Heartstrings
These hammers strike a chord,
Deep within your soul.
This time, at least, you can afford,
You have things under control.
These hammers strike the strings,
Like matches, burning quick across cement.
These notes, they give you wings,
Free you from lament.
And as you play this piano,
The music flows through your soul,
It’s okay, it’s okay, you know—
You have things under control.
Pirate Jokes
What's a pirate's favourite hydrocarbon?
Heptane, because it has the seven C's.
What's a pirate's favourite letter?
Rrrrr, you say? Nope.
You would think it might be r, but really, a pirate's true love be the c.
Why does a pirate never change their OTP?
Because a captain always goes down with their ship.
Working the Loom
Music can paint words in my mind,
Not lyrics, for Classical is often the best when writing;
But wonderful stories and scenes.
A soaring eagle over the half-scorched Sahel,
A quiet quartet playing for two,
After the hundreds of guests have left,
Rocking back and forth against each other,
Feeling without trying.
Just as easily, sometimes,
The words come to me.
Yet others, the words are hard to pull from my mind.
They begin, like the tip of an iceberg,
Poking its icy head above the arctic waves,
But the other words remain buried in the cold depths of my id,
Tangible, but just out of reach.
Empty
Kara stares into the distance.
She contemplates her very existence,
A life of papers and grades.
She almost laughs, as it all fades away.
Some people call this a midlife crisis,
Yet somehow, she is only seventeen.
And now it has come to this,
Empty of all she had been.
She stands upon a highrise,
Looking into the night;
Now she knows the end is nigh.
Tranquility
It is not truly sadness
As some of the more morose pens might like to suggest,
But truly, a deep sense
Of profound serenity.
Perhaps it can be found,
When you wander through fields of morning glory.
A sea of intense tranquility,
Finally at peace.
Or better yet,
Among the far-flung stars and planets untouched-
And unknown
To our fledgling humanity.
But just maybe
It might find its way back to the spiral edge of some galaxy,
A tiny speck,
On the edge of reality.