First movement

He gently glides his hand across the neck of the instrument’s body

Smiling at the way her body looks nicely polished and oiled in the moonlight

Second movement

With a light, smooth vibrato, he listens to the change of her voice/sound that makes him close his eyes

Happy to soak the rich tones in.

Third movement

One hand moves lower past her neck, and even lower near her cavity

He reaches there and plucks her strings gently

This makes her create an even more higher contralto tone

Fourth movement

His nose brushes the bridge of her body

Soon his lips follow along every curve & edge of her whole body

#SYMPHONY (c)

12/22/2021.

In my mother's arms

I'm just like a child

In my mother's arms

I don't have to hide

In my mother's arms

I can show my weaker side

In my mother's arms

I feel safe once again

In my mother's arms

I feel at peace

In my mother's arms

There is a wordless promise that she will stay,

That everything will be ok

Now my mother's hands are crossed, one over the other

She has lost her color

I long for my mother's embrace

I no longer feel safe

I no longer feel ok

A pair of arms wrap around me,

But they are not my mother's

I only want her's

I want that promise that everything will be ok.

Tears fall as I struggle, these foreign arms, they hold me tighter.

There is no escape

And I feel nothing but this strange emptiness

Hands stroke my hair telling me 'It will be ok'

And oh how I want to believe them.

But these arms don't feel the same.

When I was 7, my school hosted a poem-reciting competition in which a representative from each class would recite a poem in front of a lot of parents, the principal and vice-principal, and more. Being an introvert, I chose to keep quiet during the selection for the class representative even though I knew deep down that I could do well.

Unfortunately, all my classmates voted for a CERTAIN SOMEONE who was VERY RELUCTANT to participate.

That person was yours truly.

Initially, I rejected the offer because I knew I could not overcome my stage fright and shyness. However, upon seeing the hopeful faces my classmates and class teacher wore, I gave in and agreed.

Weeks flew by as my spare time was converted to choosing a poem, memorising it and learning simple actions to make it ‘more lively and entertaining ’ as my class teacher said. A costume was chosen, my parents were delighted and my elder brother pestered me when I was trying to memorise the poem.

All these chaotic preparations did not equip me with the right steps to take to overcome my fear of BEING STARED AT BY A BUNCH OF STRANGERS and sometimes I regretted accepting to take part in it. My nerves grew as my classmates swarmed me with questions. Questions, questions, questions. 

Before I knew it, the night before the competition had arrived.

I stared at the ceiling and cuddled my favourite soft toy, too nervous and scared to sleep. All my thoughts were about the competition.

About the people looking at me. Expecting an excellent performance.

About the microphone that I would hold. That would amplify every sound I made.

About EVERYTHING.

I felt shivers running up and down my spine. I could not think, could not breathe. Yet I didn’t want to tell anyone, fearing I would disappoint them. 

I stared at my soft toy, trying to make it speak and help me through those dark times.

Then I pictured my soft toy standing up in my mind and speaking to me.

“Come on, you can’t be scared of a bunch of people! Just imagine they’re all dabbing or doing something funny. That’ll look so hilarious! Remember, book characters always have it worse, so just go out there and get it over and done with. I’ll be waiting,” its imaginary voice squeaked.

I thought about those words for a minute. My seven-year-old self realised that my doll was right! I could just follow her advice and it would be awesome! I lulled myself to sleep comforted by those words.

The next day, there was a flurry of activities taking place. Last minute adjustments were made to my costume, my classmates were wishing me good luck and telling me they would cheer for me, my class teacher ran through the script and actions. My nerves had disappeared, however, for I was as cool as a cucumber. Up until the competition began and I was called to the stage.

Heaving a big big big big big breath, I strutted towards the microphone as confidently as I could but my heart thumped wildly. Blood pounded in my ears and I could hear my ragged breath. As I faced the large crowds packed into the hall, my fear grew. I cleared my mind and tried to focus on the first lines of the rhyme:

Little drops of water,

Little grains of sand,

Make the mighty ocean,

And the pleasant land.

No, no, you’re supposed to greet everyone and introduce yourself! I thought. 

I quickly greeted everyone in the hall and introduced myself.

“ Today, I will be reciting a poem entitled ‘Little things’ by Julia Fletcher Carney,” I continued.

Now, you do what I told you to do and recite the poem, Lily’s voice echoed in my head.

I imagined the crowd dabbing and a smile played across my lips.

Little drops of water

Little grains of sand,

Make the mighty ocean,

And the pleasant land.

So the little moments, 

Humble though they be,

Make the mighty ages

Of eternity.

So our little errors

Lead the soul away

From the path of virtue,

Far in sin to stray.

Little deeds of kindness,

Little words of love,

Make our earth happy,

Like the Heaven above.

I finished with a bow and a thank you. A thunderous applause shook the hall that drowned my last words. I smiled as I saw my classmates whooping and cheering and my mother proudly filming my every word. As I walked off the stage, I thanked my soft toy silently for those useful words of advice.

Ever since then, my confidence has grown and I have overcome my fear of stage fright.

Moral of the story? To be honest, I have no idea. Write in the comments what you think the moral was!

(please note the challenge; trigger warnings)

Crude, cheap thing

you said:

“serial killer.”

That’s the culture

talking through

your pleasing lips.

Media, media, media,

reducing, compacting,

twisting into tweets

and bad TV

for the limited conception

of the great unwashed,

who dismiss

Vivaldi and Schoenberg alike

as “classical music.”

Cliché kills essence;

generality obscures beauty;

and most gravely,

grouping precludes

intimacy.

A moment of beauty,

an act of perfection,

is itself. Only.

It’s “serial” offends me,

you understand.

As though fourteen

brushes with divinity

could be plotted

on an X and Y axis,

bodies over time.

Your body is not datum.

Your body is holy,

and will bless me in ways

and positions

you cannot comprehend.

I am not a headline.

Who I am

is rendered perhaps

most suitably in the French:

Casanova des blessures qui coule.

Casanova of the Flowing Wounds.

Chris turned on the kitchen light and placed a hand on his heart. ‘You nearly scared me to death!’

His guest chuckled while shuffling a deck of cards. Chris looked at the cards that his buddy had placed in his own hand.

‘Well,’ his pal said, ‘wanna play a quick game?’

Chris: (sighs) Fine. I thought you’d be out celebrating.

‘Nah.’

Chris: Happy New Year to you Skelly. (smiles)

Skelly: (looks at Chris) Happy New Year to you, too. Now quit stalling and pick a card~ any card.

Chris: Ah, is this a regular card game- or is it a trick?

Skelly: (grins) You’ll have to pick a card to find out.

Chris carefully picks a card & watches the images begin to shift on the card. The image on the card changes from an evergreen tree to a deathly looking kind. The leaves fall to the ground and the tree branches droop.

Skelly: What do you think of the card you picked?

Chris: (stares at the card) I don’t know. Is this a spell card game?

Skelly: Sort of. I’m still working on it. I just wanted to see what would happen when a mortal held the card.

Chris: Oh~ come on! What if I ended up dying like the tree? Or if my soul got transported to another dimension?

Skelly: Okey. Calm down. Thanks for trying out my brand new deck of cards.

Chris: (glares at the ruler of the netherworld) Next time call before you get in, or try knocking on the door, please.

Skelly: Got it. (waves goodbye & winks) See you later alligator!

Chris watches the skeleton being vanish in a burst of lightning and thunder. He shook his head; Skelly always had to either arrive with flair, or leave in a grandiose way.

#TakeYourPick

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=wFhs7WVvuXk

(Imagine Dragons - Thunder)

The sun falls as the moon rises

Hope is crushed and despair is nurtured

Chaos spreads and order dies

Fire dims and water grows

Ash dissipates and ice thickens

The world dying, cold and barren

Eclipse shreaks to restore all

As I saw the black sun engulf the sky I heard the sound of a whisper, and the sky began to shake. A roar as mighty as a god rained down upon me, cloaking me as I rose towards the void-like sky. The wind twisted and turned crackling with power rising and dancing forming a vortex. As the vortex grew I heard a crack a bright light erupted like a volcano and pierced through the dark void. A cry sounded out and the clouds gave way to a beast, covered in tendrils of light. I flew towards it and curiously touched it. Suddenly I saw the vortex, hovering and spinning fast over me and the beast. I reached out and touched the tendril ensnaring the beast and it gave off a hissing sound and slowly disintegrated to dust. I continued this action until all 5 of the tendrils were gone, freeing the beast. As I saw the marks the tendrils left on the beast I was filled with unbridled rage and hatred, I felt the vortex consume me and I let it, relishing in the chaos it brought. I then opened my eyes and saw a black void beneath me and I took one step and saw ripples, drip drop, drip drop, it went. And then I saw the beast, but it wasn’t the same, it was a rippling orb, black and white and pulsing with anger and hatred. I reached out to it and touched it and gasped, an explosion shattered the void. I looked up and saw the pieces falling down as I fell down with it. Then, I fell down, back to the ground and earth, away from my home, and my anger.

Flapping wings,

Soaring high,

Fluffy clouds,

Dappled light.

Airborn bird,

Majestic flight,

Starry sky,

Black-cloaked night.

Soaring,

Flying,

Never,

Falling.

Ocean waves rock me,

The blankets of the earth,

Salty blue calmness,

My wild foaming birth.

I sleep on waves of blue,

Rest upon the sand,

Listen to this water,

In this bright blue wonderland.

This serene plain of aqua,

This flat pane of teal,

Can become a monster,

And kill with wild zeal.

Dark clouds loom,

Wild lightning in the sky,

My beautiful bed of turquoise, 

Has turned to a killer who lies.

But when my friend calms down,

Becomes happy again,

I listen to the waves,

And rest upon the sand.