88 Poems - Poems about 88

88 Keys

88 Keys
 Bass,middle, treble range.
 Piano, favorite instrument.
 Unique sound.
 Array of strings abound.
 Dust settles.
 Million songs created.
 88 keys.
 Each sound is beautifully made.
 Peddle travels volume.
 A music maker.
 230 strings.
 Moon light, playing
 Settle and soothing.
 Heart resting.
 Tears falling.
 Songs moving.
 Dressed in black.
 Sounds from a piano are magical.

Jack 88

You can live your life believing all will end well
However, where we end up we can’t really foretell

Expectantly looking forward, to a time of warm peaceful bliss
But if continually knocked down, would golden really be like this

That so called period of the golden years
Sometimes easily drifts away in darkness and tears

Chapter 88 -- Damian Delilah Mallory Solomon Brothers: the Billards Blowout

Early afternoon. The Solomon 
Were in their, (according to Damali)
Club house. But the reality of the
Circumstance is this. The Club 
House was the Damian Domaine.
Damian's Billards. Damian didn't 
Know it was their chosen hangout.
As the day layed long. Damian 
Hakim was making his rounds 
From one establishment to the 
Next. The billards was packed
With the

88

Lovely ebony and ivory
Together in harmony

Packed in wood
Sounds so so good 

But before melodies can be heard
There must be a pair that are unencumbered

Yes

A talented two 
Definitely will do

Gifted fingers that are light and feathery
Swiftly across the keys, rendering a sweet 
melody

Chopin and Tyner are gently on my mind
Beautifully tickling the keys, oh so sublime

No Title, Yet - 88

Reuniting with old friends is always lots of fun,
Because it’s been years since we’ve seen each other.
Back at the ballpark again for baseball in the sun
Swapping stories about our new lives as mothers.

It’s hard to believe so many years have gone by,
Yet, we all still look the same…well, almost the same.
We should keep in touch,

Back In 88

I am looking for a book I left
on a train back in 88.
A book concerning explorations made
on the Metropolitan line
between Harrow-On-The-Hill and Croxley.
An odyssey
only reaching its destination today
as I now circle low
over the Jovian moon Calisto.
Close to her sad old face
I can see that she was
a good mother and an unfaithful wife.
Diana, Zeus clad in

Landsbyen -Into the North- An Epic Poem 88

“Lumi, what food do we have left in the sleigh,” Joulupukki asked the elf.
     “A good deal of it, dried meat, bread, jam, nuts and most of the dried fruit.  Why?”
Then it dawned on him, “we do not have enough to fill these Trolls.”
     “What if

88 Degrees

I drove my truck into town, 88 degrees, hot and humid
No A/C,  I was stuck in traffic, with road work and tourists
My radio blared to get me through, turned many heads
The grocery store had many empty shelves and prices high!
Yes, a pound of American cheese 7.60, other things doubled
On my way home stuck in

Longing In God's Salvation - Psalm 119: 81-88

Salvation is such a real longing
for those having real godly hope
holding onto God's precious promises
looking for comfort enabling to cope

Wineskin in the smoke that's what it feels
no matter what never forget the Lord
in His word do trust all of the day
whatever time it takes hold His chord

Endurance must be prolonged so
come Lord my persecutors show

Haiku 88

summer of delight
friends in all the right places
taste of happiness

Heman the Ezrahite : Psalm 88

Your only friend is darkness? Heman the Ezrahite.

That's not how to end your psalm, with ache of lonely soul, 
awake to darkness fall each day, to deepest darkest hole 
as morning clears the dark away.

Yet you persist, Heman, to have your say,
to steel your darkened heart to pray.

Suffered from your youth, and always close to

Senryu 88

                                           'Remember the Times.'
         

Until the Drought of '88

Until the drought of '88
Euphonic sounds adorned his walls,
as he, his wife, and daughter ate
and laughter tripped through carefree halls.

His wife caressed the ivoried keys 
until the drought of '88,
their daughter sang with youthful ease;
each day a gift to celebrate.

That baby grand now bears the weight
of dust and silenced dreams once dreamed.
Until the drought of

Room 88

I saw her walking out the door,
Eyes met as we took the lift,
Hands touched, when we hit the bar,
I asked her out, that was her gift.
Went for a drive by sea and shore,
We watched the tide, I sensed a shift.
She took me to her room and said:
“Before we start, my name is Ted!”

The moral of

Fires of Imagination 88

the shaping of a rhyme

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