Louie Madrid Calleja, BFA (York), MA (York)
Composer, Conductor, Scholar

Series (May - June 2003) - excerpts
Curriculum Vitae
My Music (Audio)
My Poetry
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Ante Meridiem
As I walked barefoot in the land
between sleep and demise
I stumbled upon a large wooden door.
Through a narrow tunnel
and through the howling air
I ended up in my basement where,
clad in a white t-shirt
and jeans of faded blue
She sat on a bed
with her faceless cousin standing right
like an Amazon sentry
devoid of sword and spear.
"What was I to fear?"
For the seated angel smiled at me
as she hand-tossed her dark brown hair
(she said nothing, this maiden fair).
Then, like some unnamed play,
there was a scene change
(within that day).
She stood in the yard
It wasn't hard
to carry her in my arms
and say
"You are very beautiful."
"M'thank you," she low-voicedly uttered;
(I noticed my heart fluttered)
countless butterfly wings
flapping unceasingly
'till the final destination is reached
and forever rests
in the Dreamland -
the Hopeland.
Here the passionfires are created;
I opened my eyes feeling elated . . .
As I hoped to drift back into sleep.
Song of Rinaldo
Darkness fills the vaults
with the fetid air
of lost generations,
never moving
staring at the hollow
that once
beheld timeless beauty.
Smiles that echo
out of the hollowed-out heads,
once spoke
and was kissed
by numerous nymphs
bare armed songbirds
that touched
the rugged cheeks and twisted beards of
long lost sailors
trekking into unknown kingdoms
carrying with them
hearts that cry out and remain
"Cara sposa, amante cara,
dove sei?
Ritorna a ' pianti miei!"
Swords that clashed in endless battles
Swords unsheathed
create a moving rose garden that
into a river of crimson
Diluted in time,
Diluted by Time.
The unwritten memoirs of men who
cried out in their twilight
Regretting only that their life,
their love
would dissipate like the passing of the
crimson tide -
The eternal equalizer
capable of reducing kings and heroes
peasants and priests
into dust.
Time, the eternal keeper
of images lodged forever
in the recesses, the abyss
of the tomblike soul.
Etched in repetition;
Etched in every child borne
"Oh my, how it seizes before we know."
We are prisoners
locked in a cell of open spaces
and smiling faces;
Where the eternal Cupidon
aiming arrows at
the unsuspecting
the unprepared
suddenly uttering:
"I do."
I lay in bed
cold and dark.
Covered by a blanket of fetid air
The memories of the centuries
But . . . all is fair . . .
in love . . .
The vault is dark.
My name etched on the slowly rusting
template on the wall.
It is only darkness here.
I lie alone
uttering a sad and silent moan.
For tonight
I heard not
the Voice
of the Angel.
Message from Twilight
I came across two stone statues in the garden
As the gloom of the late afternoon shower
Made its way into my world.
Hewn into their faces was the look of
Intensity and affection as
Spring waters patted my head. I heard the
Sparrow sing a lost tune amidst the
Artificial stances of lost glances of
Silent faces.
Twilight beckoned as the
Yonder sunset faded into the crimson sky.
And amidst the sweet
Odour of
Nocturnal baptism loomed from
Under the emergence of the fading day an
Newcoming - it was such a beautiful flower -
Opened to greet the setting sun.
As the candles burned like lost times of
Yesteryear, I happened upon a pair of
Thistles that
Swayed to and fro to the gentle breeze of the early evening
Air. "Do I dare listen to the unheard
Saltarello danced to by this
Seductive silent pair?"
I felt a rush of excitement followed by a sudden flustered
Hallowedness that I uttered an unheard
Message to the Angel I revere;
Afternoons and sunsets like this make me realize that
I wished you were here.
Ode to Icarus
I am on the verge of insanity -
and this, is truth.
Whether it is created in the mind
of the product of the body
is empty of relevance
to me and my countenance.
When I see your eyes in dreams
my whole being screams
of joy
of love
of tenderness.
There is a part of me who wants to be
with you sailing on this earthly sea
But then I wonder;
and I fear
the possibilites.
I fear myself, I fear you,
of the "us" that ethereally lingers
as I stare at my fingers
on the ivories we know
and all I see are yours;
I see only your eyes
shining in the nightly skies
and the breeze that blow,
remnants of the now-dead snow,
remind me of your heavenly wafts
on the sails of my ghostly crafts.
An unknown siren swims by
and I look away
refusing the feeling to stray
from you who fill me.
Without you there is only emptiness
that I have learned to love;
for the emptiness becomes my canvas
from which to paint you.
Only the brushstrokes get in the way
for how does one paint one more lovely
than these darling buds of May?
How does one put colour to passion
that burns within my chest
this inevitable consumption
by flames?
Confutatis maledicis
flamis acribus addictis
Voca me cum benedictis.
I give you my soul for it is mine to give.
To die in your arms is to live
in a world of perpetual bliss
with the sweet tender kiss
from your lips.
I am the slave of these emotions
and the cure lives in the potions
that reside in your heart and soul.
You, the wondrous creature,
who fill me with the ecstacy and the agony
- painful pleasure -
of this spiritual harmony
just to be with you.
Whether be in mind, spirit, and body
you will forever be with me;
for when I am with you
I know
I am truly free.
Walker in the Woods
With fiery eyes she walks through the forest
against the backdrop of the misty morning;
the feel of damp fallen leaves
caress the soles of her feet
as she hums a lost tune
drowned in memory and etched
in the sands of the hourglass
as the raven flies overhead.
Her song echoes through the chasms of time
and through the vastness of an unseen lair
hidden forever in the dark abyssal of memory.
It plunges itself deep within those who hear
and so they fear
for this lost tune is the song of the ages
that sings of eternal truth.
She does not speak
for her eyes tell all.
She holds a passion so deep
that words will only fan the flames
that consumes the already dry wood
of our beings.
Her touch so potent yet so gentle
the blood boils for it is a contagion
that illuminates the heart
and throws it into transformation
that is all-consuming
for it is love itself.
Maiden and mistress,
Temptress seductress
Lady and Goddess,
I lift your vision on high
and, with this prayer, utter a silent cry;
for in ceasing to remember you,
is myself to die.
Emptiness fills my heart
as the sands flow into the night
seeking the sound of your voice
and the sweet scent of perfume
that comes from your neck.
Emptiness fill my heart
as I listen to the laughter of neighbors
at the end of my darkened street.
How I long to hear you smile
How I wish to see you utter
beaded words into the night
for they are your words
that emanates from sweet lips,
your lips.
Emptiness fills my heart
for I long to watch you sleep,
watch you dream,
as I watch the dream that lies there
to breathe in unison
with you, O slumbering angel.
I see none of you tonight
for the gods have depraved me of you.
Cruel Time's game I am a pawn
for I enter as you exit
'till the breaking of the dawn.
I await the tolling of the Bell
that summons me to you
yet I wait in vain
as Time pours salt into pain
as I watch the gore from my open vein.
Emptiness fills my heart
and every night
when I cannot partake in the glory
of hearing the beauty
of your voice.
I sleep and I die
and whilst I hear you not,
in this cold grave
I lie.

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Last updated August 3, 2015