Music: Move Me, Mark Me

From poems about music itself, to poems about the emotions evoked by a certain song, to pieces written with lyrical description, music has always been my #1 inspiration.  It has prompted my best pieces, my best lines, my best phrases, and even when I write non-creative pieces (like essays and research papers), listening to music while I write never fails to help me find the best ideas and compose my best work.

“sometimes I wonder what it is
beneath my ribs
that beats and flutters so
and rises with the words
of a crooning song
         the lyrics a cry for freedom
         the notes a bid for flight”

“I have become nothing but a helpless instrument of emotion tied to the beautiful music of the world with ribbons of scarlet and cobalt hue, strong as the chords of love and agony, and just as vivid.”

“…the music dances with wild abandon
among my wandering, delirious thoughts…

it rushes past the blued shards
of my tattered consciousness,
caressing them with a feathery touch as it goes by,
bringing the song to my lips
and I sing, sing for all the world to hear,
the sound in my throat bubbling with the beauty
of a writhing, twirling, forgotten art.

the perfection of its grace spins webs
of cobalt and ebony in the shadowed recesses
and craggy caves that wind through my skull,
weaving the bright ribbons of sound
through my very  b  e  i  n  g ...”

 “…if only I could lose myself
in the twirling play of the baby arpeggios
and breathe the pure beauty of their intricate song,
in that place where the only emotions
are the ones evoked by the crying melodies
and wistful harmonies that sing to me
as they carry my soul to the wavering edge
of their mysterious realm, which rests
between our world of tangible reality
and that realm where the stars  v  i  b  r  a  t  e
and the moon can hum.” *

Getting inspiration to write isn’t the only reason why I love music, though.  I’ve loved to sing ever since I was little, and even though I took piano lessons for a few years and violin for a few weeks in elementary and middle school, singing is the only music form that I’ve ever truly loved to do.  I’ve often thought that if I didn’t love writing as much as I do, I would have pursued a career in music.  Actually, I’ve often wished I had the time in my college schedule to squeeze in a music minor.

I’m sure it’s already abundantly clear through my posts, but I have an intense passion for art, and I count music and writing as two of the most beautiful forms of art there are.  For me, writing and music are not just hobbies or career choices; they are things that define me.  I wouldn’t be who I am if either one of them wasn’t in my life, and I know for a fact that my content and style of writing would be drastically different if music was not such an enormous influence on me.

I won’t go into who my favourite music artists are right now because that question alone has an answer big enough to fill its own post, but you can be sure it will be coming in the near future!  One thing you’ll come to understand about me is that when I get excited about something, it’s hard for me NOT to share it with others.  I love introducing people to the things I love so that they can come to love them too!

So what are your biggest inspirations?  What kind of music do you like to listen to and what role does music (in general) play in your life? I’m very interested to hear your answers, so tell me in the comments below!

 

*Each of these quotes are excerpts from pieces of my creative writing (though there are many more examples of music showing up in my writing than just these four examples!).  If you would like to read the whole pieces these quotes came from, just ask me and I’ll send you the links!  Or you can just wait for me to feature them in my Creative Writing posts (:

My Creative Writing: Poetry

Hey there, readers!  Well, it looks likes it’s time for another poetry piece!  This poem was inspired by the song “The Lonely” by Christina Perri, though it’s style is different than what I write with now.  But yeah, as always, I love comments, and thank you for reading!

 

The Dancer

No sound do her feet make
Nor are her hands empty
As she treads on the polished, springy floor.
Ever her toes and ankles ache,
And her knees hurt already –
They pay the price for her dreams to soar.

She turns the music on,
The piano plays with emotion,
And she becomes like a river’s cold, clear water:
Fluidity, her slender arms don,
Her eyes blue as the ocean,
She begins her dance without a single totter.

Limbs begin to move in time,
Feet start their soft thumping,
Her whole body writhes in molten movement,
Her weaving and winding, sublime.
On each crescendo jumping,
And every moment whirling, she embodies lament.

She reaches out to an unknown,
But pulls back and crumbles.
From the motionless heap comes a little cry –
Up looks a teary face of stone,
A mix of genuine and scumble;
For she dances to escape, to run away, to fly.

Spins, twists and she’s off balance,
But still moving, so painfully.
Aches in her hard muscles and willowy limbs
Make her wince in her stance,
And dance all the more carefully.
But she dances on as the light of day dims.

She tilts her head back,
Arms lifted up to heaven,
On her knees, as if to silently beg heaven’s God.
A crescendo in the music
With the climax on count 7,
And she has no choreography worthy to applaud.

She just stands there,
Her shoulders squared,
With feet standing firm, her eyes searching ahead.
But it’s just empty air
And again, she’s scared,
For her dancing search ends in naught instead.

So she dances on with the smooth, leaping melody,
Her movements fervent, as if screaming in rhapsody,
She mixes emotion and movement with anguish.
But she stumbles, her energy beginning to languish
And falls as the song spirals to an end and dies.

Sweat and crystal tears mingle their salty heat
And run off her face in rivulets to fall at her feet.
Her thin chest heaves and she trembles with fatigue,
Looking at her shaking little hands with old intrigue
As if they betrayed her and caused her weakness.

She sobs as the CD runs out of piano music to play,
Knowing that with the darkness at the end of the day
Comes the end of her search until she’s free tomorrow,
When she can dance again in her great, tearful sorrow,
Still searching fruitlessly for the painful, illusive answers.

So she takes off her beloved dancing shoes, for now
Empty of the dancing beauty she can in them endow.
Tomorrow is a new day – but not filled with answers,
Only many, many questions, and precious few dancers.
So she’ll come here to dance again, alone in her useless pain.