ModPo

Crossing the bridge - Cold wind blowing,  Colder than a witch’s titty, I searched the southern sky For Sister Moon –  Mas ella nao estava.    (But she wasn't there.) The breaking rays of daylight  Illuminate the face of the chapel  At the top of the hill. Arlington National Cemetery. I can hear Brother Wilfred’s prayer, Howling through the wind: “We are the dead Short days ago we lived Saw dawn, felt sunset glow…” This morning, though, I bathe In sunrise glow, without, without My sister, Sister Moon. And the river. Tide is low.   The beach is exposed, muddy Muddy, muddy everywhere, And lined with ice. White crunchy  Puddles, puddles, everywhere. A thin icy film on the surface  Holds the river together.  Geese Are still, and flocked, and still Along the shore.  If think if I  Could fly I’d be away from here.  

Another experiment with Introduction to Digital Sound Design.  Soundation.   African Appalachian Asssignment #5 for Songwriting.   Sea Shanty

fifthtake  is an experiment with granular synthesis from my Introduction to Digital Sound Design class with Coursera and Emory University.  Enjoy!

Words in poetry and notes in music Are sounds, simple wavelengths colliding off Our eardrums and the membranes of our souls.   Oft times we transmit sound waves, words or notes, Through positive values, like happiness And tenderness, timbres soft and bright. Sometimes negative: sadness, fear - dull and Sharp, like aches and pains we frequently endure. At times, we just receive: parameters Are the same.  But when we meet, ah, when we  Meet, our words and notes connect!  Our wavelengths Intersect, and intertwine, and synthesize!  And we make love – sweet love.  External tones And errant thoughts die softly in the deep. Washington, DC  February 2013

I remember my first kiss - how my heart raced and pounded - like a drum - inside my head. You were a city girl,  gorgeous, gifted, talented - it was no big deal for you.  But I was a country boy, And for me it was  a singularly special moment. I phoned my mother - Daddy was in his world -  And I wrote some poems. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow To kiss you again.    Washington, DC  February, 2013

I tried and tried to make it fit within      the sonnet's form.  But the words resisted,      and the thoughts rebelled, and the energy      contained inside the thoughts, inside the words      sprung forth and said, "Hell no!"      So here's the simple truth:  When we're apart     I cannot sleep.  For days on end I'm just       a wreck.  Dark rings surround my eyes.  Edgi-    Ness.  A suffix added to an adjective    that makes it a noun, a name that describes    and defines a state of being.  My state     of being.  A person can die from sleep    deprivation.  You know that already.    Don't let me pass another sleepless night.    

This is one I have to share.  You won't find it in Google on even in most anthologies of American Negro poetry.  But it is a jewel, nonetheless, one of my favorites. Published in Rhymes, Tales, and Rhymed Tales, 1906. Still comes the Perfect Thing to man As came the olden gods, in dreams; And then the man - made artist - knows How real is the thing which seems. Then, tongue or brush or magic pen May win the world to loud acclaim, But he who wrought knows in his soul That, like as tinsel is to gold, His work is to his aim. It's there ahead to him - and you And me.  I swear it isn't far; Else, black Despair would cut us down in the land of hateful Things Which Are. But just beyond our finger-tips, Things As They Should Be shame the weak, And hold the aching muscles tense Through the next moment of suspense Which triumph is to break. And shall we strive?  The years to come, Till sunset of eternity, Are given to the fairest god, The God of Things As They Should Be. The e...

The moon was a bulging crescent off my port bow as I passed the front of Lincoln Memorial on a morning walk. That pregnant crescent… That praying crescent… That laughing crescent, Planet Moon. Crossing the bridge into Virginia, She seemed to follow me.  Follow me, Crescent moon. A lunar thing, a womb-man - control the tides - equality - fairness - justice - for all. The moon crossed the eastern sky into Virginia as I crossed Memorial Bridge.  Her rays illuminated my path, showing me the way, but I lost her track as the ccourse veered into the forest away from the river. When I emerged into a clearing, Planet Moon was high off my port quarter, much stronger than before, heralding sunrise on the river's southern shore. That pregnant crescent… That praying crescent… That laughing crescent, Planet Moon.