It is sad that many people perceive an imaginary gulf between classical music and other styles of music. Many in the folk/pop/rock/country/singer-songwriter scene would never go to a classical music concert and have hardly listened to any classical music. Here’s a promise: If you ask me, I will take you to a classical music concert which will completely blow your mind. Then the gulf will be gone!
There’s something about April - the way she wears her clothes: loosely fit. One button more and September is exposed. The veil removed, her flesh reveals December’s naked trees; Springtime lurks behind the bark and drags me to my knees. Continue reading...
She couldn’t have the one who she wanted
So she made sure that no one else could
The moment she saw competition
She got out her dark storybook
She watched him to see who he talked to
Like a hawk in the sky stalks its prey
She even included ‘potentials’
If she thought he might steal them away
Why don’t songs/poems leave me alone? Why do they just keep plaguing me till I write them. I keep telling them to back off for a bit but that only makes them worse. I said to them “Gimme a break!” (literally) in as polite a voice as I could. But I might as well have told a dog to stop chasing a cat. It’s getting out of hand!
There is something more than love which makes mere love seem plain. Here is a sonnet from my heart which will these things explain…
This is not love; it is some other thing
More wonderful and more than twice as wide.
Compared to this, love is the underling
And any shrill complaints unjustified.
Your soul took the life from me right from the start
By brutally bleeding me dry
I wanted to run but I hadn’t the heart
Nor the wings that I needed to fly
Although it was plain that destruction was near
I had no desire to resist
I wanted the whole of you (nothing to fear)
When by your throbbing lips I was kissed
My love she has a way of drawing things
From me like a fisherman pulls his fish
From the icy waters (sirens will sing).
Then to be served up on a golden dish.
Her delicate fingers circle the reel;
Winding the bait through the length of the line.
Turning and ratcheting all that I feel;
Sending it hurtling through air (serpentine).