Thursday, October 11, 2012

The Music Poem

Rating: 4.0
We had finished lunch - the routine properly followed

a sunlit southern window
opposite the cool other
outside a summer afternoon
so lunch so finished
in some corner playing
the radio goes unheard
into the carpets infinity
I lay flat peering
flicking the occasional pile
nosing its dry dust
sprawling and wasting just
just passing and just

trying to be good
conjouring an instructed rest
but the sun falls
upon the carpet maze
but the sun falls
sliding over the paintwork
but the sun falls
warming the bare shutters
but the sun falls
mindful through the glass
falling on dad's chair
leaning watching aware unaware
the green leatherette cool
in a short while

in a proto lotus
and a proto ennui
my childhood simple reverie
with my single orbit
sunlit by the room
the house paces memory
moves with all stillness
the architecture being laid
to now known familiar
where am I here
made from it's time
on the outside lane
shaped its enclosed mood
searching it's unknown rooms

but no pose satisfies
the stifled inner motion
as daily rhythm is
the daily rhythm is
'Listen with Mother' sometime
I listen alone though
I waste what though
solitary but not alone
no attempts to question
these formalities of love
alone in this room
alone with my obedience
my mind looks inwards
there the music plays

tears are my response
to maybe some Mozart
called from a somewhere
a transient maybe sadness
that Mozart tells me
he also had known
and mutual tears fell
the music is so sad
the music is so sad
and order was disrupted
I run to mum
the music is so sad
does she understand understanding
her arms hold me
is this the comfort
to equal the music

it is still alive
so much for me
an old deep happening
forged into my psyche
now dressed to suit
or displayed in decoration
this so private nudity
at a central nucleus
beset by its enchantment
with finding calm congress
for the sunlit room
the unaffected afternoon peace
of unworded mood thoughtful
at play with me
as I become inevitable
by the real music

a discontent soft formed
drawn by that circumstance
formed from the finiteness
of its disappointed schism
a realized music impelling
a free born excuse
to run and search
the music is so sad
this music is so sad
so tracing this locus
tears helpless still well
ripped from the meself
by that lone reality
a life's melodic imperative
the music is so sad
michael oliver
This is one of the Chells poems written as a result of finding an old
photograph of me as a child with my parents and a couple of dogs
Omolara Olufemi Stephen 02 November 2012
Nostalgic, reflective
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