Electric Poet

Electric Poet

Music pounds in my head,
Reeling and gyrating,
As the beat gets stronger,
As the guitar screams.
I am the electric poet.
Moods felt by the rhythm,
Change hues from blue,
To deep purple haze,
Invoking some primal instinct within,
Conjures pictures in my mind,
So real I feel them.
The chant, whether Gregorian,
Or Native American,
Draws the spirit closer to the surface.
The drum beat pounds relentlessly,
The singer commits himself,
To the lyric that binds,
Music to the soul.
The electric poet is lifted higher,
To crescendo,
To the climax of creation.
Intoxicated by the sound,
Senses reel,
Lifted higher and higher,
To fall, exhausted.
As the sounds slows,
Driving drum and bass,
Wrench the last words,
From the Electric Poet.

9.57pm 5.12.96
Steve Jones