until
the spots before my eyes transformed
into winged creatures coming and going . ..
gold dripping off the tips like honey from a spoon
held over a warm cup of tea . ..
my hands warming in the steam . . . I would take a deep breath
and make a wish as if I were looking over the genie's brightless lamp . .
and I in a soot darkened cavern . . . lost for all eternity,
could dream with eyes wide open
while listening to the song of water
crashing against crystal walls . ..
the hollow caves of me .  ..  dark and empty
the things that rattle around there,
a wayward mouse . .  dusty and gray,
a frayed ribbon, green and blue,
a crust of toast, stale and moldy,
and a few odd bones, discarded long ago . ..
with the stench of rancid grease clinging to the breaks.
I know the heartache of loneliness,
it comes with a terror
and a deep knowledge . . . that I am unworthy
of being loved . .. 
that no one will ever be there to hold out a hand . .
to help me over the river,
and through the misty valley . . .

and a Chinese vase, deserted on someone's driveway,
holds the ashes I left behind . .

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

Royalty Free Music - Stock Music Library | Jamendo PRO

I have to agree that album cover pops right out at you, it stands out amongst the crowd .. .. and does justice to the music . . . 'tis a beautiful choice . . .

. . . and the music . . . how gorgeous . . . a little different from Van Syla's usual beautiful musical excursions . . . this one (even more gorgeous) takes us to medieval times . . . and so romantic . . . a Shakespearian choice for sure . . .

Delicate and tender . .
like old lace and lavender . .
a romance choses to bloom
against a robin's eggshell blue sky . . .
'Twas Spring dancing in the meadow. . .
her hair flying in the breezes
and dreams of love's gentle song . .
where only sunshine could exist
and nothing could go wrong . . .

or could it . . . . .

"For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo." - W.S.

but in the end the story gives us
exceptionally beautiful music . .
so we forgive the tears. . . .
and listen to the tale told twice
and then -
again and again . . .

And such a wonderful Jamendoan reviewer as our Carybe, who exists in our lovely Jamando kingdom, is one to deserve a gracious dedication . . through such a romantic and well made music . . . the sound so perfect and the love so deep . . .

Thank you, Van Syla, for sharing . . .
*********************************************************

The Voyage of the Damned

Rushing, as I walked to
accomplish my errands . . .
upon
turning a corner I saw
in the distance
a goal. . .
my destination.

The street seemed so far away,
and as I progressed I anxiously watched
as it never seemed to get nearer
and then . . .

I realized I was missing
the moment
and all the barely encompassed
here in the now . . .

I was missing
the golden glow of the fall leaves,
expiring against a silver bright sky. . .
I was missing the
Mandelbrot patterns around me,
the pine needles
arrayed on the damp ground . . .
the sounds of music,
the tone of birds . . .
and the scrunch of my feet against
the gravel on the ground,
each tiny rock a crystal bell . . .

I was missing . .
the steamy smiles of
passers by,
and the breath of freedom . . . .

As the goal
became just another passing moment. . .
I retrieved my treasures
like scarlet leaves
collected in a wicker basket . . .
and held in awe 
what senses,
reaching out like tentacles,
exploring the depths
and the heights . . .
were able to harvest
against the coming storms . . .

What is my goal in the end,
but death,
and a moldering
away in a grave
unsuited to
deep breaths of
Autumn flavored air . . .

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

An Autumn Moment

The leaves flutter down,
gasping a last refrain,
with colors reminiscent of a Turkish
carpet, arrayed on overgrown grassy lawns
and
clinging like starfish
facing their new horizons,
they feel the flesh of the soil
with splayed fingers,
slowly growing numb . . .
as molds fringe the brittle
textures, scraping away the flesh
to leave a fragile lacy pattern
of veins . . . slowly, slowly . . .
gazing sadly at the stars . . .
as they twirl away in their
nightly dance
across indigo skies . .

The scuffed toe of my boot
skitters through the leaves
committing some to their utter destruction,
and arbitrarily sending others
back into a flight
on Autumn breezes. . .
The cold reaches fingers
up my nose
and the laughter of
children is heard
in the distance . . .

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

Ten Grains of Rice .. . .

Somewhere in France

Let no king reign
without first walking as
a child of the world

un-bandaged in the grimy streets,

wounded and raw

beneath an acid rain . . .

a new born child . .
first guilty of existence, and
unwashed under the flow
of bloodied armies

marching too and fro . . 

a tiny beating heart 

a speck of tender flesh,

clinging to maternal bosoms 

dreaming of rivers of nectar . . .

lest a king's dream

be that of the dragon . . .

an armored tail

gripping the ransom

of babies . . .

and a cage wraps around

a hollow tomb

where once

there was a beating heart . . .

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

http://www.freerice.com

These are the things you can learn while you are donating 10 grains of rice per correct answer . . it is free to you to play and learn . .  and you are feeding the hungry while you play . . . my students love playing these games and especially bragging about the amount of rice they have donated. 
 ************************************************************************************

Another Poem .. .. Another Song .. .. Another View .. .. I Borrow

Somewhere in France (SW) 2011

THE MAN WITH MANY PENS

With one he wrote a number so beautiful
it lasted forever in the legends of numbers. With another

graffiti covered doorway, in France

he described the martyrs' feet as they marched
past the weeping stones and cypresses, watched

by their fathers. He used one as a silver wand to lift
a trout from its spawning bed to more fruitful waters

and set it back down, its mouth facing upstream.
He wrote Time has no other river but this one in us,

no other use but this turn in us from mountain lakes
of late desires to confusions passed through

with every gate open. Let's not say he didn't take us
with him in the long current of his letters, his calligraphy

and craft, moving from port to port, his hand stopping
near his heart, the hand that smudged and graced the page,

Somewhere in France, 2011

asking, asking, his fingers a beggar's lucent black,
for the word that gave each of us away.

- BY Jonathan Wells
The New Yorker
July 26, 2010

****************************************************************
 I was listening to this music, by Re-Lab on Jamendo, as I read The New Yorker and came upon this poem which I loved . . . and wanted to share with you . . . and it all merged in my head as a surreal moment . . . and here of course I continue to share some of my pictures from France . . .


Piano for the wide oceans . .
seas which wash like tears within . .
the salt, a cleanser that scours
the hole . . . empty and soulless . .
which drives the music
that swirls in lassitude . . .
as the water
retreating from the breaks mirroring . . .
a forest of grass running on the hill
a breeze
a swell
a light through the wave . .
green like the ivy that clings
to the tree . .
a lover's tight grasp
that smothers a cry . . .
a heart beats within
the ocean's wide reach . . .
leaving a trail for the moon . . .
which skims hot white dreams
to me .. .


 

Royalty free music for professional licensing

Somewhere in France, 2011

La Bella Principessa

La Bella Principessa

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Young_Girl_in_Profile_in_Renaissance_Dress

Solemnly you sit
in the golden glow of sunlight reflecting on a yellow wall,
your demeanor calm . ..
yet your turmoil within
is like the battle of dragons,
black smoke of their breath rising up behind your eyes;
your day is caught up in memories
of yesterday's youth . .  
a dream you had of being a girl . .. 
before your marriage,
which, so quickly ripped your carefree days 
into shreds . . . while you were reborn
as a matron . . . though your face,
still smooth as a baby, 
is painted to cover the shadows and the pallor 
of your restlessness and ennui . . 
and your eyes as clear 
as the biggest star on a moonless night . . .
reflect nothing . . .
your tender lips have no longer the strength to lift
into a curve of delight . . . and those peals of laughter,
that once resounded in the valleys of the girls . . .
do not echo on the stone walls of the matrimonial domicile . .
is there a hint of a tear in those golden eyes?
yet you look as if you were about to call your kitten to you . . 
to run and play. . .
and sing with your friends in the garden . . .
trailing your fingers lazily in that fountain, there,
with the moss spotted faun cavorting in the water,
you have always wondered what doorway you could open
to find that world of fauns, and fairies, unicorns and roses . . .
flowers you can find in your own gardens,
but not the kind that never wilt . . . nor droop and drop their petals . .. 
that wither away
into scarlet crusts of blood . . .
spent in their dying moments . . .
your clear eyes glance like water 
on the hot face of the painter . . . 
as he patiently rubs a wayward stroke of his pencil . .. 
he looks into your soul . . . an open door . .. 
a draft blows through with  a vengeance . .
and for a moment you shudder as if a thing with scales
and claws is walking on your skin . ..
leaving tattoos, like drops of blood,
and you sigh. . .
just slightly,
a mere ripple in the oceans of a larger day . . .
and here, the painter says he has enough . . .
so you quickly slip away through a darkened doorway . . .
never looking at the drawing of you . . .

Versailles, France

An Offering from Henry . . .

Bucolic fields in France

From: MY SOUL REFLECTIONS IN SUSPENSION . . .
By Henry Ireland
(FaceBook)


A day to want to decipher the mysteries
 printed on the acanthus leaves
 on the rails of the glow
 in the metaphors of the dream.

One more day to go in search of some horizon
 and go to the next station of the happenings.

One more day to live without fear.

What is this absence nostalgic feel
that your home is always elsewhere,
wherever you are not!. !

Wherever seas kiss
white sand beaches that are fixed on the traveler's soul!. !
Wherever the clouds are hung
verses erect a memory!. !
Wherever the battlements of the high towers
will echo sounding deep!. !
Wherever green fields
with the stain of lichen months of the year!. !
Wherever dawn cities are
you always walking towards cavity of time!. !
There!.
Here I am writing dreams expatriates. !
Dreams!. !
Only dreams of glass in the windows of a sunset
I write not to be understood but only to be felt!

Clouds in Strasbourg

The Meaning of Life . . .

Intro:
I collect little rabid bits of paper . .
believing that every thing has a  voice . .
and a song . ..
and if I collect enough and collate them correctly . .
put the pieces together . . . then
I will have the complete song . .  the one
which tells the story
of the world . .
I know it is there.  . I
often feel that story and suspect that it
has merely been misplaced . . .

I hear the voices of the crowd
and identify each as my love . .
I hear you clearly . . .
your hearts resonate
with mine . . .

in the old world
I looked and saw a flame
and as it consumed the
face of the land
it sang of the  spirits to come . .

A Play in Three Parts . . 


Part I

"Why do dogs stick their noses
out of car windows?" She asked .  . .
He answered, "because their scent receptors are
capturing all the latest news."
She looks pensive for a moment . .  even shocked, and
then glanced at him sharply . .
"And you know this how?"
he blushes . .  and she continues,
"I think they are feeling the ancient winds on
their cheeks and on their ear drums . .
and remembering
when they were wolves . . . "

Part II

She walks slowly with her hands
behind her back, held loosely,
fingers curling, uncurling  . .
she is looking down at the small child
skipping along besides her . .
his face turning as he looks at the things
around him . .
The woman is speaking so softly,
as to be indiscernible to the child . .
"I remember when you weren't . . . but even then I knew you . .
you were an angel in my dreams . . .
you were the rose leaning over my deck, watching me . . .
you were the laughter in the air
when the geese would gather . . .
you were the sound of the wind chimes . .
as a tender breeze stroked their dusty sides . .
you were the moonlight trapped on the ocean . . .
rolling with its tempers .  .
you were the song in my heart . .
about to fly . .. .

Part III

the students are lining up obediently
as the teacher directs them . . .
her arm pointed forward . . . she narrows her eyes . .
fluttering her other hand until the children are in
a very straight line . ..
they smile with anticipation . .
She advises in a firm but warm voice,
"Stay in a straight line .. .. very straight."
She looks at them sternly . ..  with a glint in her eye .. .
she sees their suppressed laughter . . . . 
and she is prepared for the ritual,
She turns her back to them and guides them down
the empty hallways . . .
the children behind her silently,
begin to dance about . . .
weaving in and out . .  hopping, skipping . .
arms waving wildly . ..  hair flying,
and with utter silence, they all participate
in this impulsive choreography  . . .
they dance to their inner song . . ..
each one knows where a foot is placed,
and that all is safe . . . as the floor will not collapse
neither will the ceiling fall upon their heads. . .

She turns suddenly and they all freeze . . .
her face attempts to look sternly
at these small characters . .. their faces red,
their chests rising and falling quickly
their eyes glow and
her heart melts
with love at their silliness . .  her eyes glitter
with an un-shed tear . .
arm out, she again lines them up
and again advises . .. 
"Walk in a straight line . . . " but these
are children who dance outside the lines
they are the ones who beat the drums
and dance around the fire
beneath a dark and evil sky . . .
these are the images of her heart .. ..
and the face of the earth . ..
reflections of a dream and
she recognizes in each and every one of them
a piece of herself . . . and she knows that she has taught 
them well . . .

Hidden Songs
by Noise Dream
 

Royalty free music for professional licensing

No review . . . Just Enjoy!

The Sanctity of Hope

The sun is shining on
      the western hills,
and after a long wet Spring
it is a welcome reprieve. . .
I dig in my garden
  aimlessly - no real goal -
and find the flotsam and jetsam
of years gone by. . .
caked in dirt and rusting away, 
each object
a testament to a life passing by .. ..
a safety pin, a quarter,
and a small green plastic soldier,
   kneeling hopefully with
his bent rifle,
   the barrel pointing back at him. . .
I remember a small boy
with his toy soldiers lined up. . .
a sort of mental war in his mind,
bizarre sounds emanating
from his mouth. . .
the drone of a lazy fly
in the hot August sun . .

    

Life like a game;
we lay out the pieces,
anticipating the end. . .
but the sun is shining
    in our eyes
and the glitter, like gold,
    dazes us with desire,
we are blinded by our needs . . .
which distorts the map,
    and after each bend in the road .. . 
we look back,
but the way was lost . . .
long ago . .. 
              and we must turn and face
the approaching end . . .
**********************************************************

Refuge
by Giac & Juan

 

The music makes me smile .. .. 

and fills my heart with sentimental memories

........dreams to think about, people to love . . .

I remember sunshine . ..  and carnivals . . . cotton candy and children's  laughter . . . 

and I remember you . . . 

I remember all the good things . . . the pictures bring to mind . . . I remember singing and I remember crying . . . I remember dancing, swimming in the lake under the moon, and 

I remember you. . . 

I remember passion, I remember hope . . . 

dreams of the future, past and now . . . . . .

the colors of the rainbow . .. all that joy can bring. . . 

scattered memories in the music of my mind . . . bringing back the taste of yesterday and . . . .

I remember you . . .

The music is my sanctuary . . . my place to be alone .  . to hold close all my dreams and thoughts . . .  recalling a place called home . . . 

where  are these things now . . . but in my memories saved deep . . . I cherish  all that's in my heart to keep 

but most of all

I treasure

remembering you . . .

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

Fukushima--The Song--with Ron and JoJo on Vox by Wiese

“Fukushima--The Song--with Ron and JoJo on Vox” Comment & more at RiffWorld.com

Art Lesson

draw. . .

the line of birds

              across the azure canopy,

the tender flow

         of a child's jaw,

the length of the pathway

          from the shadow to the light,

the colors of yesterday

        when the sun

                  closed his eyes,

the curve of a graceful dancer's 

          extended arm,

the branches of the pine

       scraping the clouds,

the stream of tears

      glowing on your face,

the flow of a brook       

        along the ground,

the melody arcing

                           out of a softly played guitar,

the edges of the foam

                    on the sandy shore,

the hair on your head

                               as the breeze moves through,

the smile on the face

         of a peaceful dreamer,             

the fresh edge

      of a newly formed rose,

the thread of connection

      between you and I,

the flames of love

        in your eyes. . .

draw. . .

   the blank page of

               hope

and all the 

                      promises

yet to be . . .

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

I missed my bus this morning so I picked a word (draw)

and wrote a poem about it

to pass the time . . ..

maybe I like this one and will work on it

a bit more

maybe not .  .   . but I like it . . .

While editing the poem and setting it here in the blog I listened to this album . . . a raw and tender guitar play with a few atmospheric sounds added . ..  lovely and peaceful.

The Journey Home
by Roy Merriam :

Royalty-free music for professional licensing

Tender Peacefulness

A lovely album
full of birdsong
and wind chime
and
with heartfelt
guitar melodies . . .
tender strumming which brings
a peacefulness which descends
into the listener's atmosphere
as if the rays of the golden sun
were charming all the heart-ache
away . ..
************************************************************************************

Dance with My Lover

Paris 2010

Human Angel's Club
by Human

Royalty-free music for professional licensing

As the listener sat rapt . .
                                          she felt
An explosion of love which
flew in with the wings                                     
               of a divine angel,
visiting from an exotic
                                                  and distant land,
                      and as this seraphic being

hovered over the her                         
                                        with the rush of fragrant wind
betraying its presence,                                              
                           the celestial music, so uplifting,
increased the heart-strength of this listener . . .                    
and created a passionate longing 

to dance
                                                       with her adored one
held tightly in her arms  . .

                                     Hold me tightly . . . sweet love,
for I fear the angel's power                                  
to lift me away . . . far away
from you . . .
                                                           Together . . . we shall dance,
forever, in each others arms . . .                    
                                                                     and though there may be glory
somewhere else,
all I want in this existence                                      
is to dance with you . . .
so close

so very close,
                                  and to dream with you
                                                                   into the exaltation of eternity . . 

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

The flow of . . .

Royalty-free music for professional licensing

All around me . . . the music flows,
sadly calling . . . like a water sprite . . .
stroking the shoreline,
messaging gently at malleable muds,
softly enticing . . .
with a lover's melodic tune,
echoing from the forest trees . . .
all around . . . dark green
like a cavern's maw . . .
stretching around me . ..
I am left to wander naked
and all alone. . .
the frosty air wrapped 'round. . .
as an icy blanket,
leaving me cold, so cold
to the marrow of my bone. . .
I walk along the water's ledge
and listen to the cry
of a sad and lonely owl
questioning humanity
asking who
and wondering why . . .
 *************************

Royalty-free music for professional licensing

Left alone to dream               

                                              I dream of peace       
            flowing like a river beneath
 a brilliant sun                                            
                            and the lights in the periphery
 of my vision                                                                           
                      flash as if about to fly 
like the pelican,                          
                                         regal and unwary,     
  ready to lift the fallen
           and swim with the lost . . .                                              

a brittle leaf . . . 

briefly sways like a hammock,
                        then drops . .  fluttering like a
wayward page                                     
                         from a book half written . . .
the last of his kind . . . he dreams
before he lies buried                                                            
                                beneath layers of time  . . .
and slowly rising again                        
to the mountain top
       where
he rests
                                     until he is finally lifted
in the cradle of the pelican
and taken home                                                   
to his dream . .
****************************

Royalty-free music for professional licensing

The days go by

go slowly by,
the moon droops low
half warmed by kisses
from a weary sun . . .
I set sail .  .  .  with a wisp
of a breeze . . . and fly
until there are no more
melodies
flowing through my
cold and empty soul . . .
and the dimmest star,
the furthest thing,
reflected on my lonely lake
reach up through tree branches mazed
and scraping against
a raw and frightened sky. . .
in violent breezes
in dark and dreamy
colors dim
and as the dreams begin to disappear . . .
my eyes close
forever,
and without a fear
I slip away . . .  . . .
and flow without the stream of life
I am no more
and yet
I find am . . .


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

A poem in three part harmony, a triptych painted for the visionary . . . a flowing tale of grief and ultimate triumph . . . a sadness prevailing along with the music from the spheres . . . reaching the listening and discerning ear . . . who will hear the sorrowing truth . . . and yet witness the hope that flows and carries the heart along  . . who?