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Posts Tagged ‘Music’

When music sounded like music!

WHAT’S HAPPENED TO MUSIC?

 

I was raised on 40’s music,

And loved to hum along,

But the noise made by todays groups

Is nothing like a song.

 

Who’ll remember those unkempt groups,

Like Vomit And The Gags?

Or like Acne and His Toe Jams,

And Trash and His Bags.

 

There’s Naval Pierce and Fungus,

And, of course, there are more.

I must admit the names fit well,

Just like a metaphor.

 

They dress like clowns or urchins,

And dash madly ‘round the stage,

Shaking heads in  frenzy,

Screaming lyrics that enrage.

 

So full of foul obscenities,

They’re the drug cultures dream . . .

Words of hate and disrespect,

More ugly than they seem.

 

Guitars twang the same three bars,

As if it’s all they know.

Nothing played can ever  be sung …

Where did the music go?

 

When Nose-Pick and His Boogers wane,

And no one lights their fuse,

I hope the trend for such groups

Means  no one fills their shoes.

 

8/31/04     Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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A MAN AND HIS GUITAR

 

The old guitar is silent now

And sits behind the door

It’s strings are loose and out of tune

Not played as once before

 

He made the instrument he played

With such amazing skill                      

Music filled his home with joy

But now those strings are still

 

The man that made that guitar sing

Now sits and stares at space

He can’t remember how to play . . .

Confusion clouds his face

 

Sixty years they were as one

And music filled the air

Then gradually the music slipped

Behind his vacant stare

 

The old guitar awaits his touch

A touch that’s not to be

Because it’s lost within his mind

Where even he can’t see

 

3/18/00          Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

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            PAPA’S VIOLIN

 

When Papa played the violin

          Mom rolled the rug away

We children smiled because she knew

          We’d rather dance than play

As Papa raised the tempo

          Our feet kept cadenced time

Mama often sang along

          With words in perfect rhyme

We’d dance until the music stopped

          Then fall into a chair

While Papa changed the tempo

          With expertise quite rare

It seemed he knew a million tunes

          At least I thought he did

But that was admiration

          Through the heart of a kid

Yet, he could play forever

          And without one repeat

The music slow or lively

          With melody so sweet

From concert music and old tunes

          To music of the day

Two-step, waltz, and hoedown

          Oh, how sweet he’d play

He could set your heart soaring

          On his concert violin

The room so still you could hear

          The soft drop of a pin

But then with quick transition

          The tempo changed once more

From violin to fiddle

          And our feet caressed the floor

That little box of polished wood

          With strings and resined bow

Made music that pleased angels

          Or inspired heel and toe

But that was just acoustics

          And guaranteed to please

What really made that box sing

          Was Papa’s expertise

 

 

6/11/90        Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 

6’th … Indiana NPD 1999

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  WHEN  WE  FIRST  MET

 

Remember, Dear, when we first met?

‘Twas in the rain, we both were wet.

I laughed at you — you chided me.

It’s all still fresh in memory.

 

We ducked into a Coffee Shop

To see if soon the rain would stop.

And there we spent much time in talk,

Forgotten was our daily walk.

 

We talked of fun, and home, and work

And also things that we both shirk.

Discussed were future hopes and dreams.

We covered everything, it seems.

 

We learned we both love kids a lot.

We like our coffee steaming hot.

You love small dogs and I do, too.

And I love nature, just like you.

 

We both shed tears at something sad,

And when we goof, we laugh like mad.

Our taste in music is the same,

And neither one is bent on fame.

 

The more we talked we seemed as one,

And after all was said and done,

We knew right then that in our roles

We must be destined kindred souls.

 

We hoped the rain would never stop,

But soon we saw the last wet drop.

We said goodbye, but not for long,

That falling rain was love’s sweet song.      

 

2/26/95     Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 

5’th … Arkansas  NPD 1997

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   WHERE NATURE STOOD

 

Where once there was a wooded hill

The earth is flat and much too still

Trees cut down, dirt hauled away

This is progress, so they say

 

Gone are trees that once housed birds

Who chorused music without words

Gone, giant oaks with arms spread wide

That were the forest’s greatest pride

 

The tangled brush on forest floor

Will not be seen here anymore

Gone are vines, and berries too

Sweet and succulent where they grew

 

And where did all the wildlife go

The tiny fawn and sloe-eyed doe

And squirrels who entertained each day

With lively acrobatic play

 

Raccoons, rabbits, and chipmunks too

Gone forever, as if on cue

And no more den with fox and kits

There’s nothing left, not even bits

 

Because where groves of trees once stood

Are buildings made of brick and wood

And even some of steel and glass

With tiny lawns of pampered grass

 

The hill and woods took years to form

Surviving cold, surviving storm

But in a month ’twas gone for good

Progress stands where nature stood

  

4/4/92    Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 

1’st … Indiana NPD 1997

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The Blue Waltz

THE BLUE WALTZ

  

Of all the songs he played for me

With violin and bow

My favorite was The Blue Waltz

He played so sweet and low

 

I’d whirl around the room alone

In time with that sweet song

And often I’d just close my eyes

And softly hum along

 

I rock-a-byed my little ones

Humming those sweet strains

And as they grew, I’d hum again

To sooth their growing pains

 

The violin is silent now

Stilled when it’s owner died

It lies upon my closet shelf

Stained with tears I cried

 

But in the early morning hours

And frequently at night

I think I hear The Blue Waltz played

Ethereal and light

 

It flows through years of memory

As lovely as before

Oh, how I wish that violin

Could play that song once more

 

3/12/01          Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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