Best Cellos Poems
"Thy Beautiful Heart : The Blue Faery’s Baby"
'Tis brave the heart
of a lionhearted cub
When Butterflies
aren’t pretty
Aren’t all what they seem
Monsters that do steal teeth
from the Blue Faery's Baby
A glass jar full of
plundered
precious Pearls
of White Ivory,
not sweet honey bees
The cub
must remember
the power asleep
in thy magic, the
strength of pure
LOVE
Stand firm clasping it to
thy beautiful heart,
thy beautiful heart -
that was borne
from pure love
all of thy
beautiful dreams
to believe
to dream
red life rosy and real
“Walk with courage”,
she heard her say,
"Soft footsteps always follow,
They’ve never walked away,"
"In thy dreams
I guard thee still,
from wolves
and monks
all monsters -
men and women
gone astray"
In that strange
contained place
that place of the Fey,
both are walking
side by side
together
in pure Light,
a strong power,
in conversation
they hold,
deep of the mind,
the two from the Fey
"All will come good
on the morrow
For the
Blue Faery’s Baby,
there is to be
no more bleeding
Black Sorrow
Love, hear me now,
Time is tumbling
Love - pure and strong,
with all of thy
beautiful heart
Time,
tis no more time,
to be borrowed.
Love's kiss
from a mother's
pure heart
breaks forever and now
the Papillon Spell".
(Lovejoy-Burton, August 2018)
for my daughter,
Georgia -
Close your eyes
when you listen to the music...
it adds more power to the spell.
I am always with you. Always.
ALL my Love - Always.
The Blue Faery.
"Conjunto", Symphony for 8 Cellos
PeterRudolfi, Youtube
https://youtu.be/cKEq56mDLg4
I am with you all the way.
Love, Mum.
Categories:
cellos, angel, courage, faith, journey,
Form:
Free verse
Where does the
selfless sun hide
when heavens
r a i n bloodstones?
Burned and inscribed,
from monsoon monsters,
gnawing at our bones,
the shimmering
darkness imbibed,
If only drifting
shades
of gray,
where the tempests
of hell sway,
would hear the hymns
I sleep to
when the clouds steal on cue
the soul of illuminating skies.
I listen to the echoing symphony
of s i l e n t sighs,
convincing soothingly,
pulling me back to soar
new h i g h s
amongst electric choirs,
as angels swiftly swing,
on saffron strings,
to the bass of cellos rising,
above tuscan tambourines.
Yet, I keep drowning
in needless tears,
from pearlized
ponds of fears,
seeing life as how it
has always been forged,
a disappointment
fed through
filthy forks,
who’ve gorged
on the first
of every scintillating
ray of light.
But, what if the sun, too,
needs a savior?
Like an eternal
gem that beams
upon dreary dawns set upon her
draining every
heavy lampshade
of s t a r s
within spheres of novae,
lest the opulence give
way to bruise and decay.
Perhaps, grim gales
gusting in
wrathful bursts
shall finally be the
serenity I need
for I’ve tilled every field
of hurts like raspberry
from the scent
of rose water,
For sometimes,
that’s all it takes,
heeding to freeze through
malevolent thorns in icy lakes.
Categories:
cellos, angst, emotions, silence,
Form:
Rhyme
To harmonize within this dream
A brazen dance of cornered screams
Along a wafting, winding lane
Where melodies in concert themes
Are more than any can explain
I wander by this sad request
In minor chords and broken strings
As clarinets don’t pass the test
Among so many other things
When from the shadows comes a tune
On paisley painted violin
Now echoes from a crescent moon
Where cellos find a chance to win
My feet they move a city mile
Across the square where banners fly
And I cannot contain my smile
While rusted church bells sanctify
The streets of rice once thrown in doubt
Form petals on the cobbled ground
Where children run and parents shout
Attempts at drowning out the sound
But I, now charmed and held at bay
Sing loudly over hill and stream
As here my voice shall find its way
To harmonize within this dream
Just a bit of nonsense
Categories:
cellos, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
oh, yes ...
yes, I have ...
I've had them ... those moments
the deep, desperate, rare moments ...
"straight-from-a-movie" moments
of romance and melancholy
where the violins and violas and
cellos pull on your heart ...
forlorn music reaching down into your viscera
to yank at your soul in tyranny ...
heart-wrenching moments of
exquisite agony -
where the core burns, the hairs all
stand, the eyes close, and you're lost
to the consequence ...
brief, beautiful, tender instances that
you hold for a lifetime -
that shine like jeweled beacons among
the mists of the mundane ...
oh, how blessed I've been ... and how cursed
for this gift of creativity that so
many envy, is but a facade for the dark, dire
truth of the sensitive spirit -
we feel deeper, look deeper, wish deeper, love
deeper, and hurt ... so much deeper ...
I am thankful for those moments, for
they are precious ...
but there is a dear and diabolical price to pay
and it comes without music
in the dead ...
of night.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge 1, August 2019 - Just Write" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
cellos, appreciation, art, introspection, pain,
Form:
Free verse
Moonlight tango
It was a Saturday night, in Buenos Aires, 10:30pm, to be exact. It was a hot summers night, and you could see, and feel, the steam rising from the cobblestone street, here in La Boca barrio*. This is where it all began over a hundred years ago, and you can still see pictures of tangos faded heroes of yesteryear hanging on the walls.
The tango hall was packed with caballeros* in their suits and suspenders, and the damas* dressed in their red dresses, and stiletto heels. Still feels like the roaring 20's fedora hats and all! With a glance, and a flick of his baton, the orchestra leader motions to the bandoneon* player to begin, and so he starts dum dum dum, dum dum, dum dum dum.
The men tilt their fedoras slightly to one side, and stride ever so elegantly across the hall to pick their partner, and together they glide over the black and white checkered marble tile dance floor. The moonlight filters through the skylights, illuminating the smokey haze, that permeates the Milonga* hall.
The dancers have their gazes fixed on each other, and they move and glide to the incessant syncopated rhythm of the bandoneon. The violins and cellos join in with their plucking sound matching the tempo of 2-4 time. The dancers are dancing chest to chest, and then cheek to cheek, moving and gyrating, in time to the beat. As the tempo picks up the pace, arms and legs entwine, and then separate and entwine again. Spinning and twirling, strutting and whirling, they dance into a frenzy, at a frenetic speed, all the while staring with a look of love, (or at least of passionate desire) and what else would you expect to see dancing the moonlight tango?
* La Boca barrio- downtown neighborhood where tango was born
*Caballero(s)-gentleman(men)
*Damas- Ladies
*Milonga- tango dance hall
*Bandoneon- Small accordion style instrument.
John Derek Hamilton
February 07,2017
Categories:
cellos, dance, desire, men, moon,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA
There’s a player up there
stomach resting on his chair
blowing air
through at least a hundred feet of twisted golden tubing
and
A man putting oil on a slide
makes toothy talk aside
to a skinny tuba player (imagine a tuba player being skinny)
who takes the fat horn on his lap
Drummers four all stand
Testing skins and whatnot with their hands
The first selection using such collection?
NOISY indeed!
Then there are the winds
All in a row with chimneys on the end
sucking for dear life it would seem
the flutist (or is it flautist?) is a dream
Finally the violins
adjusting gadgets rooting with their chins
cellos (big violins) screw into the floor
basses (huge violins) as a rule sit astool
Here comes a fiddler late
must have had a heavy date
of all the nerve he turns and bows
then sits that’s more than law allows
for
Here comes the conductor with a stick!
Categories:
cellos, funny
Form:
Free verse
TANGLEWOOD AS THERAPY
Tanglewood untangled me, took my breath away
each moment of Sibelius, Mahler, Rachmaninoff
sweet violins, trumpets, kettle drums, cellos, fire
mixed with wind, echoing within the shed, over
the lawn, concert goers sprawled on blankets,
seated on beach chairs attentive to every sound
those strains, my favorite classics, filled my blood
stream, inched me toward lovers, tugged me,
two spouses proposed, suitors hugged my body,
kissed me with gusto, whispered into my ears,
became surrogates for melting chocolate cream,
weakened my knees, laid bare my breasts, filled
my groin, all from the moment my father took
our family to the shed where I first heard Mahler’s
First “The Titan”, not on a scratchy 78 platter, not
from our wood cabinet radio in our Brooklyn house
the melodies of democracy, free radio, modern
media, fade, assaulted by the Kremlin loving
leader. Russian composers crowd the classical
repertoire, do not taint my delight, my passion,
for the memories of past affairs are Picasso art
filtered through Stravinsky, Prokofiev, and one
therapist treating me for TRUMPRESSION
Categories:
cellos, anti bullying, appreciation, depression,
Form:
Prose Poetry
“A maestro is like a candle. It consumes itself to light the way for others.”-
~~ The Poet ~~
Conductor of an art form, stands the maestro of the storm.
Instruments take their place, then the symphony begins.
Firstly, a tuneful rhapsody of woodwind with violins.
The sheer spellbinding rhythm builds increasingly strong.
A tinkling as the rain begins, he uses spiccato to bring the tempo along.
The piccolo sends notes scurrying for cover by the continued rain,
And introduces the flutes into the mix once again.
The cadence evolves, with heralding intensity to engage.
Notes follow the beat, to a crescendo of immense rage.
Now, as the kettle drums implode within their skins,
The conductor is in full control, as his baton spins
Music’s fury is reinforced by trombones, entering for the first time.
Cymbals clash, cellos and double basses offer a fortissimo effect, sublime.
The percussion again, joins, as the woodwind slows,
Notes soften, and the flute’s melody gently flows.
A solo of horns, a transition with the full orchestra, it springs.
In suspense of his melody, the piano takes us to strings.
Tempo lighter, airier which is juxtaposed with the timpani drums.
The soft gentle tones, once hurtled by deafening wind, silence comes.
Audience captivated, orchestra foregone. The maestro lowers his baton.
Categories:
cellos, music,
Form:
Rhyme
Those New Gods
evacuate the violence
simulating patience
they were once created
to guide us, they overtook us
snapped our heads off
every time we thought of violence
Those New Gods
came to reconcile us
with the act of servile silence
we lay down let them take us
like we were beacons
hearts captitulated in black boxes
without god heads or sirens
Those New Gods
with voices like cured codex
placed us like cellos
between steel tight legs
we were smaller violins
our bows vaccuous and vain
crushed on Love
from the Tree
we were plucked
divineless
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Categories:
cellos, humanity, science, science fiction,
Form:
Free verse
Her skin color looking like a highlighted shade
Of the African brown soil
Her hair looked like a leafless tree
Its roots floating onto the naked ocean figured like the curve
Of an African woman
Her lazy eyes looking like the moon of raise
Her nose shaped like the earth
Her cheeks blushing like a butterfly in the garden of Eden
Her smile like the sun in the open sky
White teeth looking like the clouds gold teeth in middle like the sun
Her lips looking like a Mauritius resort
Her voice singing like birds with cellos, pianos and guitars
Her neck looking like waterfall flowing down
Her boobs looking like two straight separate mountains
Her stomach looking like an African beach
Her legs and arms looked like the river streams flowing into the ocean
The sweet, southern, African piece
With an un-random bush
Categories:
cellos, beauty, body, nature,
Form:
Personification
Strokes of eloquence
breathe airbrushed scenes
painting my world in linguistic dreams
How tasteless bland these buds would be
If phrased thy love were unspoken to me
like honey barren of sweetened flavor
a silent, save-less savior
In awe
giving pause
grant witness your thoughts
grandiloquence such passion draw
as violent rage to sweet stillness assaults
Like Iridescent colors
wrapped in transparent light
are the words of my lover
divinities descendant a lingual delight
If loosed a cellos strings
an octave low
an unworthy note
void would be the magic
at the touch of the bow
But No!
I hear the heavens open
my soul spun in a rainbows glow
oration poised a symphonic token
of love as it was intended to show
Let my days grow ever old
bereft my riches in tow
but take not thy language of love for me
lest my light fade away for the woe
Simply pleading...
Don't go, don't go
Thine eloquence to have and to hold
Categories:
cellos, dream, emotions, language, love,
Form:
Rhyme
As I gather them to the first class lounge
Surely we will calm down the throng.
Of mothers in shock,fathers at a loss.
Crying wee ones encased in their arms.
Lifeboats not nearly enough I hear.
And so we play together as one.
The piano and cellos,the violins.
Kindred spirits fighting our terror.
On we play as the air becomes frozen.
Horrific screams we play beyond.
Seven band members and I.
Wallace Hartley is my name.
Please do remember me.
The bandmaster am I and these
Are the last moments of my life.
And so I instruct the band to play
One last song to say good-bye.
"Nearer My God To Thee" reverberates
Across the splintering bow as all light
From this world is extinguished at last.
By Deb Wilson
for My heart will go on and on contest
sponsored by Tracie~Indigo Dreamweaver
Categories:
cellos, death, music, sad,
Form:
Free verse
Elegant frequent interludes
Ebony and ivory harmonised
The maestro raises his hands
A single note from a violin
Reverberates the soul within
Piano keys dance the storm
Conductor's baton waves the way
The orchestra now as one
Vibrations pounding in my heart
Sweet cellos and harps sing
Two dueling clarinets take front stage
Silhouetted angels fill the mind
As the beating of timpanis start
A fluttering flute swiftly flies
With dulcet melodies swirling about
A double bass begins the final coda
Then blissfully, I open my eyes
Categories:
cellos, music,
Form:
Free verse
leaden bows scour quavering cellos – lithely lilting violins
28 Dec 2017
Categories:
cellos, hope,
Form:
Monoku
Somewhere,
Music is eternal and dance is the soul unleashed.
Emanating from bird nests,
Melodies rise with the sun and stars.
Cellos call from sand dunes and seas.
Somewhere,
Sparkling-haired children in yellow silk,
Sprinkled with sun rays,
Dance with no audience on a hill
Amidst the scent of lilacs, earth, and sun.
Somewhere,
Blue, green, and purple mist mingle at evening,
When roses grow without thorns,
And women in glowing robes walk near streams
Of snow landing as natural lace.
Categories:
cellos, beauty, dream, fantasy, world,
Form:
Free verse