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Khoral Kathy

for my choral mentor, Kathryn Smith Bowers
in celebration of her 60th birthday

Ah yes dearest Kathryn –
Like Dorothy sprung from Kansas soil
always a frequent flyer
even without a plane.

She has a simple plan
to seize the core of a song:
If you wish to tap the essence
of why a Hungarian sings
It’s easy:
just pack your bags and go
to where his song was born.

What makes a motet Scandanavian
or Deutsch or Italiano?
Piece of cake:
just book your flight

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poem by Robert Charles Howard
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Christ's Nativity

1 Awake, glad heart! get up and sing!
2 It is the birth-day of thy King.
3 Awake! awake!
4 The Sun doth shake
5 Light from his locks, and all the way
6 Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.

7 Awake, awake! hark how th' wood rings;
8 Winds whisper, and the busy springs
9 A concert make;
10 Awake! awake!
11 Man is their high-priest, and should rise
12 To offer up the sacrifice.

13 I would I were some bird, or star,
14 Flutt'ring in woods, or lifted far
15 Above this inn
16 And road of sin!
17 Then either star or bird should be
18 Shining or singing still to thee.

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poem by Henry Vaughan
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And That's What It's Like With You, My Love

Whenever you touch me sweet, my love
i feel the rapid beat of my pulse
like a thousand drums pounding,
fast and hard through my marrrow -
such hard, percussed sonority.
And, whenever we move to the dance of love,
we're like two celestial violins
with bows freshly rosined -
rubbing, pulling with bare moist heat,
complimenting each other with favour,
to the arousing rhythm and pleasure
of loves' perfect movement.

And when we perform together,
in dual concert, dominating exchange -
solos encounter like soliloquies
of sensual deliverance.
And the Rush of this titillation
is like the bursting of cymbals.....in climax,
exuberant release...euphoria, and -

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poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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Musical notes of life

The sun peeks through the horizon
In the wake of another day
As heart drums, breathe waves
Vibrations inside veins
Alert the soul;
Though and reason
Move notes of live within

Real self wrestled with the ideal
Arrange sounds of being in time
As inner peace champions the soul
Our life just plays on…
Like good music
Delight to the heart
Nice to the ears

Mind and soul struggle
To define time with vision
Dreams challenged with who we are
Conducts life musical bar

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poem by Fasika Ayalew
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Soul and body

Oh, dear poems
I always addressed you to him
As I thought of you as medium
You were away near but kept mum

You made me to speak
Kept reminding me about peak
Even thought I was weak
You forced on me to stick

I take it as blessings
There can't be anything like missing
You are always there when I wish to assert
Come out in verses and visibly seen in concert

I know time is precious
Yet thought process is continuous
I know for sure you always remain in my mind
I spare now sometime for you to find

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Opening Ode

Delivered at an Odd-Fellows' Concert.

Some have formed strange conceptions about the mysteries of our order.
They believe that enshrouded 'mong the deep and mysterious
surroundings of our dark recesses and caves we have chained
'Gorgans and Hydras, and Chimeras dire,' and that in our mazes
and labyrinths,

A horrid goat we have to ride,
With long horns and shaggy hide,
And that the beast we have to stride well
Without saddle or a bridle.

Friends, with pleasure we do meet you,
And with hearty welcome greet you ;
With many we have met before,
So pleasantly in days of yore.

But some new faces we do find,
And hope they'll criticise us kind ;

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poem by James McIntyre
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Eudaemon

O happiness, I know not what far seas,
Blue hills and deep, thy sunny realms surround,
That thus in Music's wistful harmonies
And concert of sweet sound
A rumor steals, from some uncertain shore,
Of lovely things outworn or gladness yet in store:

Whether thy beams be pitiful and come,
Across the sundering of vanished years,
From childhood and the happy fields of home,
Like eyes instinct with tears
Felt through green brakes of hedge and apple-bough
Round haunts delightful once, desert and silent now;

Or yet if prescience of unrealized love
Startle the breast with each melodious air,
And gifts that gentle hands are donors of
Still wait intact somewhere,

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poem by Alan Seeger
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Victoria Park and Caledonian Games

Lines on the naming of Victoria Park, on Queen's Birthday,
1881. The ceremony was performed by Thomas Brown,
Esq., Mayor of the town.

Come one, come all, to Scottish games
On the banks of Canadian Thames ;
You'll find that 'tis most pleasant way
You can enjoy the Queen's Birthday.

In future years it will be famed
The day whereon the park was named,
With its boundry great extended
And nature's charms sweetly blended.

Full worthy of the poet's theme
Is hill and dale, and wood and stream,
And glittering spires, and busy town.
Where mansions' do each mount top crown.

Come, witness the great tug-of-war,

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poem by James McIntyre
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Concert Party

(EGYPTIAN BASE CAMP)

They are gathering round....
Out of the twilight; over the grey-blue sand,
Shoals of low-jargoning men drift inward to the sound—
The jangle and throb of a piano ... tum-ti-tum...
Drawn by a lamp, they come
Out of the glimmering lines of their tents, over the shuffling sand.

O sing us the songs, the songs of our own land,
You warbling ladies in white.
Dimness conceals the hunger in our faces,
This wall of faces risen out of the night,
These eyes that keep their memories of the places
So long beyond their sight.

Jaded and gay, the ladies sing; and the chap in brown
Tilts his grey hat; jaunty and lean and pale,
He rattles the keys ... some actor-bloke from town...

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poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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What'll We Do For Christmas?

What'll we do for Christmas? A child said to her Mother,
Shall we have a christmas party, cake and ice cream too;
With lots of balloons and streamers, and a star as well,
But; the mother said, give to an orphan, a Christmas bell,
Then tell them to come for tea, tell them the Christmas story;
This is what God wants us to do, to share with our family

What'll we do for Christmas, said a boy to His father,
Can we have a holiday, and take our things I'd rather;
Buy some good things to eat, and help my grandmother,
But the father said lets invite, a poor man or lady to tea,
Shower them with kindness, as we have plenty;
This is what God wants us to do, show love from you and me.

What'll we do for Christmas said children to their teacher,
Shall we have a Christmas concert, and ask the preacher;
And invite our family, and all our friends as well too,
The teacher said 'twas a great idea, the Christmas story true;
About Mary and Joseph, and Jesus born in a stable,
But remember the story is so true, it isn't just a fable.

poem by Margaret Haig
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