Tone Poem.

To make emotions from words ,to mix them up in the food processor of life,

It’s not all strife ,it’s not all angst,no thanks to that,

When the Trumpet sounds a loud alarm,when the Tuba deals it’s turbines,

Make an impress with a soft Marimba ,that queen of African instruments,

Feel the heart strings of the 12 string,from Ry Cooper,J j Cale,Stanley Clarke,

Oh and while your at it,shout out for George Benson ,Lee Ritenour,and co,

Those heartstrings pull and rock around and just like the Entwistle bass,the Dire Striats guitar George to gorge and score .

If Carlos Santana is 8n town,then check out his latest incarnation ,you’ll surely applaud,you’ll surely be glad and you won’t be sad but glad you gave it a go,

My tone poem speaks with pulsating emotion ,it’s vibrates like a skate in shallow water,

As the guitar looks over to the harmony section ,it’s not a deflection,just a change of direction,

I hear the brilliance of Keith Emerson,the sensitivity of Rick wakeman,and the soul man that is Stevie,

Glad together in my tone poem are the vocal kings and queens of my tone poem landscape to help me escape the banal ,the insensitive,the cruel,the mountebank ,

These gems of humanity ,these joyful protagonists ,with their talent their genius,

Oh,they are all there with their voices raised and I call their register now,

Sam Cooke,Sarah Vaughan,Nina Simone,Bobby Womack,MJ,Elvis the Pelvis,Dusty,Amy,George,Mama Cas,Karen C,et al,

My register has reams of names that never shame us,never defame us,never letting hubris to mar their tones,

I’m at home with my tone poem,and I invite you to think of yours tonight and have hope that music rests in your emotions and in your heart.

Soft silence

Nothing stirs in the space between the notes,

The finger has stopped it’s connection,

Only remembered strokes from his mental spokes stokes the kernel of Melody,

If the silence escapes one when we play,then when we don’t,or can’t,then we must engage in the soft silence,

Silence to the agitated can be a torment,a prison,a dungeon of nothingness,

All sound is strengthened by the soft silence ,the literacy of music,the grammar if you like,

We say we play the Piano,but without artistry and that blessed interplay we are pitman shorthand typist but with our ten thousand notes for measure,

Oh,the instrument is a beast ,a lion roaring in the corner and we endeavour to take it,and tame it we must if ever we are to even approach artistic beauty,

Those finger strokes of our dearly departed John Ogden ,a joy to behold harnessed the soft silence,with mastery and attention,

Why,even in his mental turmoil,his soft silences caressed the keys in communion with the angels ,

Yes,never neglect a period of silence ,be it as an artist,a poet,a painter,a sculpture for in the silence we allow our hubris to be tamed .

Love the soft silence this evening.

Looking!

Nestled in a mental crevice ,sandwiched between my lunch today was light from the spark of thought in appreciation of artistic moments.Why the process of a picture,that synthesis of individual artisan contrivance,is interpreted by each individual viewer in various ways.Those ways,when revealed,when removed from their clandestine opinion,harness an energy that illuminates a life,an imagination,an emotion mystery.

We look ,we observe,we commune ,often in silence,but when we listen to a pastoral emotion,like that of the animal kingdom that respect their tribe,their kith and Kin,we tap into a resource ,creating, renewing the work of art all over again.Like ants and bees,busy in their work,let all have the opportunity to look,to observe,to foster appreciation,and listen ,listen,listen,to the fruits of looking ,for through it,we unleash a torrent of creative juice that quenches our eternal thirst for life.

Pictures,like our skin,have layers,and it’s only ever by allowing expression to exist can we hope to ever penetrate that painting,fore if we deny free expression,we repress the artist and the observers alike,banishing them to mental and emotional slavery .I love the various opinions that I’ve listened too of art ,of the Leonardo technical drawer ,and the Caravaggio alike with that drenching of emotion that bleeds for you.Its the differences in opinion that allows us to learn because by never being challenged ,we remain immature,stagnant,sterile,and dormant.When we really listen ,we learn from another’s perception ,thus seizing to be the captive of just our own imagination.

Looking is a pleasure,and with that pleasure,comes a certain restraint upon us to foster appreciation for what we have seen.

In my life,I’ve looked ,listened,and soaked up great art and music and I’ve been extremely lucky ,but I will always need and long to keep looking ,and to keep listening .

As my physical eyes shut on another day,I’m very happy that I looked today,that I tried to listen today and with that joy in my emotional dermis ,I invite my body to rest ,to sleep,to desist from conscious thought.

This has been my muse today.