Saturday, July 17, 2010

more than music is grasped that

When tumbled in a puddle of musical pace
the aural infinity of rosewood and brass
is a gamelan curry grooved sweet with beat,
a pantheon picked a whole tone to chose
than can be fingered away in blistered grace.

The fingering of the work crew sprayed
as graffiti glyphs cemented on yellow mark
a squat pallet of ash stacked by the elms
and hoops of tubing wrapped clear in blues
to slicken the slippery frets again rained

away from a silver string devoid of beads
towards the bird chirp surviving night,
plump zombies in baggy shorts and gloom
with no RSVPs pending for this party of twos
cerebralizing the rarity of death by weeds.

There is a fear buried so deep
it is no longer a gate to bliss,
a brown handle filigree
ruined a hint of orange
that leaves it just short
of the rust that squeaks
by the OM scribbled in tar
on the road by the creek
near where that real gone man
rose sheep in quarter time beats,

long bleats after the subdivisions
evolved into a sharp fungal creep,
a twisted rim and rusted frame
a caution chord for the trickster
on the sunbaked concrete isle:

pink of must the blossom drops
and the miller sails away.


  1. @Jinksy: Ah, my dear Jinsky: I can always count on you. Loved your little yarny animals by the way. Cheers.

  2. Gerry - I enjoyed the dexterity of your melodic prestidigitation!

  3. Gerry,

    A nice orchestral piece.
    Relaxing and pleasant to the ear with images to dream away...

    Perfect for a Sunday evening!

    Best wishes,

  4. Hi Gerry, masterful writing here....the words you use really create a vivid picture. I admire that.

    Mary - member of your group at Poets United

  5. It's official. You need to move out of suburbia! Get ye to some real meat and potatoe, dirt and grit country, Gerry. Plunge your hands. Wipe your brow. Put on a dirty shirt.

    (You hurt my brain.)


  6. @Antonionoini: Thanks. Still a daily reader of you and admirer. Anyone who has ever tried to write a sonnet would understand. For those reading this comment I recommend you check out this blog:

    The man writes a credible sonnet every day! If you think that's a small accomplishment, I invite you to try to write just one yourself.

  7. Sorry I agree with Erin, or perhaps I should not read you at 7 AM. But it is of no matter. I sang the words on a cotton mouth tongue of morning breath and it was still beautiful.

  8. @Eileen: Cheers.

    @Mary: Thanks. Just messing around with words, still trying to find that perfect pitch.

    @Erin: I've done some field work and I'm not a vegetarian. xo

  9. @WaW: Ha! Wake up! I only write what I gotta write in the way I gotta write it. My previous entry was pretty damn simple but it did not feel so good to me.

  10. The Moon
    on a cat


    My Poems


    - Peter Ingestad, Sweden

  11. like how you riffed off the guitar here.... as a player myself, I could get a felt sense of the instrument; and, of course, I always enjoy how you play with words and colour, sound and rhythm.

  12. @Kraxpelax: Meow.

    @Harlequin: I am a guitar newbie. I got blisters on my fingers! ha!