Month: May 2015

For Love of Truth [sonnet]

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for_love_of_truth

That which is false is merely truth disguised
by fear — aversion to both light and love.
For truth is love’s own twin, the two despised
from deep within a frozen-fisted glove.

“There is no truth”, says one deluded soul.
“There’s only what each one thinks to be right”.
This vain philosophy they now extol
and in that shallow notion they delight.

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On the Beauty of having Fun

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on_the_beauty_of

ON THE BEAUTY OF HAVING FUN. I learn a huge amount from music — not only from composing and performing it but also from listening to it. One of my greatest teachers through listening to music has been the composer, Gustav Mahler (1860-1911). From his symphonies (nine completed and one unfinished, in which he proposed to catalogue “the whole of life”) I have learned so much about joy, angst, heartache, irony, ecstasy, tragedy, beauty, hope, horror, love, death, oblivion, life-force, demons and angels — not to mention how much he has taught me about counterpoint, harmony, melody, orchestration and conveying philosophy through music. But there is one of his works which I had, in a sense, avoided throughout the many decades during which I have listened to his music. His 7th Symphony. Decades ago, I had heard some of the last movement and had recoiled at what seemed like the enforced crassness of it. It seemed so uncharacteristic of his depth that I counted it as an aberration in an otherwise amazing repertoire. That is, until I found out a couple of months ago that it was going to be performed by the Tenerife Symphony Orchestra (one of the best in Spain) on June 19th, in a concert hall less than an hour away from where I am living. So, since that discovery, I thought I would revisit this music and see if it had something new to tell me. What a journey that has been!

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Teardrop Trundle [sonnet]

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teardrop_trundle

A drop of liquid formed a rivulet
upon my shaved and barren thirsty cheek.
That pilgrimage is like an amulet
of moistureful and downsome dribblespeak.

I drank it all and drowned in salty fire
through which I saw the open velvet thighs
of what’s to come: A freak perched on high-wire.
A dream for countless fakes to vaporise.

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