All posts tagged: Music

Daily Prompt: Harmonize

We’re not always in harmony you and I. Some days my notes fall flat, slip down the stanzas, don’t match the tempo thumping on right next to me. When I feel you vibrating in my bones, so close it almost hurts, yet my own sounds come out as broken scratching things my throat aches to match you. My lungs burn to swell and bellow. To reach the stage you’re standing on unaware I’ve sunk behind the curtain. But I know I have to wait the darkness out. Fight to find the spotlight again.   via Daily Prompt: Harmonize I’ve not really been writing over the last few months so I’m not sure how this poem will go down. I might be a bit rusty. For some reason I just haven’t been able to sit down and write properly for most of 2017 so I’m hoping this post will mark the start of getting myself back into the habit of getting those words down on paper and doing something with my time. Constructive criticism is always …

Music In The Toes

“My feet know more about music then you do!” he boasted one day at lunch. “My feet know good music when they hear it. They have taste!” Sharma, who had know Majik for thirteen years, ignored her best friend and continued chewing her sandwich. “They tingle!” Majik said. “When the music is good I get this tingle in my toes that tells me the music is good!” Sharma swallowed and took another bite. Majik was always talking about tingly toes. Personally, she thought there was a good chance it was just athlete’s foot or some other skin condition that had gone untreated for too long. “I could be a music agent.” said Majik. “I’d never pick a bad band because I would always be able to tell who was really good.” Brushing off her hands, Sharma swallowed the last of her sandwich. “You liked Milli Vanilli.” she reminded him.   For VisDare 25: Precarious   It sort of fits.

A Very Weird Night – part one

The other night was very strange indeed. It didn’t start off strange, it start off fairly normally, if a little dull. (Twenty minute bus journeys with only the company of your iPod, and a severe lack of interesting conversations to eavesdrop on, leads to very dull bus journeys.) The weirdness grew over the night. I felt rather out of place, walking through Bath at half seven at night, on my way to a poetry reading at the ‘Royal Literary and Scientific Institute.’ The dress I had chosen to wear seem to have shrunk overnight, the skirt seemed significantly shorter than when I had last worn it a few days previously and my heels wanted to explore every crack and nook possible. I arrived half an hour early, with no broken ankles fortunately, though I did have the wonderful moment of standing in the middle of a road as a guy showed me directions from his map. No cars came, and I did not end up as one with the road surface. All was well in …

If Looks Could Kill

Poetry is supposedly akin to song-writing. If I’m honest, that idea is a complete crock. Ask me to write a poem and I’ll be able to bury you under sheets of random scribbles, limericks, sonnets, haikus! You ask for it, I’ll write it. I have never been able to write a song, at least not successfully, or to any sort of standard. One of my new flatmates however, is exceptionally brilliant at song-writing. Food and entertainment all in one, (since she is also the best cook out of the lot of us). So you can all see how utterly wonderful she is, I have decided I should share the link to her most recent YouTube video, containing the song she wrote, and plays regularly when we’re sat up in the kitchen. I will say now, I’m bias, I love the song! To me it is the greatest thing since sliced bread, or perhaps since bread itself! But you can decide that for yourself when you go and check out her channel. Without any further ado, …

Shattered Symphony

Before the ice crept into your veins and settled, Before the cracks in your heart were petrified, Was there something other than ancient dust? Hiding in the hollow echo of disused synapses, Where nerves once sparked into singing chords Rattled down time taut strings of frozen organs, Buzzed through the vena cava and battered valves, To swell lungs full with gasping, desperate breaths While drum beats thundered, and the tempo jumped, Crescendos of flustered words and twisted tongue, Chasing the sun drenched notes from honeyed lips To pin them down, caught upon a pulsing manuscript. If there was once something more than what is now, Then how did the rhythm crumble from its arches? And why did the melody shatter sharps to flats Tumbling from the stave etched in your arteries, To clatter through the first of frozen teardrops, That came when the ice first crept and settled in.