gordon nosworthy


Turn Down That Drunken Music


Turn down
That drunken music

She yells From somewhere Within earshot
It’s hard to hear her Over the volume
Mix pthalo blue With cerulean blue
Add a little sky A touch of white
Load a brush
Apply it Just so To that particular Spot
The one calling out For something
Demanding To be filled
As loud As the music Will allow

Turn down that drunken music

The daub Needs some deep red
Has a shape Something like I have no words
Words fail The paint Does not fail
The paint talks A language I feel
But do not completely Understand

Turn down
That drunken music

On the far side Of the canvas
Over fields of desert violet Fields of ochre
Curving stripes of maroon A falling river of chalk white
A pallet knife Leaves a trail of black
I pull red In its wake Into the black
Down the canvas
At right angles
Through the whirling fields Of colour
Waiting For the moment
To stop Expecting A message
A warning An abrupt Stop

Turn down
That drunken music

I don’t blame her
She is listening To her own music
Drumming
Journeying her worlds This world
This wordless topography Is loud
Really soundlessly loud
But I hear it As a call to arms
As a lullaby Of rocket noise Blaring guitars Trumpets Drums
Egos Prowling Their own nations

Turn down
That drunken music

The soundtrack To romeo and juliet
Brash sound Brash rhythm Choked with testosterone
Fists and artistry Love and poison Two sides
To every story
Has a story
Everybody Everybody Has their own Story
An inviolable story Where dreams Obey rules
And rules Always find New ways
To make demands

Turn down that drunken music

Deep quinacridone red Joins the carbon black
Carefully Without mixing
Carefully Laying color Upon color
White shoots to the edge
Backs down
Magenta comes to the rescue
Permanent maroon circles Crimson
Underlines the black
A streak of green oxide
Shoots across the hieroglyphics
Pink offshoots Streak happily With red oxide
Until indian yellow mixed with cadmium yellow and a dab of Ochre
Meet at a dead end With a middle finger
Pointing Up To any who might listen

Turn down that drunken music

The music Beats louder
I feel it In my stomach
In my arms In my thighs
The music Is relentless energy
It wants to kick the meaning Out of stupidity
Out of hypocrisy Out of all the nasty little pieces of work
Who want to use spit As a form Of communication

Turn down that drunken music

Hansa yellow
Makes a mockery Of pretence
Because hansa yellow Is pure
Unadulterated yellow Deep as sound
Yellow as sunlight On a pale afternoon
The paint Pulses over the canvas
Some of it laughing Some of it gyrating
To the drunken Music
I load a trowel With eggshell white
With a kind of off center purity
Trowel the white In a slant ……..

Turn down ………………

That picks up The wetness
Joins the colors Swirls
Tails off Into the silence Of the unbleached canvas
As I reach over And turn The music
Off
It plays on Inside my head

Submitted: Saturday, March 29, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, April 01, 2014

Topic of this poem: love


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