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The History of Music
poetry [ ]
XI-XX Compilation: History of Music

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by [wipperud ]

2009-11-01  |     | 

God Only Knows
History Of Music Part XI


Rhonda wasn't there to help me
hide the tears of joy
as Carl sang
and Brian made magic
with harmonies.

Now, on the beach of my memory
that castle of sand
still holds it's splendor.

Eine Kleine Nachtmusik

History Of Music Part XII


The time of day
is of no importance
when Wolfgang waits
in the wings.

Still a child was I
as I stepped
into his landscape
of city life, streams,
brooks, laughter
and shades.

Genius fool, giant boy
with a broad grin
as one mask,
and the likeness
of an elf king
as another.

The History Of Music part XIII
Jonathan Richman is right


Egyptians dancing through
pyramidal summer nights,
listening for
the ice-cream car's
chiming bell
as the radio descends
on a wondrous planet.

You took that piece of my heart and left
The History of Music part XIV

White Texan girl
left for the Frisco Bay
with the imprint
of Bessie Smith
engraved upon her soul.

Her Big Brother was so loud
that she took on the shape
of passion's own megaphone.

That booming blue wail
of love and sorrow
reverberated across
the rivers and seas
of a beauty called Tellus.

She remains here,
in a record collection,
coloring a memory from younger days,
making us listen for a hoarse whisper
followed by a storm.

You left, Janis,
and still we keep trying
just a little bit harder.

Luna left alone

History of Music Part XV


Noone is there
to take that walk
across your face tonight.

Piaf, always Pia
History of Music Part XVI


Transparent sparrow;
your R's like switchblades
cutting through each layer
of Parisian existence
from the clochardes
under the bridges
to the flocks of birds
over cathedral roofs.

He who has ears
will hear your cry of love.

Buddy Bolden's Grave Just Can't Be Found
History Of Music Part XVII


Buddy, blue as the Moon
over those streets
where you quickly
paced to and from
those very first sessions
where that new beast
called Jazz
appeared before
unbelieving ears and eyes.

No rag time, no Sir.
None of these dots
written down.
Just the noise,
the twisted rhythm
and the altered melodies,
happy or blue as can be.

On the floor
waving that horn,
as an extension
of your voice,
wailing the pain
and pleasure
of centuries
in a furious ox race
towards the future.

And your band behind you,
stomping ahead,
keeping the time
that was a'changing.

That new beast
demanded a drink, Buddy
and from within the beast
those ghoulish voices
reached your soul.

Black cosmonaut,
they put you
in an unmarked grave
expecting you to be forgotten.

How could I ever?

Monica Zetterlund
History Of Music Part XVIII

As you grew up
the forest was all around.

And that was where notes
started leaving your lips.

Some rose to the top of pine trees.
Others descended slowly
like heavy golden birds.

I turn the radio on
and you step out
in front of the microphone
with piano, drums, bass
rolling steadily
across an imaginary background.

Now I know you were
a Swedish fairy-tale of jazz.

Ride A White Swan
History Of Music Part XIX


From afar stars glance down
upon pitch dark waters
and that lamp
made of rice paper
masquerading as the moon.

One sound only,
from the throats of frogs.

A squirrels keen eyes
penetrate the sky.

You, white swan,
glide silently forth.

Marc Bolan is on his way.

Hellhound On My Trail
History of Music Part XX


A lonely moon rises,
withered and cold.

In a dreams distance
the freight-train rolls by.

No more night buses
or rustling birds.

Ye dogs, stay inside tonight
and let Robert Johnson's spirit
pass that crossroad undisturbed.

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