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A concert for the mushroom

A concert for the mushroom

Post modern
Pre mortal
Ab normal
Sur real
This is the whirl of time
This is the voice of smoke
This is the spiral of crime
This is the dead end choke

Sir, it’s real!
Madam, they kill!

Simulae posed
Post mortem masked
Modernly slaughtered
Pre meditated
Dust dedicated
Inter located

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Power Of Words

Written words are powerful
Able to influence and elicit change

More powerful yet are spoken words
Birthed in the mind, delivered through
Tongue, diaphragm and lungs
Working in concert to deliver voice
Intelligent vibrations creating reality

Somewhere an angry someone screams
“I hate you”
Words moving through space unhindered
Past countless stars in countless galaxies
Wreaking endless havoc on God’s Creation

Thinking with one's heart before speaking
Glorifies the positive power of words
Destruction ceases, balance restored

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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Rain, Rain,

Rain Rain,
above from the sky,
To some you are
drops of love
or dropp of joy
like a perfect boy
You’re a sprinkle of blessing
like salad dressing.

Rain Rain,
Drip, drop, drip, drop,
On the window panes,
Thunder and lightning fills up the sky,
Creating a rock music concert
right outside your locked door,
But be careful,
It might make your head a bit sore.

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poem by Mikaiila .S.
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A Concert Of Conceit

the grandstand
graced with greed
a design of deprivation
a backdropp of betrayal
choreographies of corruption
music of manipulation
and dance of deception

hear the drummings of devilish dreams
and echoes of exploitation
the symphonies of no sympathy
a spectacle of spite
an aura of autocracy

the audience
severely starved, stay stupefied
in the wonderments of woe
tenderly tortured by the thrill
but blissfully blind

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poem by Samuel Obono Jr
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On The Conversion Of A Sister

'Tis the voice of my sister at home,
Resign'd to the treasures above,
Inviting the strangers to come,
And feast at the banquet of love.

'Tis a spirit cut loose from its chain,
'Tis the voice of a culprit forgiven,
Restored from a prison of pain,
With th' sound of a concert from heaven.

'Tis a beam from the regions of light,
A touch of beatific fire;
A spirit exulting for flight,
With a strong and impatient desire.

'Tis a drop from the ocean of love,
A foretaste of pleasures to come,
Distill'd from the fountain above,
The joy which awaits her at home.

poem by George Moses Horton
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A Sonnet for Jim Morrison

I went to the concert to see The Doors -
Man, you should have been there and heard the applause!
Jim Morrison had done his thing,
The fabulous, beautiful Lizard King,
'Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name? '
Nobody there would ever feel the same!
He was our hero in spite of the booze
And nobody guessed he was born to lose,
The alcohol destroyed his voice,
But he loved it so much there was no choice,
He knew it would drive him round the bend,
'This is the End, this is the End! '
Jim Morrison, come back to us,
Travelling again on that old Blue Bus! !

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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First Encounter - Kitaro

Kitaro
more mystical than him
his music

Kitaro just another
musician working
for survival

Kitaro just another
musician who enlightens us
with his specialities

Several years back Kitaro came to give a concert at the Genting Highlands. He came across as just another musician, working for his survival. A lot of hypes have been written about the mystic way of life he lives but that did not come across to me. Yes, his hair was long but what I perceived was a man working for his survival. Tagging along was his musician wife who worked in the same band as Kitaro.

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Life Fatigue

Ahead of him my life revolves,
Agriculture is the best of whims,
My karate is exactly all that dissolves
Into fine powder, the silliest limbs.
Batting is the game we play
To take away the very cricket;
This is the game of a way
That my life revolves, this portrait.

Fatigue is the problem of a cockpit
To build life, inner light of conference;
My cocktail presides, past of a benefit,
The one befitting us and this eloquence.
My concert is bigger than most,
Wild living is grand at a chance,
We’re the ones the ones to boast,
Just the pitch of music to enhance.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Travels

The road up to the Acropolis
Winds around the hills
And the souvenirs carried their treat
Like a famous puzzle in the heart.
In the future Turks will make a new way
To the recent joy and pills are not made
To make him go up that way
To the Acropolis.

Inside my heart is the proud mistake
I managed to speak of the world of Tissues,
Of bodies that concert blameworthy sighs
Of ill-health, of distress and any hotel of luxury.

I am now glorious, like a cushion in a bedroom
With a Turk who loved my harbour:
Inside is the really fun part, the organ
Called the Heart.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Music Shines

I love wind concertos,
romantic guitars, violins
and fine symphonies,
maestros in concert and
Elvis the King singing
those sweet melodies.

Give to me calm and solitude
idle moments with peace
sublime, and all I'd ask then
is a resting place, with love
songs to soothe my mind.

How romantic was music
from the old world, when each
high mountain top bowed
as Orpheus, his rhythm played
and trees reached up to a cloud.

Where would we be without music?

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poem by Joyce Hemsley
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