Calender Day 79/Kalendar dan 79
A heretic moving through the linear system of the keyboards-that's who I am with the first touch of keys. The intruder of silence, the devotee of a disappearing sound. The acrobat on x/y axes, the loneliness of the rhythm aflame in the only mathematics that makes sense. I am swaying you - silence, I'm smashing you against the window panes of eyes, my hammers strike into hopelessness- how-how shall I play myself into infinity on the limited number of keys. The heretic shifting through the aureoles of sounds, the pearls of accords I scatter before my feet so that I could start walking. I am not playing-no- I am dipping my fingers into the endless and the traces of its sound I am splashing across the universe and spreading it into a smile.
The Pianist
Јеретик који пролази кроз линеарни систем клавијатура-то сам ја у првом додиру са диркама. Уљез тишине, поклоник звука који нестаје. акробата на икс ипсилон осама узаврелог ритма једине смислене математике. Љуљам те -тишино, разбијам о окна очију, ударају чекићи у безнађе како ћу - како на опсегу клавијатуре одсвирати себе у бескрај. Јеретик који пролази кроз ореоле тона, перле акорда проспипам пред сопствене ноге нњ бих ли тако коначно проходао. Ја не свирам, ја прсте умачем у оно бескрајно и трагове његове по свемиру размазујем и у осмјех развлачим.
Пијаниста
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Related quotes
Silence Is...
Silence is an absence
Silence is profound
Silence is a conversation
Being had without sound
Silence is an expression
One that cannot be heard
Silence cannot be spoken
Although it is a word
Silence is a presence
Of great nothingness
Silence can be something
And yet cease to exist
Silence can fill a room
And have no mass at all
Silence cannot be dropped, yet it can fall
Silence is a mystery
That will forever go unsolved
Silence is how every sound can swiftly be dissolved
Silence is the sound of rest
The only sound that can sound best
While other sounds can cause great pain
Silence is not the sound to blame
For Silence is what silence is
Something that is nothing
Nothing that exists
poem by Kyle.J Carruthers
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Crazy I am I can bet on that/?? ???? ???? ???
You say I'm crazy
Crazy I am I can bet on that
So let me be…the way you say
May I live and be healthy
May I be crazy for many a year
May I surpass the paths all with myself
May I ever be my best friend
Am I plain to you…I am
So let me be that way
May you be forgiven me
Me and my lunacy
And a window unopened of my world
Pressed by your unmind
You say I'm obsessed
So what
Is your twilight perhaps
Darker because of that
Or you day is perhaps lighter
It's none of your business
Am I your obstacle or a trap
Why are your shoes pinching
When it's me dancing
Why are your hands itching
When it's me embracing
Crazed by your sagacity grown in the stone
A dropp of life going astray
You say I'm crazy
Crazy I am I can bet on that
So let me be…the way you say
May I be like that forever
A bit of light beyond the ashes
When I want
A bit of a smile just in case
The lines of the lips remember me
The way your lips
Are spelling me right now
Кажеш луда
Ма луда него шта
Е па нек сам...како кажеш
Нек сам ми жива и здрава
И много љета лудовала
Путеве све самом собом претекла
Најбољи ми пријатељ била
Јесам ли ти проста...јесам
Па нек сам ти
Проста ти била ја
Ја и лудост моја
И свијета мог прозор неотворен
На који ти чело неум упире
Кажеш опчињена
Па шта
Јел' теби можда сумрак
Мрачнији од тога
Или дан свјетлији
Шта те се тиче
Јесам ли сам ти препрека ил' замка
Што те жуља ципела кад то плешем ја
А не мудрост твоја с каменом срасла
Што те сврбе дланови кад то грлим ја
Мудрошћу твојом слуђена
Живота залуталу кап
Кажеш луда
Ма луда него шта
Е па нека сам...како кажеш
Нека сам ми таква довијека
Мало свјетла понад пепела
Кад хоћу
Мало осмјеха тек да се
Ивице усана сјете
Мене такве каквом ме
Усне твоје сад сричу
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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a Poem Of Silence
Silence is a beautiful thing.
no other sound is as great as silence.
Silence is the sound of nothing,
but it is still a sound.
even if a sound is great and amazing,
nothing can top the blissfulness of silence.
not the sound of wind on grass,
not the sound of laughter,
nothing is as beautiful as silence.
silence is a sound, but it is so much
better than any other sound.
What created such a far-off winner?
I love silence, silence is the best.
Never there will be a time that there
will be
a greater sound
than silence.
poem by Llew N. Rmail
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The Sadness of The Empty Home
The light flickers on
Illuminates the empty hallway
The thud, click of a door in closing
Brings a silence to the room
A heavy sigh escapes
A look to the mirror sees only
Tired eyes looking back
A bag lain upon the small table
The light turned back off
On route to yet another room
Light creeps through the window
Allowing enough to see
The sound of a running tap
Filling the kettle for a final drink
Keys thrown upon a side
The clatter of cups and spoons
Then further silence
Now the creaking of a staircase
Another door opened
Another light flicked on
The curtains drawn to the world
Drink set beside the bed
The silence of the empty home
Fills the heart with loneliness
A television switched into life
Nothing worth watching
Just a sound there to fill
The silence and the sadness
Of the empty home
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Silence Too Sounds
In a world where sound reigns,
And an era where sound adorns,
Seldom silence too sounds,
Even without a single wave formed,
Conveying everything even untold,
One among the unlimited expressions of nature,
A reliable expression for every creature,
Silence of breeze a matter of exaggeration for poets,
Even silence of the Last Prophet makes a solid statement for the believers,
Statue of Buddha in silence revealing peace and non violence,
Prayers to the God revivifying it into spirits in silence,
Tajmahal unveiling its majesty and magnificence,
While alone on a full moon night, in silence,
So at times silence angelic,
Sometimes terrific,
While in a graveyard or on the Day of Judgment,
At times tragic, when kept mum against,
the evils and vicious around by…
Doesn’t silence sound well….? Reciprocate at least in a sigh.
poem by Mohammed Suhail
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Sounds
What are the sounds we love to hear,
the sounds that bring us joy?
They are all the sounds we've listened to,
sounds that don't destroy
how you feel or how you react
when they reach your ear.
They touch a certain part of you
that sometimes brings a tear
of joy.
A child's laughter so innocent and pure,
a rolling wave down at the shore,
a sound of comfort from a spoken word,
a sound of wind chimes in the air,
a sound of silence while in prayer,
a sound of white noise when you sleep,
a sound of joyful tears you weep.
These sounds and many, many more
can change a person's mood.
They soothe your body and your mind
so nothing can intrude
upon your joy.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Bad Fit
How many nails do I have to have
hammered into my brain to realise
we don't fit?
This liaison has always been flawed.
Gel, we never did, but we had passion.
A wealth of it.
Should I take this hammer
and strike the final blow?
I don't know.
Hammers strike memories,
as though they're all piano keys
and the sound is harsh..
They have me re-visiting old war wounds
that I should have buried years ago.
They are awakening.
They've been dormant for so long.
Maybe I should have one final strike
and put them to rest.
The trouble is, if I pick up the hammer
and strike the first blow,
I may never stop
poem by Ruth Walters
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The heretic is always better dead. And mortal eyes cannot distinguish the saint from the heretic.
quote by George Bernard Shaw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Down By The Riverside & When The Saints Come Marching In
(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
Lets snap our fingers clap our hands
Down by the riverside, down by the riverside, down by the riverside
Lets give em what the song demands
Down by the riverside, down by the riverside
Well hear them playing keep that beat
Down by the riverside, down by the riverside, down by the riverside
Lets get together what a treat
Down by the riverside, down by the riverside
Strike up the band, start the parade
Dont let that grand old rhythm fade
Just play that drum, play that number
When the saints come marchin in
Shake tambourines, play that cornet
Crank up that horn you wont forget
Your heart will hum to that number
When the saints come marchin in
The cymbals clang, just pound that beat
Sounds like a hundred marching feet
Its fun to join in that number
When the saints come marchin in
See banners wave, oh hear that ring
We all feel prouder than a king
cause everyone, everyone loves that number
When the saints come marchin in
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writing?
What is he writing? Listen to the sounds
Of the keys, how swiftly his fingers move!
The eager and loveliest minute is a thought above,
It is in that touch, the moving touch of sweetness.
Abhorrent and unlucky are some strokes,
A pen sufficed but now the keys happen.
Putting the quick aside, he breathes and sighs
To see the palaces of gold, and the grand towers
That he is writing.
What is he writing? A message of fresh beauty
Has arisen, to wet the mind and everybody’s spirit.
In the temples of thought is recorded a lesson,
That thoughts are written, and their nature is solid.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Comin Into Los Angeles
Coming in from london from over the pole
Flying in a big airliner
Chicken flying everywhere around the plane
Could we ever feel much finer
Coming into los angeles
Bringing in a couple of keys
Dont touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, man
Theres a guy with a ticket to mexico
Could he ever look much stranger
Walking in the hall with his things and all
Smiling, said he was the lone ranger
Coming into los angeles,
Bringing in a couple of keys
Dont touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, man
Hip woman walking on a moving floor
Tripping on the escalator
Theres a man in the line, and shes blowing his mind
Thinking that hes already made her
Coming into los angeles,
Bringing in a couple of keys
Dont touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, man
Coming into los angeles,
Bringing in a couple of keys
Dont touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, man
Coming into los angeles,
Bringing in a couple of keys
Dont touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, man
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Weeping Garden
It’s terrible! – all drip and listening.
Whether, as ever, it’s loneliness,
splashing a branch, like lace, on the window,
or whether perhaps there’s a witness.
Choked there beneath its swollen
burden – earth’s nostrils, and audibly,
like August, far off in the distance,
midnight, ripening slow with the fields.
No sound. No one’s in hiding.
Confirming its pure desolation,
it returns to its game – slipping
from roof, to gutter, slides on.
I’ll moisten my lips, listening:
whether, as ever, I’m loneliness,
and ready maybe for weeping,
or whether perhaps there’s a witness.
But, silence. No leaves trembling.
Nothing to see: sobs, and cries
being swallowed, slippers splashing,
between them, tears and sighs.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Dark Drowned Faces Already Touched
Still life of the universe apples fallen down
Sky stammers teeth the teeth of the world
Blood inbuilt bites boldly protruding
A madman’s sadness slowly chews the bones
Vulture sorrow falling ashen on his paws
He used to be a pianist with hands stray on keyboards
Length of which limits both the keys and sounds
He used to play the tune on starboards of a journey
Small sinking ships haunt his humming heart
He will be forgiven despair paid pain and sin
In tooth of time given an eternal milk
He will be forgiven desert bites of skin
Enfolded in heaven’s softly touching silk
Dark drowned faces already touched
Still life of the universe apples fallen down
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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I listen to the silence
I Listen To The Silence
Darkness about me
In the somnolent silence
The silence has substance
As thick as can be
silence about me
as loud as a scream
In a nightmarish dream
It can terrify me
Silence has a feel
Of darkness in velvet cloaked
As a desperate cry being choked
Phantasmic, yet real
As Quiet surrounds me
The silence has substance
The absence of presence
is deafening to me
Sounds whispery as paper
Things scurry about me
Sounds, soft, sad and scaly
Like venom and vapour
Silence is sound incomplete
Silence whirs, silence hums
Silence throbs, silence thrums
Silence has it’s own heartbeat
Quiet has movement,
Tho’ever so slow
Quiet has substance
and how do I know?
I listen to the silence...
as you do also
poem by David Whalen
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The Sound of Silence
I’m walking down the street
and I hear the sculptor in his house
working on his statue of Krishna
and the chisel rings out on the stone
like a bell that wants to tell you something:
the stone saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the chisel saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the sculptor saying, this is prayer;
Krishna saying, I shall enter this.
And I hear in the sound of the chisel on the stone,
as sure as I know my own name,
that the sculptor is listening to all this too.
The bell-like sound lingers in the air
as if the air would keep it for ever
as the air’s prayer. It’s music.
The clearer the sound
of his striking chisel on stone,
the deeper the silence
as if sound and silence between them
know a secret: that sounds like this
can do anything in the world;
even call Krishna with their music
to play at being stone for us.
The stone’s laughing also:
playing at being Krishna.
They’re both laughing.
The sculptor is smiling too.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A silly poem about keys
Keys can open doors
they can lock you in
keys on a piano
but not on a Violin.
Keys to a safe
inside a vault
keys lost again
well that's your fault.
Keys on an old typewriter
and on a modern laptop
keys stolen by a thief
to break into a shop.
Keys hang on a keyring
or on a fancy chain
but how on earth can you
dropp them down a drain?
Keys for this and that
a key lying under the mat
having to rush to the Vet
it's been swallowed by the cat.
So I'll end this poem now
and try and get my key
I dropped it down a drain
oh stupid and silly me!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Nonsense Verses
1
THE Window has Four little Panes:
But One have I;
The Window-Panes are in its sash,—
I wonder why!
2
My Feet they haul me 'round the House:
They hoist me up the Stairs;
I only have to steer them and
They ride me everywheres.
3
Remarkable truly, is Art!
See—Elliptical wheels on a Cart!
It looks very fair
In the Picture up there;
But imagine the Ride when you start!
4
[Pg 58]I'd rather have fingers than Toes;
I'd rather have Ears than a Nose:
And as for my hair,
I'm glad it's all there,
I'll be awfully sad when it goes!
5
I wish that my Room had a floor;
I don't so much care for a Door,
But this walking around
Without touching the ground
Is getting to be quite a bore!
poem by Gelett Burgess
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The piano chords
You play the piano chords
In this sonata as well as
In the music of Prokofiev,
Emphatically catching the music's mood.
Fingers seem to stick the keys
And the keys seem to direct the fingers,
When the thumbs move under them.
You both look like a single being,
In together.
The piano seemingly breaks the sounds.
They penetrate my soul,
Searching for the necessary words.
I understand the story of your feelings.
Dedicated to Richard Clayderman
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The Sound Of Silence....
it speaks no words,
yet they fall on the soul..
quietly falls on the heart so heavy,
pain wrapped, the words of silence....
filth and grime,
pure and honest,
the words do a medley of sorts,
ever felt the sound of silence..
the world pulls down,
the dust seems sticking,
tears entrapped in the soul,
commotion in the worldly shows.
what's life? regret, remorse..
the dull light always burning,
resonating from inside,
try listening, the sound of silence...
the voice screams,
it brings the truth,
momentarily, the pain halts,
with the tasting of the salt.
ironical the world is,
contradiction filled...
sounds stupid, but true,
the sound of silence...
befriend silence,
redemption u find...
the lost answers,
u will find.
sound, so enthralling,
sound, so enigmatic..
yet so healing, , ,
the sound of silence..
poem by Nupur Singhal
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The pole stands on both ends
Silence is the opposite state of sound.
It has no existence without sound.
Silence will not as silence sounds
In the annihilation of sound.
Woman is the opposite state of man
30.01.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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