Nostalgia

I've just come back from work.
I didn't really want to see what was showing, but chose to work because they were understaffed and seemed kinda desperate.
It was a 'County Music Spectacular', which on arrival, I learned was all the school orchestras in the county of Warwickshire coming together for a big concert.

At the beginning, I was feeling slightly unenthusiastic. A child had been sick in the audience seating area, so there was a delay in opening the doors. Audience was getting restless and I just felt suffocated amongst bitchy and stressed-out parents, along with the school politics and equally as stressed teachers.

However, when the performance got underway, I couldn't help feeling nostalgic for my musical experience throughout my school life. The orchestras were mainly made up of strings and I, an ex-violinist, used to play in orchestra. The first two groups were not amazing, but they were aged like 6 to maybe 11, so it was forgiveable and quite cute really.
Then came the County Youth Orchestra. The pros. Dressed in their black finery, looking elegant in comparison with the scraggly primary schoolers, lopsided skirts and too-small jumpers galore.
They played extremely well, and I was super impressed by the solo cellist. She looked about 16/17 maybe, and her playing was like stunning, beautiful tone and musicality etc.
I couldn't help but be moved by listening to them playing so well, and seeing the young ones gazing in awe at them from the balcony seats and thinking that it won't be long before they become the gazees.
Time is that fleeting.

The climax of the evening came at the finale however. All the ensembles joining together to play one final piece. After what was more like a stampede in the African plains to get everyone on stage, all the students were ready to begin, instruments at the ready and at the conductor's command, the music commenced.
The different range of ability obviously affected the piece's success but considering, it sounded pretty impressive overall.
Typical of the classical genre, the music ended with multiple perfect cadences, giving a definite, very strong ending. As soon as the conductor dropped his hands, the audience erupted into rapturous applause. And suddenly, I felt myself begin to well up. It was as the audience gave standing ovation in ripples, and I saw the look of sheer joy on parents' faces, the utter relief from all the teachers who were milling around the sidelines, the union of experienced and nouveau musicians and the pleasant memory of performing in such situations and remembering the feelings I felt, and seeing those very feelings manifest in the children.
I didn't cry, but my eyes were certainly watering.
And even though I didn't know any of the kids, I felt proud and looked on as a mother would as they filed out of the concert hall. (Not in a creepy way obvs ha)

:)

Definitely just wrote a sonnet.

I'm really excited about the sonnet I've just written.
Haha.
I think it's just the fact that it is a poem with a form.
I'm such a loser.
Anyway, I called it Sonnetry. (subject to change). And here it is...

We'll make love in verse
Each rhyme, each line better than the first
A bedspread of words, adjectives, nouns. verrbs
Our love will be like a complex sentence, perfectly formed with commas and semicolons as the different parts of us
I'll write you good and you'll write me better
Sealed with a kiss like a soldier's love letter
And whether or not the whole world's watching
We'll scribble our love across the night sky
Just you and me and the Most High
Like ink on paper, it'll be plain and simple, black and white
We'll love each other and we'll do it right
The combined rhythm of our hearts will create the beat to our love poetry
Soft and sultry
It'll be love the way it's supposed to be.

Definitely had to count to make sure it actually had fourteen lines. Ha.
Oh and musn't forget to thank Carol Ann Duffy who influenced this piece.

Wishful Thinking.

I wish I could split myself into numerous different mes. (That's me pluralised)

I'd go to Haiti and help where I can to get them back on their feet.
I'd sit with a homeless person all night and tell them about Love.
I'd build wells in Africa.
Sit with my great-grandmother in Malaysia.
I'd take a nap.
I'd write poetry without ceasing and be able to draw on all the feelings of the other mes.
I'd sing songs on the metro.
I'd cuddle up with my ma and watch American dramas all day.
I'd read all the best novels written.
And watch all the best films.
And all the most interesting documentaries.
And be at the most beautiful spots in all the world so I could catch every sunrise and sunset.
I'd cry. I'd laugh. I'd smile. I'd hurt. All at the same time.

My whole being would not be heading to this grammar lesson right now.

:)

Zoned Out

Sudden mood shift
Can't figure out what it is
That makes me lift
Myself out of certain
Situations
Frustration flutters through every fibre of me
As I sit pensively
And try to work out what this feeling is
That has come over me
It's never supposed to be
It's always uncomfortably discussed
Or fragily addressed
Never coming to a concrete conclusion
Always wanting to unconfuse that confusion
Others attempt to analyse it on my behalf
But I'm often quite unsatisfied,
unconvinced
Or maybe just unimpressed by an identification of a character flaw
That is undesirable
Unfireable
Cos it's there and it comes and goes
As it pleases
And nobody knows
Why or how

Unnamed.

I wrote (well, finished) this on Tuesday. I think it's the most dramatized poem I've written, or one of the most. Proper came to life when I performed it; a lot of dynamic and shading.
Lovely stuff. Well received :)

When you speak,
Your words are like bullets,
shooting holes in my heart.
You wouldn't know
Because the crimson doesn't show until I'm alone
Each unthought about word
Comes flying at me at 76mph
catching my aortic pump every time it beats
and jilting my whole body slightly out of rhythm
precision
If only I told you
or showed you
You might be able to restrain your weapon
By lending it to the cat for a while
Or letting your train of thought go that extra mile
Where you'd see me on the platform
with another hole punctured in my soul
And you'd be able to hold your tongue
Prevent pain on my part
At the small cost of a second later response
Your tongue is your most powerful weapon
So use it wisely
It can wound like a sword or bring hope like the sunrise after a stormy night
So. I guess I'm letting you know now
When you speak,
Your words are like bullets,
Shooting holes in my heart.