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Resonance November 9, 2015

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, writing.
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Precise pitch, tuning,
and time
Yes, these are the
basics that maketh
a song
but bare minimum components
leave the mouth dry
and the listener unfulfilled.

To truly create music,
flavorful and full bodied,
you must be the river
shaping a canyon
molding the clay to
leave behind something
that resonates

(I recommend
gentle hands to pull
the strings
and warm breath
to make the sound
bloom)

The bard knows this
recipe well.
Boots off, he
keeps a foot on the
floor
to stay grounded

turning memory to music
taste, smell, and touch
translated wordlessly
filling my belly
and heart

How did you know
the harmony of my
past?

inspired by a music filled evening, November 7th 2015, performed by Damon Buxton

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Oblation July 5, 2013

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, writing.
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Through painted glass
it watches music
rise to meet the
ceilings tall
Hungrily, it waits
unmoving
whilst reed and wood
prepare its meal

Although opaque
the window view,
the subtle things
catch its eye
The ebb and flow
of waves of sound
a pleading voice,
a servant’s cry

A hum of air
against the walls
the wind it roars
its loud applause
Dancing rain upon
the roof
cheering loud
and without pause

A deity with
open arms
as if to catch
the divine sound
Made from earth
and hands of man
a purer art
cannot be found

Linger June 7, 2013

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, writing.
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The bass is in my chest
and it makes me feel hollow
Recent events, whatever they mean,
make a hard pill to swallow and
There’s no time to feed
the self loathing that’s roaming
in my head and my heart
or blame the rules of the game
So I shrug off the shame
lying bare on my shoulders
and move forward
But the road has grown longer
and meaner, and I don’t
want to linger here in this
faux purgatory more than I have to,
more than I need to
“I’ll pull through, in the end,”
I tell myself, like I’d
tell a friend.
For now I’m a ghost
making the most of
the time that I’m given
to prove I am driven
enough.

Core April 1, 2013

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It goes beyond
the foundational crust
It’s biological, it’s
part of us
It’s the chemistry of
carefully mixed parts
and checking your
math. Twice.

It is shaped by us
and, in turn, shapes us
the world moves to
many rhythms,
tripled and mixed,
but all in sync
and writing the
history books

Saying more than
poetry or painting
evoking lost emotions
and guiding the heart
to new ones
Music is my center,
my core, my purpose

Find your center
You may have to dig,
your knees planted on
the earth, your hands
covered in dirt,
and sweat on your brow
Find your center
but don’t claim to know mine

No one can
take that away
from me
And I won’t
let them take it
from you

St. James Infirmary February 21, 2013

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Blue skies, blue eyes
a sad, sad story
it’s a simple progression
to make misery
a wailing song
been too damn long
since blue’s been
a good color

Any color would be
a welcome sight
to these weary eyes
a yellow bright
or a red like wine
would be more than fine
but everything’s gone grey

It’s just as well
I didn’t appreciate it
anyway

Living Abstraction April 9, 2010

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Make a note:
every progression,
no matter how deceptive,
is here to stay
A science
of risk and
ritual
(careful not to
disturb what unstable
geniuses have previously
set in motion)
Formulas to make
the skin crawl
and the heart throb
combining the necessary
elements
to create a masterpiece
or a monster
Hoping to scar the Earth

Make Her remember

every thrilling trill
Perk every ear
Til it makes a
spark
Fiery melodies
armed with plagal
harmony
contrary to any
motion
made before
Like a leading tone
there can only be
one

Musician turned
muse
Rousing
the dead, dormant
dancer
writer and dreamer
inside

Dissect the Pieces
to better appreciate
the whole
This is no animal
vegetable or mineral
Unworldly and
most inviting
(like most sinful things)
warm and moving
Almost as if it’s
alive.

ReinQuest October 18, 2009

Posted by findingherforte in poetry.
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All that unites
the inventor
and the virtuoso
is the difficultly to
articulate

There’s a sneer
painted
behind the
diversion,
the lying canvas.
And layers of
bohemian scarves
that make
you
feel secure
among
bombastic dissonance

One could
challenge as to
whether this
“masterpiece”
is about nature
at all
or if
maybe
its valor
is merely
self portrait

Is it truly
icebergs
of which this
compilation of notes
describes?
Or those icicles
that adorn your
pretentious features?
critiquing our
every
tremolo
to your
every
ridiculous,
sophisticated
specification