View Profile AdventVoice



Location not disclosed

Joined on 5/15/17

Exp Points:
575 / 710
Exp Rank:
Vote Power:
5.00 votes
Global Rank:
B/P Bonus:

More fun for my weekend

Posted by AdventVoice - March 17th, 2018

 I wanted to share with you all what I delievered for this years Poetry contest for the Red Clay Review:

I hope you enjoy my views on Music and what we here in the mountains think about.


The Gift

I classify it a gift to have an entire symphony,

Escalating in your head.

Those that disagree use the same psychology,

To critic any mode of the theater.

Charisma has an eclectic tone all its own.

Allowing me to utter in perfect English,

What many miss hidden beneath the undertones

Of lyricists.

Perk of an ear, I can hear,

what many seek to synchronize behind allegories of spoken word therapy, dub-step, Japan-pop, jazz, scream’O, emo,

Without taking a breath or allowing my ears to eat grass, the mesh of acid rock

Blue grass blues may confuse you;

Thankfully I can soothe you,

For without missing a beat,

Nor to  be motivated by the articulated innuendoes,

I can share the story of

How music died and along with her originality.

We all can agree they were wed,

Beautiful brides and groom to be.

At her tomb stood children whom, all had the same sound,

Many little souls,

Asking for validation from generations,

Seemingly singing from the same throat,

Songs on different tempos,

Men of flesh and bone,

Woman with her empathetic touch,

Each allowing talent to gather rust.

Mountain Radio

I speak in melodies of the morning,

 Supposing the rays of the sun ignore thee.

I creak the floor boards of your warming,

 Abode, tempted, as a harp to charm through.

I leaked, as it where, while exploring,

  Any sense of the night, from cornering,

  Hoping to release you from yesterday’s tune.

I breeched, more determined, by the boiling,

  Convinced you’d succumb, to the mantras of some,

  Who’ve lived lives based on ideologies of one.

I beseech, my children, who find it most boring,

  Sing in hopes of encouraging,

   Aspiring your fellow man to think of what he can,

  These sounds will be the only one’s worth employing.

I teach, the stranded in seas beyond his landing,

  Of worlds in remiss, of hopes and bliss, refusing to entertain,

   Rebellious mouths whom profane,

   A pass time worth not spoiling.

I resend, nothing, for assure am I a harp-man,

Both of sea and land, sounding trumpets of Christendom, very little joy can be found,

From the separated secular radiomen, each cascading radium.

Wind Instruments

Seeking for a long time, how to express my unrest.

Speaking for a long time, while pumping my chest.

Rhythms building from a fire,

Tempos determined to carry us higher.

Harps carried in our pockets to keep us quiet.

Wind instruments used as pacifiers.

After the radio molests the ears,

There is a place in the woods,

The hills of Carolina,

where you can hear all day,

sounds we’ve almost allowed to only be found,

When we place our ears

To the ground.


THey wanted my real name and address, yall don't get that, but the poems are nice.

  Word Count: 411


Listed  are three segments of prose for the 2018 submissions of the Red Clay Review. The genre of discussion was Music; so excited was I about the event that I did not believe a moment was too soon to share with you the joys that found in the Hills of Carolina regarding such a beloved theme. Win, loose, or draw; I do hope they bring you as much joy to you, as they did for the one that wrote them. They are entitled as follows: The Gift, Mountain Radio, and lastly Wind Instruments.

  Each were designed to tell the story of how a man of the hills feels about the world he has to hear in song through our contemporary radio, and just how different it is compared to what he makes for himself with his harp in hand.


They told me to only send between 1500 words and 80 lines for poetry. I was mad cause 80 lines is like 250 and that is what I produced without really thinking 411 words that told a whole story in two minutes. They wanted 80 lines, so I sighed heavy and just called it Prose. LOL But really it is seperated by three segments of poetry. It is just too much to ask me to cut things down and splice words when everything is in the punch lines.


I did edit a lot of the work though. You all have the unedited version. If  I could have sent them all of it I would have but I  want to win this poetry contest so I try to follow the rules.

I read some of the stuff from last year and was like, they are taking anything, let me give them my best.

Fingers crossed.


Comments (2)

glad ya doing well brah

It is always nice to have you drop by. I did not think you would show up but I always know how to bring it out of you, I see, You where one of the first few people to say something to me when I started on NG's and well I just wanted to say, "I have always respected your input."
My site feels kind of naked without 10TA. So if I produce something and it does not motivate you to speak then I know I need to go back to the drawing board and dig real deep.
Thanks for being a friend.

really well written, I like it.
Hope you do well.

Thank you. I hope I do well too. It would be great to see myself in there magazine for a year. Next to all the others that competed and won. Then compare notes.