He loved the nights when it was just the two of them

when his mother would take out her guitar

and they would sit together in the grass as she’d play music under the stars.


There in the cool of the evening he felt safe, secure and calm…

It’s where he realized he loved her music as much as he loved his mom.


One night as he leaned against her…listening to her show

he looked into his mother’s eyes and asked,

“Mom, where does the music go?”


She smiled as she picked him up and sat him on her knee…

“There’s magic in the music.” she said, “but not everyone can see.”


Every time a note is played it hovers in the air.

She picked a string on her guitar then pointed

“Do you see it…floating there?”.


“Keep watching as it only lingers for a short time before it travels far…

“I see it Mom I see it! He said. “I saw it land upon that star!”


Next she played a chord and he watched the notes hover for a moment 

a musical avatar…until they flew up to the sky and landed on a star.


“Some notes are rather slow”, she said, “and some, you’ll see, move quicker.”

“But they all end up on the stars.” she winked.  “That’s what makes them flicker.”


And to this day he smiles when he looks up as he walks under the night sky

Listening for its melodies….so he can watch the music fly.


As it reminds him of a time long ago when his mom would take out her guitar

the night she taught him how to see the notes

as they journey to the stars.

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Each generation has its own music imprinted on its soul with all the emotions that it brings.

We have the beats we like to dance to and the songs we like to sing.


Our music tends to stay with us…no matter how old we get.

The music of our youth…is music we’ll never forget.


Perhaps that’s why, once the music of our generation

gives way to the next generation’s style

whenever we hear music from our past…we have a tendency to smile.


For once that music hits our ears…our hearts begin to stir

as we think about the person we are today while remembering who we were.


I tend to think of the people in my life as music…each playing a certain role…

each person is a different song…imprinted on my soul.


Some people’s music will stay with me…no matter how old I get

because the music I associate with them…is music I’ll never forget.


Perhaps that’s why once their music has been ingrained in me

once I’ve experienced their particular style

when they’re gone and I hear their music…I have a tendency to smile.


For once their music hits my ears…my heart begins to stir

and I am thankful for who I am today…because of who they were


Because like the music of my youth…their music tends to stay…

and though it sometimes fades into the background…


it will never fade away,.

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Music is a form of liquid art that, when you close your eyes,

will paint a picture in your mind with a paint that never dries.


And being that it’s liquid…music has one solitary goal

to paint all the crevices of your heart and every corner of your soul.


Each song creates a different painting with it’s first note…

it’s christening

depending on the words….

the tune…

and on the person listening.


Music can take us to a myriad of places all from the comfort of our seat

or, before we know it, can lift us up and have us dancing on our feet.


Music can make us laugh, 

can make us sing…

can make us cry

sometimes it’s so magical it’s as if the notes are floating by.


Music can burn like fire…its heat hot enough to make us scream

It can flow fast and hard like a raging river…or soft and cool as a mountain stream.


Music can wrap us in a sheet of ice that we slowly chip away

or warm us like the sun peeking through the leaves in the shade of a summer day.


Music can feel like medicine…healing us when we’re sick

or it can feel like butter…like Butta!…as it spreads over us…warm and thick.


But as exquisite as is the artwork from music’s liquid composition

what makes it elegant

what makes it beautiful

are the hands of the musician.


For once they touch their instruments…

and we see that sparkle in their eyes

we know it’s time to hold on to our seats

because colors are about to fly.


Soon we find ourselves floating a sea of colors

and we smile

we close our eyes

as a picture is painted in our mind…


with a paint that never dries.

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I have heard it said…perhaps the rumor spread while listening to a band…

how music is one language every heart can understand.


I wonder if the key…to any tune or melody is how quickly it can make you dance

how by listening even for a moment your existence is enhanced.


I have also heard…somehow got the word…did someone take a poll?

how the moon can be like magic…magic for the soul.


I wonder if the key…to the moon at least for me is when under her for a little while

I cannot help but feel good…I cannot help but smile.


Over the years through laughter and tears…this I’ve also come to know

how water helps to nourish my heart and help my soul to grow.


I wonder if water’s key…of course it has to be…besides it’s natural appeal

Is how it makes me think…and how it makes me feel.


But something happens to me…when I combine all three…

music, water and the moon

The language of my heart and the magic of my soul are blissfully in tune.


So if you have some extra time to spend…I whole heartedly recommend

Take yourself, your wife, your son…your daughter..

and sit under the moon

listen to some tunes


and make sure you’re somewhere by the water

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I’ve often heard him playing his violin…his music has a way

of finding its way into my heart…be it night or be it day.


He plays outside while looking up…always in the same place

underneath the power lines with a smile on his face.


He has no music in front of him…it seems to flow from somewhere within

but there he sits day in…night out…this old man and his violin…


I asked him once how he does it…how does he find a way

to play a different song each evening…a new song every day.


He pointed up to the power lines…then played some of the most beautiful music I’d ever heard…

“It’s really very simple.” he said…”Each day I play the birds.”


The power lines are my musical staff…when the birds land there each day

I don’t have to think about it…all I have to do is play.


“But what about at night?” I asked…”You play different music…

different tunes with different bars.”

The old man smiled

“When the birds go to sleep in the evening,” he said…


“that is when I play the stars.”

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He asked her to teach him all she knew about music….

it was something he didn’t know

not because he loved music


but because she loved it so.

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He came to redefine the silence…

and of their emotions…they quickly lost control

so they closed their eyes

they sang…

they waved their hands up in the air

and they let his music fill their souls…


And for a moment they will remember forever 

they felt the power of music to enhance…

as the rhythm beat deep within their hearts

and they watched…


as a stadium danced.

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this is a little off topic but.......

You just have to check this out. I just had to share this with you>>>> https://www.facebook.com/formerlyofsolomonsringfinger/

Author's Notes/Comments: 

You will be amazed to say the least my friends.

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My Guitar

The music

which warms

my heart

Is echoed off

the guitar that was

once played

But now sits

in a corner

and feels the lonliness

of deaf ears

A broken string


at the empty air

and fades

quietly away.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

contact me at: artjwca@yahoo.ca


vist us at Ravenscraft Studios


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