The Poem and the Symphony

THE POEM AND THE SYMPHONY

Author: GMS75

Time gleans "the sound" from you..
from a distant age gone by.

Body, Neck and Bridge...
Strings, Frets and Keys,
aggregates of this guitarra...

A matrix of wood and bone,
constructs of this Soul.

Embodied in the ink of his pen...
the writer personified -
encrypted in the words,
his art...his life -
each word and rambling
phrase, an incarnation
of the Nous.....truly, an unfettered reflection.

So too, the musician speaks through the sound
of each note...
each note, each phrase,
as if a paragragh...
reflecting sentience and imagination.

Together - they complete the poem
and the symphony...

Separate - they are two strangers
born of a common Mother.

The resonant embrace pierces the 
Heart - fingers dancing into a firestorm .... 
dissonance long removed, they chase away the distance -
forgetting that some are far removed from this joyful mood.


Mirroring one another, the two strangers renew their bond,
reflecting familiar and a courteous tones, in writ and song -
as thoughts surely become sound,
and all the while, are so evenly pronounced... 
plucked strings reverberate through the darkness, 
minor and major scales collide...
awakening the dead to life, 


....to the poem within the symphony.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This Blue Train

This Blue Train

Author: GMS75

tasting the sweet rain tracing down my face...
unitelligible sounds and benign utterances break the silence...
i watch the blue fog slowly move in,
penetrating each and every glance of mine eye...


the blue train slowly passes by ~
soon to chase away the distance between now and then....
acquiring rights of an assumed passenger ~
warming my feet within her cabin's frame,
passing in review before her porters and residents...I ask...

what will they see of me?

who will i let them see?

not me...

not now...

i want to ferry the passageways incognito....
empty and void is how i feel,
still warm to touch,
but too cold to feel...

like this blue train...

like this choking blue smoke...

like the blue cloak of the morning fog.

meloncholy is my mask and mood,

just now...

on this blue train.  

Gregory

~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Posted: Thu May 29, 2014 8:28 PM EST

From these skies...now to another

....parties to plan,
the boys first kiss...
The babie's christening party...
The house is a mess,
The mortgage is late...

Removed from the human sphere in an instant,
you no longer wait,
no longer fearing the next day...the next hour...

It is gone for you and yours.
From these skies, you have descended...
now to another you ascend.
Aloft upon the wafting breeze...
you know your way home.

There are many with you now,
but you will soon be alone...
how else to make this journey familiar?
To whom shall you turn to recognise your
fields of green?

...kin you are now...

to the shadows and dimmed corners of the parlors, of the homes
that still reverberate with the sounds and gaiety of life...
you will sate there and listen to the gossip and whispers
of which are only some distant memories to you...
but as you do...

Remember that no breeze goes unnoticed in a barren desert,
The flower brings more to the heart than it's essence...
You may have disappeared to those whom you loved and knew...
and yes there is loss and pain abound as you reach for the Sun.

The sum of every soul, is perhaps...
the subsumption of it's previous incarnations,
once missed,  thrice reborn.

Walk to the shores of your memories past.... lift your eyes
to the Light of Life.  Do you smell the familiar breeze
just now passing?

They are soon to greet you,
You are home ...
You are Safe...
Make tall your stories tonight,
that  All may relish and live your Life
once again!!

GM Sexton

(Dedicated to the 166 passengers that perished over they skies of Indonesia yesterday)

"....Having Never Left"
(For My Beautiful Love....Sally)


...it parts from me ever slowly,
the chance and the pace of a not so distant past...

...the rune suggests that all is well however,
casting times a plenty all through these winter nights;
...tumbling and resting on open and closed sides,
I peer upon the oak coins...looking for sight,
and forlorn grace.

...i see you tonight, or rather sense you here...
as though a ghost,
 vis-a-vis...
soul to soul.

Touching your face ...and openly declaring the contents of my Heart,
I pour the sacred mead, and my promise to you upon this broken ground,
knowing it to be reckoned ,  and soon to be healed.

I have always loved you...
souls having touched once...
remain steady, despite the facade of separation.
this I know,

I have always loved you.

....having never left,
I will always love you.


Gregory M. Sexton 12/07/14

THE NIGHT THE SUN DIED (a cold embrace)

THE NIGHT THE SUN DIED (a cold embrace)

The Sun fell into the ocean,
punctured by the ribbons of steel.
Gently caught by the waves and mist...
As it slowly died.

the enemies leave us in darkness,
our streets lit only by the flames of our burning homes and their
misplaced vitality.

Our children shiver as the season draws so near.
Where are the God - Fearing?
why do they slumber and not call the brothers to arms?

Like the Son of Miriam,
have we been "forsaken"?

No. Soon we will all awaken to the charges that
will befall the darkest of men.
They too will sink into the ocean, cut to pieces by our ribbons of steel;
starving for the Light that was taken from us.

No. It is here that I find warmth and comfort
amongst the cold and broken,
the disheartened and abandoned,
the legions left as though they had no names.

It is here,
it is here that I see hope in the eyes
of the hopeless......
the touch of a lonely hand that
makes well the course of a fractured heart.

Yes...
The sun has died.
but only this night...
only here,
amongst the cold and broken...

only here...
the sun has died.

Soon.... to cast her rays through the cedars
like fingers of light...warming the hills again...
resting ever gently upon the gardens abound!
Caressing the faces of our Martyrs...
and giving strength to our laughter and joy.

The Sun died last night...that is certain
but only for a night.

(In memory of the Palestinian brothers and sisters
that struggle every day to claim their dignity and pride
....and ultimately have already won the battle!)

By Allah's Grace

Gregory M. Sexton

THIS DANCE 8

"This Dance"


If there were days enough...
I would learn this Dance,
to dance with you.

The flood light is our sunrise...
like Icarus - we ascend to the heavens,
like Icarus - only to fall to the earth again...
and again.

This is my dream...
our feet shifting the dust,
ancient and coarse,
cold and splintered planks, worn and true...
do they selfishly hide the passion and words from years past?
Or simply crude constructs of oak...and yew.

Another stage to attend Sir Will!
where genius rings true...
and the plagiarist is found and scorned.

Gnostic flames (our path embellished)
illuminate our face,
certain to displace the darkest of shadows...
while leaving enough to hide our scars,
and portend any claim to grace.

This was the Dance,
when steps and twists and turns,
left us both to hope and chance,
and we knew the Light - never to leave -
all the while the wax and wick...
spits, shuffles, contorts and burns.

....much like this Dance.

Gregory
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Posted: January 19, 2014 6:00 PM CST
About this poem:
It's a long story...hopeless romance and all that it
encompasses...one of several

THIS DANCE 7

"This Dance"


If there were days enough...
I would learn this Dance,
to dance with you.

The flood light .... the sunrise...
like Icarus - we ascend to the heavens,
like Icarus - only to fall to the earth again...
and again.

This is my dream...
our feet shifting the dust,
ancient and coarse,
cold and splintered planks, worn and true...
do they selfishly hide the passion and words from years past?
Or simply crude constructs of oak...and yew.

Another stage to attend Sir Will!
where genius rings true...
and the plagiarist is found and scorned.

Gnostic flames (our path embellished)
illuminate our face,
certain to displace the darkest of shadows...
while leaving enough to hide our scars,
and portend any claim to grace.

This is the Dance,
when steps and twists and turns,
left us both to chance,
and we knew the Light never to leave...
while the wax and wick....contorts, spits and burns.



Gregory
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Posted:   January 20 6:00 PM CST
About this poem:
For Anna Rose"Taste of Love".  (for Anna Rose)

A breath and a sigh...
the look in your eye,
when all else drops from view,
cept' your desire to touch souls and
ride the wave of abandon....
eyes meet and carry us on,
hands caressing...
heartbeats heard...
and stares through half-closed eyes...
tasting the sweet nectar of your lips..
I disappear.

Gregory M. Sexton
(For Anna Rose)
Jan. 20. 2014