Philosophical musings
coated in rhythm,
crafted with tunes
that drift into our ears
and get lodged in our heads.
A language
not merely understood
but felt, heard, treasured;
comprehended by all
no matter what tongue.
Able to be personalized
for those who make it-
smooth, rough,
gentle, marccato;
these are your paints
for the canvas.
Author notes
I love music. You can mold and shape it as your own, like clay. Even though it's your own, people can connect with it, even though they don't speak your language.
A contest entry
- Open House by Nicole Hanna.
2000 points, ended July 9, 2007, 39 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - No work required for this contest. Prewrites only. by yoopea.
617 points, ended July 21, 2007, 74 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Just say what you feel needs telling...or have one of those random whims to comment on something.
Comments
-
smooth, rough,
gentle, marccato;
these are your paints
for the canvas.
I really liked these lines. In fact the entire piece was very sweet. It had its own musical quality to it and its simple message was as strong and soothing as a saxaphone in August.
Thank you for entering. -
I have no talent for music in the least, lol, but I certainly love enjoying it, listening to all types of music. I think you've captured that enjoyment very well in this piece. The second stanza, particularly, shows how music is one thing that really pulls any culture, or a multitude of cultures, together.
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