How often we pull ourselves apart;
these broken bodies of pianos,
these
music box

I am welcomed into a community

Twenty generations deep.


A friend embraces me

And with

Off to the side of a sunset,a man caresses his guitar with smoldering hands.
His head is tucked

My love is not a musician,
but he can play my heartstrings,
and he is in tune.

It's just a song.
If you just lay here
And realize that.
It holds a lot less power
It conjures

I don’t care for the colour of your skin
Or the God you pray to,
Or the mood that you’re in
I’m

I hear music, I long to dance
Where is the woman who’ll take my hands
And lift me to my

It was so cold
The wind was so strong
I guess I don't notice
With you on my arm

I guess that's

A beautiful melody, the haunting
song of you in me scaling my mind,
strum your truth in me, your

She has a few screws loose from the abuse of past years
Never talks but always hears, the gears

He played with such a passion,
Every single note of every hymn,
In a true artistic fashion
Which

Hiss on stone,
Pelting, full of spit,
Deafening in its roar of sweet crescendo.
The night begins

A wooden angel, she sings
Wilma, looks after Jon, who sings by her side

She, the drum, he the

the line of ants are firefighters, doctors, saints.

if you turn that page, the insects living on

Feel the Music

Schubert
lost in Adagio
classical string quintet.
Music so emotive,

With a single chord, I am prisoner,
My capture immediate and absolute.
An injection of electric

I'm a pro,
So it helps me earn some dough
But where's the satisfaction
From playing little

He sat that night in the company
of himself, crying was pointless,
rage was a waste. He had

“I listen to my words but they fall far below,
I let my music take me where my heart wants to

I feel like a lost soul without you on this planet
on this world I have nothing much to talk about

Outside my paneless windows

the evening rain has drenched the streets

Last

The cathedral bells ring eight times
The metal doors of shops grate shut

A man sits in the

When you tour Guthrie save the best for last.
Park at a corner red brick building
the Double Stop

Excursionist friend
Don’t forget that this year
we are all going to La Buga, Guatemala
to party

A work of art needs you to lose yourself
in it, endlessly. It's not just a glimpse only.
My Angels

I dance because the earth is lumpy.
Sun grows in my stomach when the
world is flat but it’s never

Music is my life
Notes are my friends.
I live in tunes
Piano, violin, guitar,
Mixing colours

Before the feedback stops
The baligerent blood bath
Of pangs and drunkman growls
Burping onstage

sitting quietly pen in hand
the white page stands
blank
your thoughts pause
momentarily

I remember the grey slithers of rain,
The jocular driver
As I boarded the bus
At Temple

Two days ago, I decided
To realise
Some cherished memories
Of my beloved little pueblo;
So I

I want to forever treasure
that night when we laid in bed
tucked under the blanket in the late

I

The pianist lifts his arms,

His hands come crashing down.

The bass notes growl, an ominous

music, sound that lives
each note has a pulse of its own
one colour
character that vibrates
an

A stately opening
The Court gathers

A violin plays
Cantor’s lament

Harmonic minor
Souls

Passion
whither is thy heavenly gift
Beg
I doth for pastures of romance
Love