Voices Have a Way of Reaching Their Intended Audiences, an Unlimited Verse

Voices Have a Way of Reaching Their Intended Audiences

©2012 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited.

 Voices have a way of reaching their intended audiences.

From the full forte of operatic splendor,

to the silent librettos placed upon flat pages,

voices have a way of reaching their intended audiences.

Thus my voice hath found thee.

You who are immensely powerful - here from there, where you are:

this is a call to adventures, and to you this call is made.

If you help me, if you help us, I will reward you, we will reward you.

Thus, I summon the vocal power of your imagination.

For here that power of yours functions on an unlimited supernatural level.

Consider the power you wield,

when holding a hovering instrument of illustration over a page:

lines, cities, life, forms ... heroes ...

SONNET 17: I Have Imagined Singing Certain Notes

SONNET 17: I Have Imagined Singing Certain Notes
©2012 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited


I have imagined singing certain notes.
I am somewhere beyond the space above,
on a world that seems like earth at its best,
and of course I found the beach on that world.
There I am in the morning - in the fog.
I turn towards the sea, and a good sized wave.
For some reason I'm glad I am alone,
and I go through the singing processes.

What happens next is quite miraculous.
The note goes out and agitates the sea.
Blurry invisible circles reach out.
The note turns the great wave into soft mist.
It was witnessed by a wild horse nearby.
"Have not seen that in a while," says the horse.

A Thousand Reeds Rose from a Frozen Lake, a sonnet.

A Thousand Reeds Rose from a Frozen Lake, a sonnet.
©2012 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited.

A thousand reeds rose from a frozen lake.
They proliferated the horizon.
We ascended leagues of hills near a beach,
and graciously accepted the calm scene.
Letters from home rode within our pockets.
The perfect time to read them then arrived.
We reclined upon the hillsides' soft curves.
The breeze was a choir beneath words we read.

Epiphanies leapt up off our pages,
as the foghorn call of the bittern sang.
Its howl echoed before the reeds rustled,
and the silhouette of the Bittern shrank.
It seemed that our request was well recieved.
Wings once broken were mended amidst smiles.

This Garden Holds Millions of Rich Colors, a sonnet.

This Garden Holds Millions of Rich Colors, a sonnet.
©2012 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited


This garden holds millions of rich colors.
Far more than flowers fill this bright garden.
This is a place where good feelings blossom,
where the path always finds a gentle hill.
I am not opposed to dark cityscapes,
where obsidian towers scrape the sky;
beauty is a muse which finds all places;
Young trees love square protective enclosures.

It is amazing - to be distracted;
here we were in this colorful garden,
accompanied by lively humming birds,
and to the city I took our wild thoughts.
Small riverside stones were perhaps to grey,
and thus they reminded me of concrete.

All Wish to Move Some Unmovable Thing: a Deus Ex Machina, Dramatic Sonnet.

All Wish to Move Some Unmovable Thing
a Deus Ex Machina, Dramatic Sonnet.
©2012 Marcus James Christian / marcusunlimited


All wish to move some unmovable thing,
Yet nothing is truly impossible.
Tesla saw a life force of the machine,
and quietly brought it down to himself.
He reached for the lever of focused thought,
while leveraging rich fields of genius,
and he is but one known of great unknowns,
who have known the power of a lever.

A broken branch is a fine sound lever,
whether used as a drum stick or a flute,
biped machines create other machines,
trial and error form into a lever.
The right machines make all things movable.
There is a spirit wielding all levers.

SONNET 18: Out Amongst the Crisp Cool Pine Scented Air

SONNET 18: Out Amongst the Crisp Cool Pine Scented Air
©2012 Marcus James Christian / marcusunlimited


Out amongst the crisp cool pine scented air,
caressing a canteen of hot coffee,
my eyes drank in blue skies and evergreens.
Somehow the open iris closed quick.
Centered in it focus was a singer,
known as Cyanocitta Cristata.
Name a style and it knew some theme thereof:
Jazz, Blues, Operatic and Classical.

A snap of my fingers conjured a chirp,
as the wind played tops of reeds like pan pipes.
The Blue Jay whistled back the wondrous tune,
adding an improvised riff of its own.
The scene was an arpeggiated chord,
with rules of thirds applied to sights and sounds.

SONNET: Shall We Speak of Finding An Audience?

Shall we speak of finding an audience,
high in the hills just beneath the mountains?
Even in the misty air it was clear,
the Auriculas wished to hear us sing.
The sun was hidden behind the high haze.
Though the back lit mist lit its green gardens,
the flora sought uplifting melodies.
We sought to fulfill the flora's request.

The lawn of the high land's played percussion,
softly shaking in the shared hill gardens:
"Shadows are part of the songs of the sun,
Hill Flowers, listen to light's complete work."
These were the lyrics of our healing tune,
we sang as hollow clouds flashed future hopes.

©2012 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited.
"Geologicus," Geographic music composed by Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited.

SONNET: When You Arrive Anywhere Dressed in Blue

When you arrive anywhere dressed in blue,
it is as if the sky walks amongst us.
Why once, to a gloomy ghost town, you came,
in an outfit which was far from subtle.
The fabric that you wore was bold azure.
After moments with you, none could be sad.
Gratitude at tea time reached greater heights,
and conversations were raised to upbeat.

You can act as if you do not know this.
You can act as if you are less -- in blue.
Yet deep down we know you and blue are strong,
a pairing miraculous in nature.
When you are dressed in blue you are the sky,
the guarantor of good feelings and smiles.

©2012 Marcus James Christian
marcusunlimited

SONNET: Their Brilliant Shapes Were Like Blades Within the Sky

Their brilliant shapes were like blades within the sky.
Clouds were cut into wispy whirl spun arcs.
Speed and sound were toys for those who could fly.
Courageous dives became ascending loops
There are these misty places within clouds,
where rain storms float in the stillness shining;
the Plectrophenax Nivalis know this.
Thus, they shear through the still showers gloating.

Details of such places were sung to me,
and the universal language speaks clear.
For now it seems as if i have been there,
upon the steps which lead into heaven.
During hours made mundane by men who "try,"
my thoughts will be with the Snow Bunting in flight.