Literary Diaries

Love And Other Rhythms

by BRIANNA ROSE BURTON

I have loved thee centuries
before thy birth, ages waned
from melodies of love-sick songs.
I loved thee not because I loved
thee solely for the purpose of loving,
but for such pleasantness that strung
love songs in me.
For thine own self, the song plays true,
a rhythm for the tangent of thy smile,
I know not love so purest of thy song,
but stronger still, the rhythm shines.
Love folly no more, all sweetness ’til
the end, no heartbeat thuds unless
so musically, much steadily, in time;
for thine own love prepares not with
the moment, but moments love
with rhythm of thy prime.

(C) Copyright 2011 Brianna Rose Burton

Nurtured Ears

by MELISSA  COOK

Tonight,

I slumped ‘gainst
our door
-sipping coffee-

Your music
it settled me –

as though you had
taken a paint brush
to my spine and
danced a melody.

a cookie lay –
unattended, swamped
by ants and
sticky thoughts

yet still I sat,
a cooking disaster,

chin dusted
with cocoa and
the thought of a
messy kitchen
escaping my mind.

It was tonight,
I realized your music
was like my poetry

The snare
your own battlefield,

the bass –
your pulse and though
it had knotted my hair
too many times

I was calm.

—

Each time your finger
stumbled from a key
I was reminded of
how “ateleia einai i
omorfia”

and saw your heart
in the shape of a
16th note.

—

and I wished to
write my poetry ‘pon
your skin as
calligraphy but

I never dared
to touch you –

for you were painting
a treble clef against
my rib cage and

tangling yourself
within my scarf.

Greek Translation “ateleia einai i omorfia” – “Imperfection is beauty.”

Swept Away by Your Shadows

by NEMA SAEED

You have wandered
enough
in all the open spaces ‘tween my heart and
my veins;
hustling the moment my heart is
weary of all the eclipses.
ambling the time I would rush
into your colony, tugged by consolation;
allowing myself to be vulnerable-yet quite un-
close to falling.

The moments would be endlessly short,
like thunder,
tiny, like a single raindrop. The words we share would be
ocean-deep. Rainbow-colored. music-soaked.

And without a fight you would breathe in and out,
-like a gentle wind of your tranquil season-
sweeping away
all those tiresome thoughts o’ mine,
sending me to rebirth; thoughtless-
But one notion beating…

“Ever, could I or could I not count the shadows of your being?”

Charles

by ALAN OCHELTREE JR.

There is no paper,
with keys and bars.
But still;
sound fills the room.

Notes swirl about his head,
while he tickles the ivories.
Vibrations of the song
emanating from his instrument,
make their way to the ears of his listeners.

-His audience cheers-

The band that surrounds him
plays to the melodic tune,
full of soul,
praise,
and love.

As it began, the song ends-
there is applause,
not a person in their seat.
He stands,
takes a bow
-walks off stage.

However all this legend sees,
is darkness;
even in his brightest moments.
All his work is done
by feeling the music-
hearing what is played.

You do not need to see to become great,
just believe.
Ray Charles did.

Music in the Night

by MYRYN VILLAFLOR

Staring out of my window,
as I listen to the sky:
an illustrious song fills the air.
Echoic–emitting from a distant
smile, yet untuned to the beating
of my heart … I wonder.

Wispy memories enshroud
the night–constantly evoking
heavy eyelids–drowned in an
agony of despair.
Muted stars are my only witness
… I cry.

Longing for the restfulness
of home and twilight glow;
of your eyes, as I lay
and melt to your voice,
that lulls me to sleep
… I yearn.

Beneath the lonely moon,
I still hear you sing to me;
upon the sighing trees,
I still hear you sing to me
(I still hear you sing to me).

Last few breaths worsen my pain
tears at last, succumb
to the winds of change–
my destination has come into view.
As my body lowers to the ground,
I beg for forgiveness.

Calm as a child, in dreamless slumber–
I still hear you sing to me;
upon the torn pages, of sweet summer’s memories,
I still hear you sing to me
(I still hear you sing to me).