I'm very honored by Stefan Kraft's  lovely orchestration of my piano piece. Thank you so much, Stefan!   Listen to more of his musical gems @stefankraft_music.

Waiting At My Window / Stefan Kraft & Debra Buesking

My mum always played the piano in her slippers, her mother did not want her to damaged the instrument.  She even took her slippers to the Guildhall School of Music and Drama exam, she thought everyone played the piano in slippers. So I recorded a favourite track of hers, in one take, which I was very happy with, though I did shed a tear as I put my slippers on.

The music for "Blueberry Hill" was composed by Vincent Rose with lyrics written by Larry Stock and Al Lewis. The song was turned down by another publisher until being bought and published in 1940 by Chappell & Company. The song was recorded over ten times that year.

Blueberry Hill (Vincent Rose, Larry Stock & Al Lewis)

Velvet Shadows

This is just a small fun piece, which I hope will put a smile on your face....
The art picture was given to me by my dear friend Stephanie Stickel……
Thank you Steffi!😊
Here's a link to see more of her work..

 https://www.youtube.com/@StephanieStickel

Une Petite Cocasse

Solace in the Apocalypse

Music : Janne Hennie & Little Man
Lyrics & vocals : Janne Hennie

Deep inside me I have a secret place
No one knows about it
You can't see it on my face
There I can hide what I don't won't you to see
Love and anger
The truth about me..

Chorus:
In my little Chamber, my secrets are safe
And maybe one day I will take you to that place
Every tear I never showed
The words I never said
Are hidden in my chamber
My true self is there

All the love I never got to share
The pain and sorrow
It's all hidden there
All the frustration I had to put away
The honest words I couldn't say..

Chorus

Chorus

Deep inside me I have a secret place
No one knows about it
You can't see it on my face
There I can hide what I don't want you to see
Love and anger
The truth about me...

Chorus

Every tear I never showed
The words I never said
Are hidden in my chamber
My true self is there...

My Little Chamber

to ride into the sun  ( in die Sonne reiten )

Years ago, my brothers and I had spent several weeks getting my dad's house ready to sell after he had passed. I was in the realtor's office ready to sign the paper work when the prospective buyers asked why I wasn't buying the house I grew up in.  I said (not thinking) "Too many ghosts".  The realtor immediately jumped in and said, "he means memories" to which I smiled confirming the needed clarification:)  It does beg the question however, how many "ghosts" haunt our lives; bad decisions, fractured relationships, things we did or failed to do.  I have found hope and forgiveness in the Christian faith, others have found healing in the passing of time, others still carry a heavy burden of what could have been or should have been.  Peter explores the theme in poignant verse to Seagull's quixotic soundtrack.  I am honored to  contribute a few colors to the tapestry;)
Acoustic guitars left & right; David Dunham; @david-dunhamuser589535203
Superb Poetry/Lyrics, Narration; Peter the Poet; soundcloud.com/user-264930040/tracks
Master of the music, lead guitar solo, mix & production;  Seagull @farout-music-studio
Wonderful voice: Clara Sorace
Track art: Bing images
Ghost of a Sense:

Yes, I know you.
I can feel your presence.
I can touch you, smell you.
I see you not by sight of eye
And yet I ken that you are I
That vespered wraith that writhes within
To test my faith, try my sin
Push the bounds to cause offence
A moral, soul thing, ghost of a sense recalls myself, so well defined
Entrenched, walls behind, built so sound of dust that crowned the pity, falling soft amiss,
Deep inside the tears I cry as here I find my self-abyss.

Whispers bringing shadows, filled of secrets therein held,
Memories, morose, piece me still, to wear in time, my wasted face.
And now reside, cast aside, to forge and ever meld,
Of haunting, ringing echoes, that will alone their chime erased.

Ah! But you won't twist me, nor bind me fast, to the sandy doctrines of the misty past,
With its beards and staffs and crinkled testaments.
My future's sprinkled here present with your crass irrelevance and matters not that sat right there,
The blackest chasm in my simpling world so spare,
Where space and time have overspilled the leaking psyche of a crippled mind,
That barely copes, unfulfilled, a crooked, limpid moral health of broken shrines
That hopes to find ....
.......some worthwhile inner self.

Ghost of a Sence (Seagull, Peter, David)

La locandina mostra un modo di dare voce ai cori inserendo le opportune articolazioni direttamente nella partitura in Finale27 (o anche in Sibelius, credo), evitando di utilizzare le applicazioni consigliate che non sono compatibili con questi software di composizione musicale. L’articolazione indicata con $ permette di inserire le consonanti mute. Le altre articolazioni dovrebbero essere auto-esplicative.
     The photo of the piece illustrates a way to voice choirs by inserting the appropriate articulations directly into the score in Finale27 (or even Sibelius, I believe), avoiding the use of the recommended applications that are not compatible with these music composition software. The articulation indicated by $ allows you to insert silent consonants. The other articulations should be self-explanatory.


Questa musica è il 2° brano della mia opera “SALMODIANDO” (meditazioni sui salmi)
This music is the 2nd piece of my work “SALMODIANDO” (meditations on the psalms)


Beato l’uomo che medita sulla sapienza
e ragiona con l’intelligenza,
considera nel cuore le sue vie,
ne penetra con la mente i segreti.
La insegue come uno che segue una pista,
si apposta sui suoi sentieri.
[: Egli spia alle sue finestre
 e sta ad ascoltare alla sua porta :]
Presso di essa alza la tenda
e sotto i suoi rami soggiorna.
Presso di essa alza la tenda
e sotto i suoi rami soggiorna.
Presso di essa alza la tenda
e mette i propri figli sotto la sua protezione
e sotto i suoi rami soggiorna.
Contro il caldo sarà protetto
e in un rifugio di benessere sta.
Egli abiterà all’ombra della sua gloria.  (Sir. 14, 20-27)

Blessed is the man who meditates on wisdom
and reasons with understanding,
who ponders her ways in his heart,
who penetrates her secrets with his mind.
He pursues her like one tracking a scent,
he lies in wait on her paths.
[: He watches at her windows
and listens at her door :]
He pitches his tent by her
and dwells under her branches.
He pitches his tent by her
and dwells under her branches.
He pitches his tent by her
and places his children under her protection
and dwells under her branches.
He will be protected from the heat
and dwells in a haven of comfort.
He will dwell in the shadow of her glory. (Sir. 14:20-27)

MEDITAZIONE (Sir.14 20-27)

Autumn Breath

I huge thank you to Nic for giving this song life and meaning with her lovely vocals and poignant lyrics:

Call Yourself Home

Not to bother you,
But your hands are blue. 
Lines remember you
The more you pretend. 
That November forgot when to end...

Keep her head while she loses yours, 
Keep her head while she loses yours
Oh you must keep her head while she loses yours,
Oh you must keep her head while she loses yours.

And the lock closes round you, 
The shock always found you
To rock and unground you
And then leave you cold.

You don't have to leave
All that you believe, 
You could finally
Call yourself home. 
You could finally
Call yourself home.

Phil Dupuis's Album

Call Yourself Home (Classical Glass and Nic Evennett)

“A painter paints pictures on canvas but musicians paint their pictures on silence.” -  Leopold Stokowski

A member of Cellar Door which you can find here: https://soundcloud.com/cdoor

"The most powerful and magical language is music. The reason for this is that music is the original language. Music is not ornamented poetry, and poetry is not ornamented prose. Poetry is fallen music, and prose is fallen poetry. Prose is not the original language; it is poetry made practical. Even poetry is not the original language; it is music made speakable, it is the words of music separated from their music. In the beginning was music." (Peter Kreeft, Philosophy of Tolkien)