Orchestrationed hands stroked to vibrate
their soundful echoes, driven into
awaiting memories, full aroused by
feelings - symphonic notes brought to hand.

Fingers as well as mouthful blows
huffed into hollow horns, their ready reeds
heeded with skillful artistic air, til filled hall
with drifting notes - and hallowed dreams.

Full enraptured by where those haunting thoughts
led their deep feelings across some far-back reach
struggled years long toiled by, Time lent them of
til resurrectied old memories - buried long ago.

Grappled with those events from long past
until mooded on to another
stories early read of childhood days
reincarnating - some spectral ghost.

Such I found, hid within that semi-darkened
chambered hall, enthralled by sounds - not words
as those thousand notes recalled a thousand dreams
conceived by some spectral love - mere music gifts to each.

While far beyond some otherwhere
reformed from one's past or yet to come
when one of genius will create, a new string
of olden notes - unlike ever heard before.

Destined to become a classic
in some newer age ears have yet to hear
found cast within that dark of one's inward soul
til both dreams and music merge - completely whole.
December 23, 2003

Cadenced to that pulse sadness grieves
loft upon evening's fading breeze
all night suffered, grief dreaming thieved
til dawn wakens what nightly grieved.

What love's loyalty so loudly proclaims
or one's sweet kindliness proudly ordains
why composers well-composed, re-sung again
til those attending - might well explode within.

Such strong words doth pander, when sang of well-gifted tongues
vibrant echoes launched by melodies so loudly sung
voicings enraptured by emotions from heart and lungs
til audience laughs tears - or sad eyes weepfully wrung.

As if love itself on trial for some devious deceptions
for what found ill-conceived by close-clung conceptions
loudly thrown across curved ceilings, til enraptured their ears
as exhausted audience found upstanding - proudly cheers.
April 1, 2004

In mute silence of hidden solitude
whereof Nature gifts such solicitude
beyond easy reach of outer ears
nor near enough to awaken fears.

Yet are of these one's heart grapples of
converting all one sees - felt with love
echoes still cast across dateless years
past and present - sought by eager ears.

Hearing what only eyes can see
seeing what only ears can hear
feelings only one's heart may yearn
understandings - keen minds must learn.

A harvest reaped from what moods spoke
both cut and caught by cradle's stroke
gathered into bundles, tied-up as sheaves
until finally shocked to dry - as one leaves.

Seasoned by weathers stir of drying air
thence brought to winnowing floor - flailed there
sacked for livestock feed and malt for beer
special-some saved back for seed next year.

Solitudes of whispers aloneness brings
til grasps what might gather from natured things
in thankful homage, grown upon earthen sod
like a priest - re-offered to one's distant God.

Each movement felt, sound sees, eyes have heard
tells a story poets write - uniquely theirs
rocks, trees and winds or flight of distant bird
in quiet solitude - births cause for prayers.

What mountains yell, valleys echo far and wide
ancient stories retold, yet have never lied
where far above, lone condor soars with silent glide
til one's soulful Love weds with Beauty - as its bride.
April 13, 2004

Slowly evolving, unwinding with growing ascendence
escalates with such ponderous portending transcendence
wanning basso's voice, vibrates those depths left behind
gradually fading in background - felt within their mind.

Continuo would further rise, thereafter with drifting constraint
its even tempo lingering, softly beating with controlled restraint
as basso throbs, faintly pulsing behind opera's scene
so might recall those first haunting notes, fond memory's glean.

Til reached far beyond where began, as if should touch the sky
full strings and loud trumpets declared, satisfaction brought by
swirled its filmy dream, surrounding those listening there
unsure yet aware of such heights - tenuously drifting rare.

Its arrival announced by piccolo's piercing depths of heights
like a battle fought between oboe and flute - dueling fights
cascading crescendos swelling with finale's fortissimo
as opera ends with extended loud applause - magnifico.

Then in that deep silence left after, all returned to whence came
an evening out, reap inner magic music gifts its intended aim
echoes may still be heard, if not now - night-dreams will claim.
April 15, 2004

Upon white horse, man dressed in black
disheveled clothes and crumpled hat
heading due north late of day
orangy sun seen setting low
casting lenght of long shadows
painting hints of coming night.

Road curving both right and left ahead
Tuscan man astride his white horse
bed-roll placed behind his saddle
rod or gun slung across his back.

Greening grass and leafened trees
dry weathered plains lay northwest
high clouds denote no chance for rain
a silent land, quiet time mid-evening mutes
nor birds afly, only ambled horse and man
tis such Corot's oils plied with artful hand.

All leads one to question whereof
does both horse and man travel to
perhaps destinies their hungers seek
or what morrow's labors might earn
among those high dry Tuscan hills
as evening ends with downing day.

While his memoried eyes see within
looking back across a life-time of years
trodding down that single-wide wagon track
horse's natural homing - slowly steers.

Rider's thoughts cadenced out by horse's stride
tracks soon lost behind, til passing miles glide
into a past history of old Tuscan pride
first love brought to earn - their marriage tried.

Dark shadows softly flutter forth and back
encouraged by downing sun soon to set
orange turned red, til deep-purpled into black
as if life's busy day - paid off its daily debt.
An evening cast of amber's fading light
soft benedictions blessed a coming night
solemnized by such artistic solemnity
oil painting - a master-piece of antiquity.

Echoes of a painting Corot's oils plied
late Tuscan evening shadows lately eyed
til horse and rider lost, night's deep darkness hides
midst that quiet calm - old Tuscany's charm provides.
May 12, 2004

What one's brief pride hurries into fame
proudly honored by - yet tis a game
to crown a day or years much the same.

Beauty's lust earned what love brought to shame
til replaced by some more freshened dame
fickle fashion - a newer face will claim.
July 14, 2004

With fevered mind and trembling hands
shaping words to rhyme, beauty brought
of what felt back then still stands
those eternal words - poets plot.

Unknowing back then, words die
readers would later cast aside
still unfound to catch the eye
only older poems my provide.

Lost midst debris left unread
distant seas, rivers emptied in
til germinates on ocean's bed
waves may bring ashore - once again.
July 20, 2004