Airbourne

paragliding-2

The first complete song I ever made sheet music for was called “Airborn”. (I have since learned that this is not the proper spelling.) I went back and tidied the music up a bit, and now I present it to you in PDF form. In my mind, the piece has three sections which can be labled “take-off”, “flying”, and “landing”.

Airbourne [PDF]

-M.M.


Hero

hero

“Hero” is a piece I composed about a – you guessed it – Hero. Sometimes I picture the hero as a Greek or Roman sword-weilding hero, and sometimes I picture the hero as a Link or a Frodo. Other times the hero is just a normal person, but no matter the definition, the story is the same. A hero sets out on a journey only to come across an insurmountable challenge which nearly destroys all hope until the hero rises triumphant from the ashes. That is what this piece is about.

-M.M.


Crossword Poem

D
T C R O S S W O R D F S A M
H N A W U
S M I L E S W R I T I N G L I M
N K A A N E S S B
Y B A C O N T H E H L
C L R D D L I
R A O O E O O N
P O E M S M U M B L I N G S G
S I S A T H I S
A T H I S A N D S
C H S W I S H D O N T L
R A O A A C R O S S
D O N T R M K S
S S A N D G E T T A K E
F A L S E N I H
M D E M A N D P O E M

Note: The following stanzas were constructed using only the words from the crossword above.

 

Crossword Poem

I.

This is that crossword poem

Swish! Blam!

Bacon Sam.

Random Mumblings on demand.

Don’t take down,

And don’t get lost,

Writing in the false across.

This is that crossword poem.

II.

This is random writing.

Crossword across and down.

Sam is lost.

Bacon is lost.

Take that down the poem.

False swish. BLAM!

This is writing.

Don’t.

III.

Sam is writing on bacon.

Don’t get lost in that crossword.

Writing on bacon is false mumblings.

Random demand: Swish that bacon!

Blam down and get lost.

Sam is writing on bacon.

-M.M.


Good Omens

sprinklers

Good Omens

 

I took it as a good omen

when the sprinklers popped up

out of the grass and began to

sing water as I walked by.

 

I took it as a good omen

that the moon was nearly full that night,

not bloated with tryptophan pride,

but just full enough for contented humming

and glowing.

 

I took it as a good omen

that the moths flocked to the porch light.

As the loneliest light bulb

in the house (or out of the house),

it was good to see it

get some attention.

 

I took it as a good omen

that my coat was frayed,

for a good day at the grind

is well-worth the pain

by the time the body hits the mattress

and drifts off into dreams

of good omens.

-M.M.


Underpass

underpass

Underpass

I enter and inhale the shadows

coated with the invading dust

of everslow construction.

 

Amidst the swirling haze

lingering about my tennis shoes

I see a half-buried can of coke

forgotten by a hardhat weeks ago,

a plastic wrapper that used to say “Hostess”

but only reads “oste” now,

a discarded card from a hotel:

HAIRDRYER IN CLOSET,

and a sticker ‘y name i’

poking out of the grime.

 

From the concrete ceiling

I catch a whiff of someone else’s yesterday­­—

something between gasoline and pizzabreath.

 

None of the cars overhead

—the landlocked jetplanes—seem to care.

Care about the sticker, card, wrapper,

can of coke, or someone else’s yesterday.

 

And so I suppose I shouldn’t either.

 

I inhale the light

leaving that strange world

shifting behind me in the shadows.

-M.M.


True Love

Llama Love

True Love

 

“You want to do WHAT?”

“Marry him.”

“But… he’s fictional—”

“And perfect.

“And I wrote him into existence.”

Romantic, isn’t it. I just can’t wait to—”

“BUT HE’S NOT REAL.”

“So what?”

“So what what? Are you going to put the book on the altar and…”

“Yes. Won’t it be wonderful: I now pronounce you book and wife. You may now kiss the book.

“You’re unwell. I ought to call the—”

“Oh hush up. It’s true love. Don’t be jealous.”

“Jealous? I’ll try really hard.”

“You never were much of a Romantic.”

“That’s why I write about friendly, dignified, personified…”

“…DREAMY! Don’t forget to dreamy.”

dreamy, and apparently attractive llamas!”

 -M.M.


Looks Like a Pretzel

pretzel

Looks Like a Pretzel

 

He told me it looks like a pretzel, but isn’t.

But isn’t? What looks like a pretzel but isn’t?

A tangle of noodles? The Gordian knot?

A piece of pastrami that’s twisted a lot?

Infinity, broken and drooping? A sin?

The handles of scissors? A pretzel-shaped pin?

The shape of an ear if you squint your left eye

and turn your head sideways? A smile in the sky?

A shredded umbrella? The orange of a peel?

(Or peel of an orange if you get what I feel.)

Two italicized e’s with a mirror between?

The path of a shirt in a washing machine?

The wires in your brain? The shape of your heart?

A crumpled up dumpster posing as art?

He told me it looks like a pretzel, but isn’t.

But isn’t? Let’s just say it doesn’t.

-M.M.


Antimetropia {flash nonfiction}

monocle

Antimetropia

When my younger brother got glasses for the first time, I pitied him. The glasses looked so silly on his first-grade face, too big. They had zigzag, glow-in-the-dark lines along the sides and he thought they were cool. I didn’t.

My freshman year of high school I worried that my eyes were slowly going blind. Words blurred, lights smeared, and I couldn’t read the digital clock in the kitchen from the couch anymore. Entropy, it seemed, would serve fate on a silver platter and I wouldn’t even be able to see it coming. The future depended upon my ability to counteract the inevitable, so I went to see the optometrist.

After submitting myself to the air-puff retina photography machine, and a tedious game of lens-swapping—1 or 2, 3 or 4, 5 or 6—I sat in an office awaiting my verdict. Guilty. It had to be guilty. Poetic justice for thinking my brother looked dorky when we were both in elementary school. Dorkdom called and they want you to come to lunch. I sat on the sticky teal examination table and closed my eyes in resignation.

“You have an unusual pair of eyes, did you know that?” the optometrist said, straightening the papers in her file.

“I do?”

“You have one near-sighted eye and one far-sighted eye, a condition called antimetropia.”

“Is that bad?” An image of having to carry around two monocles filled me with dread.

“In your case, no. You have a very light case of antimetropia. Some people have operations done on their eyes so they have what you have naturally.”

“Really?”

“Your eyes compensate for one another. That’s probably why you didn’t notice much until high school. You don’t have to have glasses, but they will help you see more clearly. You will need two pairs of glasses, one for near activities, like reading books or using the computer, and one for far activities, like driving or reading the board in class.”

There it was. My sentence. Not to merely be a four-eyes, but to be a six-eyes.

When my younger brother saw me wearing glasses for the first time he smiled. I think he guessed at my secret pride and reveled in my newfound humility.

“Nice glasses,” he said. His sarcasm tasted like strawberry lemonade, sweet and biting.

“Nice glasses-es,” I corrected him, pulling the second pair from my pocket.

“I’m so grateful you won’t be bumping into the walls at night anymore.”

“Me too,” I said.

“It’s about time you saw the light.”

Yeah, I thought. About time.

-M.M.


Aurora {auidio}

aurora-borealis

“Aurora” is a song I wrote last year. It is a kind of prayer or wish for peace in the face of change and trouble. The vocals were done by Brodi Bateman. You can download the audio by clicking the link below.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0By2Jaqrpo1ywMk9zdWhPREJTUGs/edit?usp=sharing

Here are the lyrics:

 

Aurora

 

Verse 1:          Out on the street in lamp-lit silence

With the sirens of days gone by

Whispers tell you the war is over

These are ghosts of a faded time

But the sidewalk cracks say there’s no looking back tomorrow.

And the foggy nights hide the helpless heights of sorrow.

Help me find a way.

 

Chorus:           Aurora Borealis harmony

Keep me from war and malice. Set me free.

Open my heart (and) let your colors in.

Aurora Borealis peace within.

 

Verse 2:          Out on the waves a lonely schooner

Captainless and cold as ice.

Whispers tell you that dawn is coming

Shining bright on a distant tide

 

The black and grey of yesterday are ashes,

Like the ocean foam that has no home and passes

Help me find a way. Hey, hey.

 

Chorus:           Aurora Borealis harmony

Keep me from war and malice. Set me free.

Open my heart (and) let your colors in.

Aurora Borealis peace within.

 

Bridge:            *Instrumental*

 

Breakdown:   Let my heart fly.                                 Aurora Borealis harmony

Let it go.                                               Keep me from war and malice.

Never touch the ground.                    Set me free.

Let your music fuel my life.               Open my heart & let you colors in

Write my story down. (4-6x)            Aurora Borealis peace within. (3)

 

 

 


Sanity

sanity

Sanity

sanity

vanity, varnish

tarnish, tertiary, terrier

ferrier, fairy, fairly, flare,

care, carrot, carol, careful, careless,

hairless, hapless, happy, hoppy, harpy, harp,

sharp, shard, shed, shelter

skelter, skeleton, scan,

man, manatee

sanity

-M.M.


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 205 other followers

%d bloggers like this: