Tag: Poetry

Pendant que le monde brûle

candel

The world burns in stages.
First and most succinct,
The partial flame, a pyre to the dead,
An ode to those who suffer.
Burning silently among the detritus,
Memories of the past lay broken and strewn.
Naught but ephemeral bodies in a graveyard of dreams.
The tallow burns, it burns dispassionately
Creeping inexorably towards ruin
It is a lustful flame, it consumes
Even the ashes of its own passing.
Nothing is left to mourn.
C’est la dernière flamme.
The world burns in stages,
It burns completely.

Synaesthesia

Often, I think adding context to what I try to expressing will – somehow – extract appreciation from at least one person who reads or experiences it.
Why should I shape your experiences? Where is the joy in having a fruit eaten for you?
its juices extracted and regurgitated. Tainted and tinted with the perception of another.
What I intend and what is received by the reading may not be the same.
There is some fun   – perhaps – in wading through this small stream in the presence of one’s own company.
Thus, I shall remain tranquil and be satisfied with the reading.


Synaesthesia 


In moments of silence
I converse with the multitude.
We revel in the sensory,
No why’s or wherefore.
First, tastes blossoms
My tongue , heavy with
The nectar of summer’s flower.
As it blooms my vision alights
O’er awed in its fullness
Colours flits across a rippling surface
Suppleness flowing into taut awakenings
Brilliant green melding into cerulean blues
A synaesthetic orchestra.

Midnight Wanderer

Often, I am the mercy of my internal critic. It waxes and wanes like tides under the influence of a full moon.  Each word of my creations eroded by the crashing waves of scrutiny.

In rare moment, inspiration sails over the waters, no longer in search of the Isles of perfection.

Rarer still, when the object of inspiration is  as perfect as the tranquil waters in a cerulean cove.

Midnight Wanderer

My lovely lady dreams,

in my waking moments.

Within these alabaster halls,

your presence permeates.

Like a somnambulist

You are forever in motion,

wading along the the depths

Arrayed in the matter of stars

Silently, I voice my longing.

Unwilling to disturb the weaver of dreams

As she settles at the loom cloistered

betwixt life’s echoing chambers.

The Little Heaven

Take me to church: An Ode to  consensual coital coalescence.

Conceptually, it evokes a Donnian approach, if only in the juxtaposition of the carnal  and the religious.

The comparison betwixt the muliebrious form and the Church  is redolent of  a Donnian conceit.

The conceit: The Church and the bedroom are synonymous.

Priapic expression is the chosen form of worship.   Consequently, this  makes the pudenda Heaven , or the gateway to Heaven.

The  “Church”  – a synecdoche for Religion –  enhances the dichotomy between  the carnal and  the spiritual.

Every Sunday’s getting more bleak

A fresh poison each week  …

My church offers no absolutes

She tells me ‘worship in the bedroom’

The only heaven I’ll be sent to

Take me to Church …

Offer me that deathless death.

The presentation is interestingly irreverent, it speaks of worship without the ubiquitous  religious austerity.   This speaks much to the artist’s disenchantment with religious doctrines.

 The church:  the bedroom. Heaven: the body or the pleasures he derives therein.  Spiritual release: The brief  satiation of desire.  La Petite Mort.

 The sensual revelry  is in itself, worship. The cardinal metaphysical conceit: the body’s apotheosis.

 This song is brilliantly done and is quite the pleasure to experience.

If music was a drug, I would be addicted!

melanie-fiona-getty-jonathan-leibson

Melanie, Melanie Fiona  If she was a siren, I would gladly let her dulcet tones seduce me. I would yield to the melodious cadence of her voice, as it lulls me to a swift and violent end. Then again, if she WAS a siren; I wouldn’t have a choice. But that isn’t the point. The point is, ladies and gentlemen, this woman can sing!

I say this genuinely and not because I love Trinidadian women…but you wouldn’t know that. Oh..umm, well you do now. But so what? It still stands!

All the songs from her that I enjoy, are like a poetic soliloquy: to all the failed relationships I never had, and the emotional baggage that they personify.

If you had asked me to vocalise said soliloquy, it would go something like this: This time, 4am, I just keep running; I end up on The wrong side of a love song and It Kills Me.

Even the names of her songs rolls of the tongue like a desperate plea to your lost love. Like a text message made in the night when the memories of what used to be, overwhelms what is.
listening to her music, I can imagine my self being in a confessional – no insult meant to Catholicism – as a disembodied voice whispers in my ear; and tells me of the pain she is going through.

It is this aspect of her music and performance, why I think she is so good. When you listen to her songs, when you hear her voice. All you hear is passion, and you know – without the shadow of a doubt – she is singing form the heart.

Why is this important? Well Frank Ocean said it best: “I can’t feel nothin…every single record autotunin’, Zero emotion, muted emotion, pitch corrected, computed emotion”

If I must buy music, I want it to be authentic. I want the artist to actually be able to sing outside of studio adjustments. I want the same emotional weight from the single/track to be present in the live performances. There are a lot of musicians, that when you hear them live, you wonder if they are the same person that sang the song that resonated with you so profoundly.

All I can say is: When it comes to music, “Give it to me right or don’t give to me at all-” or “I’m gone and never coming back.”

By now, you would have noticed the copious amounts of Melanie Fiona song references. If you did not, then you may read it over; they are fairly obvious. It is a clichéd technique to be sure. However, like the refrain from a poem it has a desired effect.

Melanie makes music fueled by her experiences; or at least I would like to think this is true.
For me, she creates and performs soul music. Music that speaks to you, that you can relate to or empathise with. And for those of you who create and use music as your muse, well she inspires me too. So much so, I will write a small ‘poem’ to express how good I find her music.

Ahem, here goes:

When I listen to her sing
My heart beats a mile,
And sends shivers up my spine
I stop
open my eyes
And smile
I think: Divine.
Good music!

And for those of you who are into pop-culture references. No I did not mean Kanye’s label.

Next time you have a few minutes, listen to Melanie Fiona. Try something old school and burn a CD for your girl or guy. Expressing your undying devotion. Or just enjoy the music because its good. Assuming that isn’t too mainstream.

Who are some of your favourite Musicians? And what do you listen that is cathartic? Let me know, I’m always open to new musical experiences.

Oh, before I forget. Should you want to check her out. Go: Here