Piano, 1999


A siren splits the air

I sit at piano Bach beckons

my fingers dance over ivory and ebony

aeroplanes rip the skies a whistling shriek

BLAST

My mother’s head cracks like glass

BLAST

A girl, I waved at aeroplanes

American flags painted on tails their speed

enthralled me

BLAST

I laughed in red sprayed red laughter

wipe my eyes laughing

BLAST

I closed the piano and turned my back on the dead keys

Let there be Music!


Startup the lights, antagonists!
let there be Music!
the Dance of Death commenced to the sound
of a cacophonous piano
brilliantly commingling variations to Salieri.
as the tempo accelerated unwaveringly,
Mozart kept flooring the piano pedals
as if they belonged on a priceless car.
his diminutive skull and compact hands
alternately rising and falling,
he guzzled from an empty bottle,
cackling, basking in the luminescence
of lanterns supplied by the archangels,
spilling over the entire gambling hall.

Clapping their metacarpals and phalanges
this crepitation lent rhythm to the eerie waltz,
fellow artists, write!
compose an ode, dancing to the rhythm with such skill!
get your bones clapping and your pens scraping,
smear the ink across your cranial bones!
here we are, performing for you the Dance of Death –
perform for us the story of a life!
bring out your musty quills,
ladies and gentlemen and with those marvellous
brains of yours – laden with letters, quills, brushes and paints
as they all undoubtedly are – highlight the wax figures’ tragedies.
grant them minuscule lampion houses to cram their meek lives into, dress them in patchwork quilts or golden harem pants;
make them heroes or cowards, thieves, traitors,
moralists and decent folk.

Late Night Poets discussing my poem “Dervish”, with comments


Dervish

I had learned the secrets of the universe
from the manuscript itself,
and had felt the tones in the best of my fingertip muscles.

Now, wasn’t it Music who went to the desert to know…
that, in the wasteland of life, here,
under this tree may my body be as the one of the Savior,
and may the menace itself visit me,
to engender within me a sacred tone…

He uses a ney. A Crooked Pan.
a ney..Karghy tuiduk, an instrument of wind.

And a Crooked Pan trapped me on the spot with her first tone
in the vortex where music enters the man
and disappears inside of him somewhere.

And I, Dervish, played the instrument made of hollow reed,
skillfully shuffling his fingers across the ney holes.
It was a round-up of the movement of music dug deep into the rhythm.

I danced swept by the accord of divine forces
streaming from “the spheres” –
and within the Dervish’s song through the typhoon,
I spun around faster and faster in an unexpected manifestation of the universe,

to perceive, through the binding
of the heavens and the earth,
a universe of love and a different godly principle,
hypnotically repeating “Masnavi, Masnavi” pushing close to a hallucination.

– The spiral is the evolution of the circle.

Transcendental, indeed. It can be performed with an echo. Oh, how sonorous, Orpheus.

Ah, I felt that the spiral is open for my musical ears.
I must continue! I must!

All the way to the devil’s tail! – the scream no longer slumbered in the throat, and my face went black and blue as if both tar and wax were poured on it.
the spiral is the evolution of the circle – even though he was still speaking, a force of dead nature! It was clear to me now, this Dervish who was miles away… somewhere close to the horizon, leaving only the memory of his wild stare and …oh, and… I cannot forget what I have just heard… ah, I would never forget! And some of it is already gone!

this strong tonal ace to win in a cruel and uncompromising game of destruction for the purpose of creation.

– Well go on, then, finish it! – I grabbed the Dervish’s shoulders desperately – Finish it, I want to hear more! Until the end! You barely played anything at all, so why did you stop playing? I want you to play all the way to the coda, do you understand me? All the way to the devil’s tail!
– Look into yourself. This is where music is hidden.
Do not despair, I shall come again and rebuild all of those ruins…
in a century or two because I have something important to do.

ap7ap8

Eurydice awakened


Eurydice awakened proclaimed and alive
in a haunted room, like a gruesome coast,
in the night underground; Hades does thrive
on his reign, he limps, the lord to the host
of the dead, the God of Earth and Earths,
a quarantine-Hell-Deadening-Matrix.
Your devotion, death, meekness swanned as worths
by the dead like hurt souls needing medics
Omega Eyes silent for all cozy
with an orgasm of a deadly glow!
Live after being static and comfy,
the eyes keep watching the front gate death’s row;
under the royal nail, terrors change fire,
a wet node in a deaf room, it’s all lyre.
editor: Obinna Eruchie

Late Night Poets/After Midnight – Rhythm and Rhyme


My poem was read on the After Midnight radio listener show – you can hear the poem read by myself as well as comments on the poem by fellow late-night poets at allpoetry

Thank you all, guys. You are awesome.

https://allpoetry.com/group/31955-Late_Night_Poets

Late Night Poets is dedicated to the celebration of creative minds. We are a welcoming forum for poems, stories, art and ideas. We encourage absolute beginners, seasoned pros and anyone in between. All we ask is that everyone be treated with respect. Late Night Poets is a reflection of our community spirit. A place to share, develop and reveal the best parts of ourselves. We welcome ideas and views.
“It is great to think highly of yourself …as long as you are not looking down on others while doing so”

 

https://www.blogtalkradio.com/latenightpoets/2019/11/18/rhythm-and-rhyme-with-rex-luna

the key sum of all things


the key sum of all things

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MUSIC:

cello made of sponge
and rosewood
releasing a flow that is a unison

of hold-able
liquid
Of musicke

POETRY:

a short, tight strum,
as-is,
worth the reed,
the sap blood of living things has found
and will ink a new font
in what’s left of the human hour.

FILM: Film’s the mad black Easter egg
for a great many people.
Under Phoenix brood, inhaling the smokes
of flesh &n’ blood.
Freudian, drowning in the human average,
id hearing the threat of being lock’t-in.
All set to a one-song opera.
Damn good stuff.

mediate on and harvest
to my level of capability
from these lighten bolts disguised as roses,
these fences made from prism glass,
these marrows which no bone
of the human or the universe could turn aside:

But then, again, isn’t the key sum of all things best played on a harp made of pyrite, snakes &n’ roses caught in the strum?

Scattered family after Facebook block


As strip uncorrupted faceted coats
hard shell and blanketed like a universe
cold coldness
of my being
to be
feel like
Carnallite
a bad taste of Taconite
such a cruelty

Whence fear no assault but all that spake
in the beam
all square sides
.. Potere… Elbaite with albite and Lepidolite.
striffing the acrylics
shine, you gorgeous butterfly wing jasper
oh shame to onslet painter
enslaved
artist
’tis, my shuly lungurous etcetera
to confound the pace
but wither- amateur
de blanc et de noir,
a slant of it
allegro
softly coming from anon
thirst-ridden sinews each dim
winch is to toss trails, into the lap of andante
and the harsh fervid moon over feet she lifts
on light footed germinal egg
The Dickite of facebook family block.
The Fukalite in the loud flames
of her benevolent heart,
Disconsolately, I think
she is going to kill herself by
Shawshank gems, rock and pistol.
when the grocery can opens and camels looks like Canterbury
windows
she will do it then
by then
the pastures will glisten
the pocketbook will listen
copper chromate arsenate hydroxide
in visions of endless love.
Scintillating
day, night, aunt Margaret
shall I tell you a secret?
alas, wee birdie and beast
this is the trushes of songs
but still keeps carving dark dark
and the cry works all the time

But mistakes her for the medals
for too long, the bingo father
and the bingo mother
and the bingo sister – lover,
and a flutter, outside the big
retro box full of slime
and nothing but a slime

and the Mind House spots me in Poland
bamboo leaf for lotus, Atomium, La Pedrera
so don’t blame panda for my family corduroy
I have to go somewhere.. I know.
I gotta go swimming in Mid Atlantic
supported by the Meta Picture of myself

feel like
feel like
for daddy may come and daddy may go,
but mummy will go on forever.

Moolooite, hear me
in that Emanating dim pit
stings my smooth plastic absolutia
for I am quartz, a chert, a life
sitting in a fetal position under a large rock
with other dead souls.

a fairly set.