Manifesto Translations Prose & Poetry Letters to B Musings Words Culture & Music Other Works Copyright
Official Site Q & A Biography Discography Concert Reports Magazine Reports Articles News Reports News Videos Pictures Pick of the Day Links

Monday, August 31, 2009

Outside Grooves

Unforgettable Vinyl

I took that old radio turntable of mine
Outside as we dined, and
You had looked at me strangely.
I had smiled faintly.

Your velvet eyes -- a fabric of midnight --
Questioned my futility to listen
To music on the technology of history,
While I jokingly mourned
Your lack of foresight.

I spoke of its dark beauty,
The sleek curved lines of vinyl,
Of unforgettable physicality,
Of the hissing that gave
The music feeling in its imperfection;

Of how it smelled, as you drew it out
Of its well-designed sheath,
To place it to turn on its tray
Following an order of play,
Lost in a sense of musical tradition.
I sensed you soften, but
You called it sentimentality.

I let you smell its dark skin,
Took your fingers to feel its edge
In a literal explanation
Of this elevation of music,
Our eyes locked as the disc
Clicked into place and began turning,

As the turntable's needle cut through,
I drew a finger nail across your skin,
Turning, turning, turning
To the smallest point
Where suddenly the conversation
Got lost deep within;

Caught in a cage of night
With summer's season at its height --
I stared at you intently,
To always remember you
As you had looked then, before time
Would sweep through you like jealousy --

Your eyes were smouldering
Power lines, flaring and exhausting
In the shape of something won and lost.
You loved me, but didn't know to what cost.
Your stare seemed to light
The night through its darkest scrub,
Running untracked to rub
Beneath the restless trees,
The scratchy song and
Every good intention gone wrong;

You leaned close to whisper to me
And said: So how do I make sure
you never forget me?
I, wanting to caress your head,
Whispered back to stroke your
Hungry vanity instead: Just kiss me
I replied simply, leading you to bed.


Making Music

we're deep in the groove,
souls on the move,
as the radio plays
so low in the evening,

you, me and this melody
making music so softly,
while the dark lays
a veil over our moving,

drums beat as we meet
in a private street,
fingers open the ways
of a locked mind burning,

bodies rhyming outside
play to sirens inside,
pursuing a song that stays
in a disc of turning,

we're deep in its groove
of music pulling to move,
as this love plays
us in its shimmering.


Midnight Melodies

syrupy and thick, we took in
the hot, sultry night air thinning
the very breath of us,
it lay in us, tenacious
and viscid, merciless
in a midnight melody, humming

some passionate refrain,
singing us to its climax again,
again, and again as though we
could forget its intensity,
we drowned in sticky shadows, sunken ships
in faces and cheeks, and bleeding lips

slotting together like cogwheels,
mirroring the arc of wind that steals
the very breath and ruffles the stark rows
of shimmering trees in its highs and lows,
time made timeless, beating bodies passing
the whirr of crickets in the summer heat
and clouds dissembling the sky, a thin sheet

of desire forged deep in the body's wire
rustling like the wind in the trees
that resemble smoke in a fire, the moon an admirer
of how we moved the night along, as it tucked us
in its pale light, across this
narrow, but ever widening, world, it stayed bright,

as we curled deeper, moved closer in,
growing, twirling in so many knots, singing
a duet of sorts, coming to a crescendo,
a cleansing storm breaking the night's serenity
in rousing harmony; a visceral show
of duets in a midnight melody.

Read more from The Body Gospel >>

Creative Commons License

© CC License 2004-18. Unless otherwise stated all poetry, prose and art are the original work of the blog owner.