Best Accompaniment Poems
Rain Dancer
Days and nights of hibernation
within the clapboard walls,
winter winds have eased
and only the sound of rain peals
upon the storm glass panes.
The desire to go out, to run, to scream
is strong, yet, on the rain taps a tarantella.
The parting soil unbound from icy grasp
permits the spear of crocus and of daffodil
and though the rain drones
an accompaniment with the clock
sleep does not come.
Knots of lassitude untwine
as child-like upon the open porch I stand
reaching upturned palm into the falling rain
watching as it strokes the waking ground.
Cleansed are we all by sky and rain and wind
rain on, bless the ground, let Spring begin.
Categories:
accompaniment, nature, rain, rain,
Form:
Free verse
With accompaniment of rain, the tweets pour into my ear.
Saturation of sound, mottled bark and sodden moss.
Must be the downfall of civilization, heavens tears.
In God’s house, psalm’s blessing; outside, purging the dross.
Hues of watercolor diffuse, darkness rippling on wet canvas.
There is beauty in mankind, to read between lines of tension.
Push and pull of dripping thoughts, the undertow madness.
A leviathan of sin’s proportions, the levity and dimension.
You can’t escape the weather, its steady beat above the brow.
The sweat beads seeping, harrowing adventures of sound.
Inspecting inside and outside of self - what seeds to sow.
Don’t be too hard on yourself, though you nearly drowned.
Floating alone in a boat, the sea takes me on a journey.
It is dark and lonely, the slip and slide, the ebb and flow.
Comes walking on the water; appears, heaven’s attorney.
Suddenly I’m on dry land, head bowed, to my knees, I go.
Christ reigns. The closer we are to his gates, we long to serve
Him only, yet we still stomp in muddy puddles with bare feet.
We can hide our feet in socks, in rain boots, hide their curves.
The Lord washes feet, cleanses with His Word ‘til we’re complete.
Categories:
accompaniment, imagery, senses, sin, weather,
Form:
Rhyme
Suzanne in the Clouds
I am here, way up here
At peace and flying free
Dancing with angels
Singing with the accompaniment of violins and harps
Choirs here abound, such a wondrous sound
We have swings, numerous playgrounds of fun
Here all we little ones, smile and eat sugar plums
We see the heavens, we have become the universe
So yes I miss you, but smile it’s not the end
Look up in those dark gray skies
It’s me your flesh and blood that does cry
Not for the days of long ago
It’s me who weeps and sheds tears for you so sad
So I send you hugs and kisses
I send you heavens wishes
Live for me, and live for you
You have too, you see, live for two!
There will be a day we are children together
It will not matter the time or the weather
So I beg of you way down there
Live this life as if I were there
I am just a little one
With the gift of the after
I am no wiser just filled with joyous laughter
Knowing one day
We will all be family once again
Kisses from heaven
Categories:
accompaniment, absence, family, heart, loss,
Form:
Verse
The low suffer most the blow of the law
And no better do they fare with its flow:
From injustice to injustice it carries them
But none ever calls this a flaw.
For like that, perhaps, she can’t help to be,
Born of the mighty as she is.
Once, though, every eternity the cords of
patience snap:
Justice is demanded and swiftly she comes.
It's time for revolution, the clash unto ash
between the classes.
By saw and seesaw there'll be newness abroad:
The old system teeters as its sinews are severed
And from cakes of blood springs another;
That long denied by law is now seized by claw,
And from star to tar the mighty tumble
As their thrones are lowered for dwarfs to
mount.
Upwards go the erstwhile low
To be class dwarfs no more
But the mighty of the land.
Amidst this newness, though, an old song
soon intrudes:
In voices faint and mournful we hear it sung
By those from star to lowly tar fallen.
In fields and taverns, at work and at play,
It dwells on lips bright and sullen;
But up above behind stately walls where
stands the palace
None but the children dare sing it—
The song they once heard old papa sing,
Which loosened his lips like a wicked brew
But now binds them shut like a glue.
When from frolics they break
In their playfields green
And in palace parlors
At once warm chants from their breasts erupt
Which with glee and charm they long sustain
Till every soul feel their lips beguiled
To render accompaniment in a whistled melody.
Then swirls the music about every ear, and all can
hear the palace ring:
“The low suffer most the blow of the law
And no better do they fare with its flow:
From injustice to injustice it carries them
But none ever calls this a flaw.
For like that, perhaps, she can’t help to be,
Born of the mighty as she is.”
Categories:
accompaniment, class, power, strength,
Form:
Free verse
There I stood, flushed: gripping
a diaphanous pelvis of his guitar,
he rips a pulpy drool of velvet notes…
glossy under a roulette of lights,
saucy on the parquet floor upon
an artist's feet :his body movement
resembling a twisted weave; the
bossa nova of high timbre frothing scales
of primitive jungle moans,
while Latin hands roll with dizzy
Carribean beats as if Santana
and Jobim grooved with him.
Oh he aches, shakes like a livid soul,
more ravished than refined
in his groping music, my night's balm.
Streams of ‘Oye Como Va’ entice a trance
rippling down my spine, ready
to tug with the accompaniment of
drums and sax; till the last rhapsodic groan
prolongs a dazed jiggle for hips
to leap unto the heat of the sky.
My flesh perspires as I whirl,
unmindful of the exotic rhythm
prancing like a black magic woman!
-------
10/17/2015
Trashed Poem #3 Contest
Sponsor: Broken Wings
By nette onclaud
Categories:
accompaniment, magic, music,
Form:
Free verse
THAW AT CROWSNEST PASS
Huge mountains massed and cliffs sheer. It’s March
And endless blue sky cold is held back by the Chinook arch,
Snowy prairies rolling into their thousand-mile realm -
The landscape is gigantic, majestic, orchestrated to overwhelm.
But I stand and watch the lake-ice thaw,
Surprised by the tiny delicate music -
Descant ice - jingling, jangling, tinkling
In delicate accompaniment to the giant symphony.
Ice chunks tangled in slow waves with the wind
Tiny tintinnabulation before total ablation.
There is silence and harmony around the sound,
The small melody of the ice breaking into spring’s chorus.
Note: Crowsnest Pass is the southernmost way through the Rocky Mountains in Canada
Categories:
accompaniment, nature, mountains,
Form:
Free verse
Allow me to confess how gratifying it is
To see the rainfall of lights permeate through your eyes,
Swirling lightening warmth into my own
To see your thoughtful lips curve into a summer's beam
We energize each other as our words fall like playful spring petals,
Expressing our hearts' joys without grievance or complaint
But with genuine feeling and mutual delight
Fastened tight with love's newfound might
Artistic minds mix, dispersing colors others barely fathom
Upon the surface of their distracted rights,
Their distant autumnal attentions
Instead we dream, diligent of and in each other
Reflective of a world that snows and blizzards
Aware of the audience - the stars - that cry with glee in every climactic scene
We rise
For the sake of simply touching them
Every heart that means to listen
To such precious overtones
The subtle and soft notes below and above the melody
That make magic real,
And the darkest souls hopeful
I love to just watch you smile,
To take in every glimmering feeling
As they pass like seasons from dawn to sunset
Our feelings change
Our tunes build upon the ever growing masterpiece
That is our very existence,
Our union and our uprising of all that is life
I love to trace the silhouette of your grace,
To paint sounds and syllables where your eyes will accept them
To embrace you with an assuring memory to hold forever
We need not worry,
For the melody of this beautiful life has long waited
For the sustaining and blooming accompaniment
That we master, savor, and make better
My friend, my life,
From dawn to dusk,
And every trying night
These overtones will resonate our legacy for all time
Categories:
accompaniment, art, beauty, blessing, dedication,
Form:
Free verse
Guarded by towering hills on the East
And flanked by the Arabian Sea on the West
With its easterly shore of stretching sandy swell
That lulls the restless waves to sleep,
There is a land, my land of green vegetation
Nestled among palm trees and paddy fields.
Oh! I am in love with this narrow strip of land
Of rugged hills and meandering rivers
Of placid backwaters and blue skies
Of gibbering monkeys and singing cuckoos
What rich diversity you graciously provide
A land dotted with temples, churches and mosques
Where Hindus, Christians and Muslims cohabit
Where diversity flows through her arteries
And unity beats through her throbbing heart
Here souls dance to the timeless rhythm of music
Of diverse genres, vocal and instrumental
Classical and folk, sung either as solo or in groups
With the accompaniment of (2) 'veena',(3) 'tanpura' and violin
Their varying pitches beautifully synchronized!
In the serene dawns and dusky evenings
The atmosphere gets abuzz with the soft strains
Of (1) ‘Sopana Sangeetham’, the ethnic music of Kerala,
It comes floating from inside the Hindu shrines
Flooding soul’s enchanted shores,
And opening the floodgates of piety
In healing murmurs and throbbing notes,
As the symphony builds up its circuitous round
It descends down as a stream of blessing
Drenching devotees in its moistening sweetness
Like the drizzle of dew drops from heaven
Making hearts ride in the palanquin of joy!
May.21.2023
If your Birthplace- Country was a Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Anoucheka Gangabissoon
This poem is about Kerala, a small state in India, which is my birthplace and its geography and culture.
1.Sopana Sangeetham is a form of Indian Classical music, developed in the temples of Kerala. It is sung, sitting by the holy steps leading to the sanctum sanctorum of a shrine.
2.Veena- a stringed musical instrument, one of the oldest of Indian musical tradition, played sitting cross legged, capable of producing all oscillations of Carnatic music
3. Tanpura- a drone instrument of Indian origin used mainly in a concert of classical music, creating a melodic background, but not a melody.
Categories:
accompaniment, appreciation, home, music,
Form:
Free verse
As I fall to wither, dust
I contemplate the things I must
More than just a memory
is what I’d really like to be
And though I do grow short of days
I find, I entertain the ways
to elevate my lofty goal
to know the things that make me whole
Yet, after each accompaniment
of thoughts for yesteryear, I’ve spent
I still am baffled by the world
a patchwork of a flag unfurled
Unlocked potential, still to come
seems not for me as found for some
Perhaps, it’s right before my eyes
it’s simple, kindness never dies
For what could carry much more weight
and best of all, it’s not too late
a gentile aspiration still
but one that I can own, I will
Categories:
accompaniment, life, meaningful,
Form:
Rhyme
The Seconds grew impatient
As Anticipation aimed its dart
Hope sat erect at the table
Compliments practiced their parts
Breaths were held as the Chef pirouetted
The Piece de resistance proudly poised
Triumph on a smooth, sleek glass surface
To the accompaniment of Merriment's noise
Paradise was but a dimly lit candle
Beside the Pheasant's brilliant blue flame
Exclamations burst forth midst salivation
The Proud Bird had earned Highbrow acclaim
Categories:
accompaniment, appreciation, bird, food,
Form:
Rhyme
This Time, This Place
The music of Handel swirls in my soul,
And could I but see beyond my horizon,
Beyond the limits of my heart;
Beyond the sunset of this day,
A star of proportions so immense
To shatter the state of dreamed pretense
Would fill the sky
Into the heavenly realm of shepherds
I would see them awed by the star they too see,
Hearing angels’ music with the same star inspiring me,
In this time, this place.
I hear a baby cry like no other sweetness
I have ever known.
Even the babe’s mother’s cooing reaches my eager ear.
Violins play to return the visional accompaniment.
And I know, I know, those musical blends
Can only mean
Our Savior is born in this time, this place,
On this Sunday afternoon.
Categories:
accompaniment, birth, christmas, time,
Form:
Free verse
There is a greasy odor in the air
At the window
across the room
the diaphanous wings of a fly
peal off accompaniment,
--a staccato--contradictory notes
to the stretched rays of a dying afternoon sun
falling on the face of my otherwise muse
And in her countenance
all I can see
is the potential of a growling dog ....
Categories:
accompaniment, allusion, angst, hyperbole, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
An Ode comes from the Greek language
It is originally a poem to be sung to music accompaniment
Are you happy you may dance to
A praise or tribute to, something big and elevated
An ode is a type of poetry that celebrates an object, person or place
My dear coffee cup
I appreciate your friendship, and will take plenty of time to enjoy you
Oh my delicious hammock
Is there a more optimal feeling of happiness and freedom
than to lie in a hammock and rocking
through the day without worries ?
Ado :)
03.08.2015 A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Categories:
accompaniment, happiness, smile,
Form:
Ode
HEAVEN'S NATURE WITNESS OUR DREAM
Outstretched maternal skies
bleeding slowly as the sun smiles,
running golden rays
fugue flux flowed by,
frozen bear-shaped clouds
extend their arms to hug the beams.
Charmingly, the light meets
the earth with a tender embrace...
Escaped warmth escalates,
it raise the speed of roses blush,
dew caressing snake-grass dried in flash,
gold-and-black striped wasps kiss---
the red apples chin and oh how sweet
even the nestled mistrels began to sing!
Skirt-lair of violets and lilacs puff
luring scents, it populates the atmosphere.
Finger-tantalized tendrils of hair
stroke repeatedly the whistling wind,
gently I clap my hands:
an accompaniment to thumps and stomps
of the two children laughing, dancing 'round and 'round.
Beside me, I hear his heart, beats! Beats! B-e-a-t...!
Beating like a little butterfly fluttering greet,
he planted a silky kiss atop my head.
Under the windows of gigantic trees,
the heavens witness the fruits,
we long dream.
When Cupids arrow land
finally hitting the right hearts:
"Imperfect but perfectly matched"...
Love mimics the tone of evergreens,
the sadness throbs tearing twang
it will be readily forgotten,
unmindful of the questions: how and why...
_______________________________________________________________
***FREE VERSE - other term "vers libre", a form that doesn't use or follow a specific consistent meter; a regular rhyme and a particular number of lines. It is based on normal pauses and natural rhythmical phrases as compared to the artificial constraints of normal poetry.
***I love this poetry form because it allows me to write artistically; pattern;incorporate;narrate and include a bit of everything about other poetry forms: rhymes, alliteration, personification, metaphor, prose, rhythm, sounds etc. I as well can limit two lines with its syllable count to achieve beat and intensity. I alone can limit my pen.
Lastly, it underlines POETRY FREEDOM and POETRY EXPRESSION not limited by rules.
***For the contest: Poetry Writing #1
Sponsor: Broken Wings***
__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
1:16 pm, December 16, 2015
Categories:
accompaniment, beautiful, dream, love, nature,
Form:
Free verse
From the year of Eighteen ninety,
survives a sad birthday tale.
As told by Private John Burnett,
eighty years old when it was told.
Of needless deaths of Cherokee,
inflicted by relocation.
In Eighteen hundred thirty eight,
President Jackson did decree,
all the Cherokee must move west,
and give up their lands to white men.
Even though he, Junaluska,
had saved Jackson’s life in battle.
On chill morning of October,
six hundred forty five wagons,
took the twelve thousand Indians.
Chief John Ross led all in prayer.
They were literate, Christians all,
with written language, newspaper,
and Constitution like our form.
Morning, November seventeen,
terrible storm of sleet and snow.
No fire to warm the ground below.
Dying of pneumonia from the cold,
a trail of death, four thousand souls.
Heart wrenching grief for those alive.
Eighteen ninety, still near the deed.
Too near for young people to know,
the enormity of the crime.
“Murder is murder however,
or whomever perpetrated.
By the villain skulking at night,
or to martial music by day.”
“Murder is murder and who answers.
Who must explain the streams of blood,
flowing through Indian country.
Who will mourn the four thousand graves,
which silently are trail markers.
I wish I could forget it all.
Thus ends my birthday story here.”
Based on a true record of John Burnett’s story of his life with
the Cherokee and his accompaniment on “The Trail of Tears”.
© May 14 2010 For Deborah’s” theme of western movement” contest
Categories:
accompaniment, historybirthday, life, murder, ,
Form:
Epic