When fields gleam aureate and song birds sing
and transient stars in clusters scintillate,
when sweet perennials are coaxed by spring
to blossom forth, he comes with sprightly gait.
He wends his way along the mountain trails
past opalescent rush of streams and rills,
goat-footed, on the paths that ribbon dales
and wind around and up and down small hills.
Then nymphs appear as, through the woods, he trips
to flower-smitten meadows. Fancy-free,
he leads them with his reed held to his lips,
till blithely they embrace his rhapsody.
So hear the music; watch the wood nymphs spin. . .
Then captured by sheer merriment, join in!
For Nathan A.'s ANY POEM GOES Poetry Contest
Upon a deep blue rose, a scented song,
so delicate of harmony and sweet;
a melody, whose strains of love replete
I mused upon. To whom could it belong?
To claim such ballad ought have felt so wrong,
but I could ne’er its memory delete;
each note an echo in my own heart’s beat,
alluring me to drift and sing along.
Though how I wish I’d never found the rose
whose music stirred a restlessness in me;
where love once blossomed only sorrow grows
from searching for a love that cannot be,
and timelessly a tear-blue river flows
through heartache’s vale to discontentment’s sea.
Oh, angel, how you flutter 'bout my heart
The joy of love and living you impart
Your voice my soul does carry into flight
Illuminates with incandescent light
Your eyes are blind to wonders of this world
Yet, when you sing, its beauties are unfurled
I live a dream unmarred by pain and strife
Where passion, joy, and love are verdant, rife
You sing my heart into that special place
Where naught resides but beauty touched by grace
Angelic face when lit up by a smile
Invites my heart to dream a little while
Bocelli, angel sweet of paradise
In blinded eyes, the light of heaven lies
March 30, 2014
Sponsored by Anthony Slausen
Listen. The colors of the notes are wrong.
Where is the perfection of sapphire-chords
that I am due? Cornflower doesn’t belong
here, plotting the composition’s borders.
Master music has all fingers contorting
to fit themselves into the metronome’s tock
and these tight strings have badly distorted
my repertoire. I’ve lost both key and lock
in a palette of sorrow that canvasses pain.
Oh, the cavernous range of a rhapsody
releases those scales of anguish again
until I am concert and concert is me.
Dissonance and harmony do not combine,
Still, under eye sockets black and blue shines.
About this Poem
This modern sonnet is inspired by both Picasso's The Old Guitarist and pianist David Helgott's struggle with mental illness.
The movie Shine is based on Helgott's life, though one sister disputes that their father ever abused David. David had a breakdown while practicing Rachmaninoff's 3rd Concerto, a highly difficult piece. He received electric shock therapy.
Picasso's blue period is said to be the result of his poor standard of living at the time and the suicide of a dear friend. The old guitarist shows a bone thin blind man hunched over his guitar, as though boxed in by the canvas.
Auburn lady envious of the blue night with its gleaming, capturing stars;
those rare diamonds, belonging to the silent and vast Universe,
you've stolen to adorn your undulating hair,
brushed by the July's harebrained breeze,
so temptingly soft and adorably fair;
if no admirer or lover seeks you, can I offer you my first dance?
Your melancholic look is fixed downward,
and you refuse to look above, nothing excites you tonight;
your external beauty cannot be resisted or ignored,
and will an harlequin, in his vividly colored costume, make you smile?
I'll play the flute brightly and make him dance to cheer you with his wit...
until your sadness leaves no sign on that sad face!
The shrill sound of the crickets can darken your spirit; listen closely, auburn lady...
sing along with the blue night, while your musical tones become the chords of my harmony!
Inspired by Edward Robert Hughes's painting: Night
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
My morning retirement ritual,
Provides breakfast to the birds on my street.
Food for fowl, silencing bellies that growl,
Watching the many hundreds gather near,
Huddled together on branches they meet,
With a calm patience we’ve learned to revere.
Feeding the birds of every pedigree,
Flying things, all sizes, colors, and shapes.
Hungry beaks, vibrant feathers, sharp clawed feet,
Small Finches and Wrens, large Sparrows come round.
Harmoniously singing us awake,
Their only care: yummy seeds on the ground.
My morning retirement ritual,
Feeding the birds of every pedigree.
1) Sonnet written in Anapestic Pentameter
She walked by my side
trying to clasp my hand,
I was dreaming wide
with a lonesome land.
Where she could not follow
or call me through the night –
my heart is now hollow
and whiteness is my sight…
A man with a smile on his lips
and an old guitar on his back
gave me life’s wicked tips:
Love is better when love lacks,
you will follow alone his track
surrounded by scattered lilacs…
I had thought to give you the moon and stars,
But they are far from these high mountains’ reach,
Only a heart and a guitar to start,
Hoping that these lyrics would make me preach,
The feeling I could not hide nor deny;
As my eyes begin to gaze up above,
To see your face and never say goodbye,
Because with you I will not ever love,
Any other jewel that is less rare,
Than a soul so bright that shines through the night;
O nothing compares to your glossy stare,
And your soft lips that vanished on my sight;
If only music can bring back our time,
Maybe I can sing to you one last time.
My sweet angel , slowly close your eyes
Dream of stardust wisps and satin thread,
My arms gather your toes unto twinkling skies
Come now ,let moon beams cradle your head
Heaven’s fairies touch your cheeks to render
Blue sky lights fireflies and teddy bear kisses,
Smile now, winds blow fluffy twirls from yonder
Filled with magical pillows from soft night wishes
Cherubs spray chuckles on a bright wand
They’re babies too, keeping you safe and sound
Sleep now, drift off to wonder , wonderland
Mommy’s beside you, my love songs abound
This lullaby chimes straight from my heart
Till tomorrow brings us to new bubbly start
Tears In The Wind
Left hand deftly fingering strings on frets,
While my right hand is picking or strumming.
Composing a sad song about regrets
And searching a melody by humming.
I easily find a chord progression,
Played in a melancholy minor key,
Then add some dynamics for expression--
Reaching a fugue-like state releases me
Fleeting perfection is my endeavor.
Like tears in the wind, now lost forever.