Best Chords Poems
I am to him a Stradivarius, a treasured violin
His bow expertly caresses my supple strings
My body moans when tucked beneath his chin
Revving to his rhythmic pulse, my heart sings
I am the delicate ivory he strokes on his keyboard
his adventurous fingers roam over me in staccato
Those romantic interludes he's adeptly scored
accompanies intimacy to the point of crescendo
I am the mouthpiece on his golden saxophone
Our blues brings about passion and lustful desire
From a distance I hear the pitch of a lone trombone
Emotions build with the heat of a roaring wildfire
Across the well worn bridge of his idle acoustic guitar
I yearn for the virtuoso's touch to strum my chords
But there's no harmony, although we've come so far
No gliding glissandos found at the tips of drawn swords
Now he plays mournful melodies on a native Hopi flute
Reflecting our lives in every wistful and somber note
We're both lost, wandering like phantoms in pursuit
of lost love. We're adrift without oars or sail for our boat
With each wave a tear falls as I lay sheltered in the bow
He sits astern listening to music whistled by the wind
staring at the far horizon with worry etched on his brow
Is this, I wonder, punishment for those who have sinned
I St
I stu
I stutter
My voice it f
It fal
It falters
They think I am a nutter
My v
My vo
My vocal
Chords they flutter
My mouth does t
does twi
does twitch
My sh
shoul
shoulders move
as if they i
they itc
they itch
I do a small fun dance here
while si
while sitt
while sitting
in my chair
And if you are my audience
(that's only fair)
I w
I welc
I don't welcome your
fear,
but your enthus
enthusia
enthusiastic
applause here
***
Copyright © Darren White
April 27, 2017
Life is battlefield,
we should either take flight or fight,
go left or right.
The daring chase towards them,
the cowards race away from them.
But,I am not the one at the base as I keep them at my pace.
As there are mysteries in math
so they are in my path,
forcing me to take an oath
of listening to my mind
and to be blind to my heart.
There are people to discourage me,
forcing me to fake my smile
and trying to make me soak in the
lake of cowardliness.
But I have decided ,
to be kind to my heart than to my mind
to find my way through the obstacles
which will bind me with my dreams.
Though these are mere words
like birds at dusk,
but once into my trust
action will speak louder than words,
against all odds,
which will form the chords of my destiny.
And then she said to me,
“Just keep yourself in mind as well. That’s all I ask…”
And I felt the shards of pain in her soundless voice, though it was your grave’s soul speaking
I wanted to embrace her for that eternal kiss of advice,
Had I done so, I would never leave her side…
Still my dear, I must go, to see more of this world
To be there for my dear angel despairing
In our heartfelt goodbyes, you well know my mind and heart are with you
Love, I must be free now
There awaits an untouched land to gaze and walk upon
A new hand to touch and hold on to
A purpose for my words I hold fast
And please… please don’t say you have fallen for me!
For I am tragedy, chaos, a never-ending pit
Please don’t go down that road- think nothing of it!
As she pleads to me…
Don’t go…don’t go
I’ll miss you…I care for you…I love you…
And my eyes close in that frustrated pause of what may happen
Cringing at the thought of losing that warmth of your cling
I cannot bear to hurt you dearest one…
Yet I cannot bear to stay
Because if I turn once again to you,
I will never see the beauty beyond us both
And this, with your sacrificial tears, I simply cannot bear!
Do not say so loud that you love me,
I cannot bear to hear those words from your heavenly mouth
They both sooth me and perturb me
Can’t you see…why I must never let you have me?
In many of those excruciating pauses,
There were times that I begged for you to love me
Searching every detail out, every crack appearing on your trembling flesh
But when I saw the gaping hole that made up my closest friend,
When it finally sunk in that your heart was crying for me,
And me only,
I remember whispering to myself, though directed at your soul,
Love me when the light dims
Be selfless when you must let me go
I will write you poetry when I feel your heart sobbing
And the laughter we have long shared will kiss your thrones of despair
You will always be a deep, warm part of me
A heart so jovial in outer layers, but tender in its beautiful core
I will sweep my wings over you, dearest
Singing and dancing around bittersweet chords
For in between the rests of passion
There is vast beauty beyond us
“Keep yourself in mind as well”
Though your heart trembled from the pangs of unsaid truths,
That’s all you asked…
My poem I want to write
and encode what is going inside
My poem I want it to rhyme
a soothing melody and not a mime
When I come to my poem's harmony
the words are manipulated artfully
How could mind and heart consent
when the raw in them wouldn’t be vent
I have those syllables to count
the substance I have to take into account
I long to always create a beauty
a piece that bears a great part of me
A great heed of my poesy I take
to pen what is genuine and not fake
A stand I now believe in and share
with poets of true feelings and flair
I learnt how to read and appreciate
and what I don’t feel not to comment
I didn’t work on the form of my musing
but I couldn’t help compose the music
My poem to you I paint its words
a sample for you, my heart chords.
March 29th, 2019
When days reflect like the veil of nightfall,
once bright eyes, like somber stars fail to glow.
World looks so big, but your soul feels so small,
as deep sighs mimic heartbeats breathing slow.
Before the storm absorbs my spirit's hope,
I search beyond weeping shadows of clouds,
counting my blessings to help weak mind cope.
Faith always finds me when I'm lost in crowds.
In times when I'm fragile like butterflies,
words from scholars and scriptures set me free.
Soothing chords from angelic lullabies,
help fight the voices that cause misery.
Symmetrical chords:
Same roots, thirds, augmented fifths...
(Really inversions)
Preposterous melody won't exist,
Inside a piano without the chord's beat
Aubade is formed when dolefulness emits
Nails the body to where she always sits;
Ordering her fingers to start a writ.
Corners her world with piano as a friend
Heaves fro the melancholia life has sent
Obsolete in the past yet still remains
Rest in the hands of the hellion of dents
Deceiving the chords life composed to mend
Carted away from the womb of thy mom,
Dispatched to fosters as a surly wan
Ego disappears to the children's scrum
For years she can't find her ruined life's sum
Guided and loved with the help of the rank
An afflatus for three hearts to collide
But deep beneath, she had always been mock
Called in by her fosters as out of luck
Door to door, she lagged capitulated
Reminds herself the poem she narrated
Misses the time her heart elevated
Falls for a man who's crossed-dressing blended
Solitude before but now chaperoned
Laminated by her man's trifle tone
Timbre has echoed when they broke the stone
Do you hear the sixteen chords of her song?
There’s a story I heard of a famous lost chord,
although why it was lost and just who did the losing,
true or not, perhaps no one can tell,
but piano pursuit served me well as a child
as I followed my dream of harmonic reward.
One lost chord by itself could bring fame to my door,
no real talent required, just let luck do the choosing.
Crystal tones could my future foretell,
and might somehow bring fortune with demons beguiled,
find this chord and I’m famous, a world troubadour.
What I learned from this I must now share from the heart:
I was three when I found Ardean’s stash in mom’s closet,
older classical records, and more.
There was Love For Three Oranges, Suite Scheherazade,
and the Firebird Ballet blew my whole world apart.
Through his gift I discovered that music is dance,
an emotional language that lives as composite,
an intelligence melting your core
with a soul that can play your heart’s strings like a God!
How I tremble to think this could be happenstance!
Still a chord unremembered might be anything,
I think I see now where my poem is going:
A lost chord’s like a glass without wine,
precious stone that has yet to be set in a band.
Well, a chord in a symphony really can sing.
It is only in context the best chords ring true
with their blessings of harmony wisely bestowing
both a peace and a rapture divine,
as a gem is at home on a receptive hand.
Ardean fell in the forest, God heard, I did too!
Brian Johnston
May 2, 2015
A singer's life is far from free
who would know more about it than me ?
Late hours and circles under the eyes
flowers and perfume and so many guys
peering and watching the moving of hips
hoping they'd listen to sounds from the lips
the pounding and hearing of drums in the ears
has made me half deaf over the years
the glittering dresses cost so much
rough to the skin and to the touch
I sing a lot and drive and roam
I guess there's just no place like home
What am I for the world so wonderful:
the word mute in an unreleased verse,
the tormented pause in song,
fourth picture of triptych ...
In the theater of life /without sufleurs/
I'm not even an inclined tree,
I am not even a bush, and a sheet deflated,
in the order of numbers-the smallest number,
one of the ants working without memory
obedient little bee in his hive,
in a small hole returning to a covenant,
still alive, but until when, O God ...
translation from Bulgarian: the author
Who would lend their essence to such words
Uncrumple them ‘midst fading sense of truth
Sharpen dull edgeless rusting swords.
Shouted once from blood stained creaking boards
Muttered by those grown “long in the tooth”
Who would lend their essence to such words
Whisper calls from echoless fjords
Spur the interest of our failing youth
Sharpen dull edgeless rusting swords
Challenge them to run - not from - but toward
A passion that would brand them as uncouth
Who would lend their essence to such words
Reweave them as a fire, incite the hoards
Nurture the subtleties taking root
Sharpen dull edgeless rusting swords
Re-sound the growing call of freedom’s chords
Deny the tyrants reign of spurs and boots
Who would lend their essence to such words
Sharpen dull edgeless rusting swords.
©2/26/2022
AN ORIGINAL VILLANELLE CONTEST
Sponsor – L Milton Hankins
Which key should I put this song in?
I sing in G Ionian/major comfortably,
Likewise the relative E Aeolian/minor scale.
Plus those guitar chords are easy as sin.
I could choose a scale that’s more exotic -
D Mixolydian has the same notes and chords.
Hungarian or Roumanian minor, Spanish Gypsy.
Or another scale derived from minor harmonic.
Keep it simple – let’s start with the G Major scale.
Should I do a basic 1-4-5 with major G/C/D chords?
Or a jazzy 2-5-1 with A minor/D/G ending on the tonic?
Let’s do a bluesy 1-4-5 with a turn-around at the tail!
Just major and minor triad chords are boring.
Major, minor, and dominant sevenths can be cool;
But I’m rather partial to suspended seconds and fourths.
My sliding E diminished flat 7th will keep the fans from snoring!
What can I do to add even more pizzazz and glitz?
Slowly build the dynamic and rhythmic complexity.
Give the crowd a tribal chorus they can sing to.
Add a spanking hot hook throughout that never quits!
Pictorial evidence of a moon beam dancing dangerously across a road with a stripped sun is only to be depicted by a jury who knows the sanity of true speech. Whereas a gutless cuttlefish could curd if left in the heat. For over three millenia a greedy goblin has baked human cakes but used land ovens. Land ovens are often incredibly hard to clean really. So grab a sponge early. Before it escapes on that plate. How odd the oddities correlated in an oval office original order of occupation. And a fathomable bag of whiskey and chips are best served in a large bath that dangles from a ceiling akin to a giant swing. Wee wee wee goes the small beetle. Giggling grabbing garters gathering goo. And a paste of pie. Never let it be said that an ornate dish can give orders to a kilo bag of organic potatoes. Ok then. Good. Eighty six miles with a whisk. Must be such a hurtling errand really. Wow. Fantastic isn't it. O overplayed lava of volcanic news in a lava launch. Hahaha tidal travelling trains..hahaha sitting shoes shaping sacks. Xxxxx cosmography z. With the p u q at the Z moment.
All human are equal,
Sex, faith, mind, skill, treat, mood, feet;
In "Homage" state,
Where we belong, live, controlled, undisturbed
Like chords.
Stranger, are we not equal?
Odd.
Edited:30/5/2022