Poetry – A River of Music

A River of Music

There’s a river of music

Flowing through our minds

Connecting us.

With tendrils of sound,

Rivulets of notes,

Waterfalls of words,

Joining us,

To create a an orchestra

Of unification.

As our spirits sing together

The melody becomes a spectrum

Of all our experience;

Of love, hate and anger,

Spirituality and ideals,

Entwined with politics

And freedom.

Within the harmony

Lies the gamut of emotion,

A lexicon of thought,

And descant of feeling.

The whole universe

Cascades in a symphony

To a sea

Of intimate meaning,

An ocean of oneness,

That is the music

Of life.

Opher – 17.8.2019

I find music sustaining. It expresses every thought and emotion I feel, crosses cultures and speaks directly to the spirit within.

It is the most ancient and fundamental aspect of humanity.

Anyone who denies music denies life.

Poetry -Killing the Taliban

Killing the Taliban

I’m busy killing the Taliban

With my dancing and my song.

Causing their destruction

I don’t think it’ll take too long.

They’ve come out of the Dark Ages

With their joyless cult of death.

We’re fighting their misogyny

With all our hearts and breath.

There’s a misery surrounding them

With their brainwashed ideology.

They live for death; we live for life

And the love of being free.

So with our instruments of love

We’ll play our symphony

And waken the joys of life

From their stone-cold misery.

They made the mistake of thinking

Their god hates music and song;

That women are all second class;

How could they have got it all so wrong?

So with the magic of our strings

And the beauty of our voice

We’ll sing a song of love

That’ll make their hearts rejoice.

So I’m killing the Taliban today

I’m dancing as I sing.

They’ll throw their joyless book away

And let freedom ring!

Opher – 15.5.2019

What kind of miserable death cult is it that kills people for singing and dancing?

What kind of doctrine is it that squanders the wonder of their own lives and seeks to put an end to pleasure?

What kind of cult is this that seeks to live in the past? That thinks stoning is an apt punishment and women are inferior?

I think the human spirit is vital and alive. It knows that song and dance are not crimes.

You defeat such a brainwashed cult by showing them a better way.

Instead of following some hollow words from the Dark Ages we can come together to celebrate, women and men, children and the old, – there’s the treasure.

You kill a wicked, warped ideology with something better.

We’ll play a happy song to prove that they are wrong.

The Pleasure of an Album

The Pleasure of an Album

The excitement of anticipation as the heart rate speeds,

The eyes narrow at the eagerness of anticipation.

Sifting through the racks with narrowed eyes;

Lifting a discovery for closer inspection of the cover,

Flipping to check the track listing;

Gathering a selection with contained fervor;

An assortment of possibility from which to choose.

Then the angst of decision – Followed by the despondency of loss

As the discarded are replaced with many a reflective vacillation.

Clutching the winner there is now impatience pervading the purchase,

As the money is paid and the album professionally wrapped within its paper wrapper and sealed with sellotape.

The return home is hurried and filled with nervous indecision.

Was the choice correct? What about the other fish?

Within the sanctum the treasure is unwrapped and the prize clutched and reexamined.

It is time to perform the ritual and extract the paper sleeve from within its cardboard resting place.

The black vinyl disc is extracted from the inner sleeve,

Held reverently, by its rim with two hands, up to the light to inspect the sanctity of the grooves, and approved.

When satisfied the disc is lowered so that peg and hole are aligned in erotic summary preparing for consummation.

The arm is raised with delicate concentration and deferentially lowered to apply needle to the outer blank vinyl, so carefully.

Breath is released as the success – a click followed by a satisfying hiss.

Then to sit back as the faint noise wends into the sound

And as it fills the room to immerse oneself in its thrall;

To study the artwork,

To flip the cover and read the track listing, then the liner notes.

To lose oneself, to submerge, to examine, to breathe in, to absorb the full package of art, information and sound as it embraces you in its multisensory, concentrated reverie.

For this is the pleasure of an album.

Opher 8.3.2018

Cambodian traditional Dance

My wife is a dancer. Where-ever we travel the one thing I know will be on the agenda is an evening of traditional dance. She will hunt out performances and book tickets. I will sit through hours of performance as local musicians and troupes of dancers all in traditional costumes perform dances based on old rural tales, fairy stories or traditional stories. From the type of costumes and stories, I imagine a lot of these evolved out of performances aimed at the royal courts.

They usually involve demons, gods and hapless love.

Cambodian dance seems to have these colourful, pristine villagers performing everyday tasks – like harvesting rice. Not quite what I was seeing out in the fields.

Cambodian dance involves a lot of elaborate hand gestures. All very stylised.

Poetry – A Sound Poem

A Sound Poem

 

Connected by a beat,

A throbbing of the heart.

Notes rising and falling

In a symphony of art.

 

Capturing emotion,

Expounding philosophy,

Expressing great love,

Misery to ecstasy.

 

Created from a drumbeat,

Or plucking of a wire.

Melding into melody

To set the soul on fire.

 

From all walks of life,

Industrial and rustic.

In all its many forms –

It’s the wonder of music.

 

Opher – 21.8.2020