Best Clarinets Poems
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
What are these objects in your frames?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Why must they gotta be the same?
Cars and busses, traffic lights
Bicycles and motor bikes
Crosswalks, signs, and steps and stairs
Fire hydrants everywhere
Boats, planes and parking meters
Tickets, fines, misdemeanors
Why are you so fond of these?
Why are palms the only trees?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
The pictures trapped inside of there
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Depict a world so bleak and bare
Arid, bland, unaesthetic
Barren, drab, unpoetic
Sterile, cold, antiseptic
Unconcerned, apathetic
Somber, sad, and desolate
Woeful, bland, pedestrian
Weary, grim, dreary, hopeless
Grainy, gray, out of focus
It doesn’t need to be this way…
Many things could fill your squares
Why not fill these things in there?
Tambourines and castanets
Bass trombones and clarinets
English horns and piccolos
Harpsichords and xylophones
Fiddles high and Irish whistles
Jingle bells and finger cymbals
5-string banjos, mandolins
Saxophones, accordions
Desmond Tutu and Mandela
Cassius Clay, Cinderella
Charlemagne and Genghis Kahn
George and Ringo, Paul, and John
Twain and Edgar Allan Poe
Wayne and Brando and Monroe
Ida Wells, Frida Kahlo
Steinem, Parks, and Ferraro
River Thames and stormy seas
Winter wrens and bumble bees
Cyprus, ash, oak, fir, and pine
Sassafras, willow, and lime
Daffodils and magnolias
Marigolds and begonias
Cabbage, beets, and potatoes
Carrots, beans, and tomatoes
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
If your pictures must remain
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
How aboutcha change the frames?
Captcha circles, captcha suns
All the captcha olygons
Wiggly captcha twiggly lines
Twisty captcha twiny vines
Captcha diamonds, captcha hearts
Captcha clovers, moons, and stars
Captcha ribbons, Captcha lace
Captcha colored string bouquets
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
We understand you're here to stay.
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
Just be more creative, OK?
Categories:
clarinets, funny, humor,
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:
clarinets, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
Flutes, ahead laying the routes
Oboes they off to Villalobos
Harps, dusting off vessel tarps
Violin silenced by engine din
Cello, matching the revving bellow
Piano sad in the canoe
Clarinets are taking private jets
Horns, fasten seatbelts the Captain warns
Cymbal off checking the gimbal
Saxophone, sorry plane now flown
Bassoon missed flight in June
Trumpets in London loving crumpets
Timpanis tanning in Florida Keys
Tambourine, ouch you forgot sunscreen
Drum in Jamaica sipping on rum
Trombones still crossing time zones
Tuba, where else but Cuba!!
Categories:
clarinets, humor, humorous, travel, writing,
Form:
Free verse
.
I can feel the breath of violin, upon my face
~
The fluttering wings of fingers playing, 'A Lark Ascending'
In sweet release, I close my eyes, and drift away to inner peace
~
All strife takes flight, the music takes me to a meadow growing….
Two clarinets, in soft duet …..are timeless, ageless, knowing
I'm standing still, in waving grass, a cello plays a soft breeze blowing
I weave and sway…the music plays …a french horn makes sweet love to me
As if a lark, I leave the ground, upon the lilting sound, and fly away…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inspired by the Classical composition, "A Lark Ascending"
Composed by Vaughn Williams
Categories:
clarinets, inspirational, introspection, musicsweet, music,
Form:
Free verse
Suspended like a lemon drop
on the tongue of night
the moon melts
on the clarinets keys
Haze, ever present,
on this humid September eve,
blurs the edges of reality
calling forth images
of sweet beginning
the howls of wolf..
as the sax soars
and the warmth of blood.
A firecracker night
sparks
spinning in lamplight
basking in blue velvet
humming with the whir
of cicada's
with the brushes
on top hats.
Categories:
clarinets, life, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Continued from Part 1
The Beggars ’neath the balustrades,
and broken Children, Chambermaids,
are running wild from wraiths, afraid
of dreams where death redoubles.
They fritter time with tattered threads
(from ragged clothes they’ve left in shreds),
crocheting hoods to hide their heads
and faces, full of rubble.
But many things will not remain
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
when goblets filled with cool champagne
evaporate in bubbles.
The White-Robed Maid adorns the trash
with charnel urns awash in ash,
then fumbles with an untied sash
while pacing in the Palace.
Her hopes congeal in coffee spoons
with memories adrift in dunes;
yet, still she smiles with teeth like prunes
and lips of painted callus.
And long before the midnight drains,
the Saviour wakes, the Loser gains,
the waters of the Hurricanes
will fill her empty chalice.
The storm (behind the clarinets,
the silver flutes, the castanets,
the foghorns belching in quartets,
the bagpipes, puffed and swollen)
is keeping time to tambourines
while Tom Thumb and the Four-Inch Queen,
pick up the shards and smithereens
of moments lost or stolen.
They’re trekking through the Dim Domains
(where fountains weep, the mountain wanes),
yet can’t escape the Hurricanes
with trundling eyes patrollin’.
The Crowds (arrayed in jewels) in jails,
stoop, peering through a fence of nails
while light behind their eyeballs pales
with plastic flame that sputters.
They huddle there because they must
(with eyelids hung like peeling rust,
their tears, palled pellets in the dust),
behind the bolted shutters.
They’ll reawake without their pains
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
without their sores, without their stains,
their agonies will fill the drains
and overflow the gutters.
End
Categories:
clarinets, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
It was just another ordinary day
Scattered notes are all over the place
Drums trying to maintain a certain beat
Guitars either strumming or singing
Violins studying their scales and arpeggios
The piano pouring out its player’s soul
Clarinets and flutes blowing out harmonies
A mesmerizing vocal cuts through
A white butterfly flutters freely
Basking in the building’s flowing melodies
Students rushing in and out of the cafeteria
Sheet music in their hands while eating
Leaves of variant colors fall from the trees
The wind blows in one direction
Compensating for the scorching hot sun
Taking turns as nature takes its usual course
Old friends reconcile and greet each other
Re-living past memories and narrating the present
Speaking of profound concepts within their discourse
Anyone overhearing may be left confused
It was just another ordinary day
Scattered notes are all over the place
Many things happening all at once
Yet the resonant music remained unnerved
Categories:
clarinets, imagery, imagination, music, onomatopoeia,
Form:
Free verse
The Parade
The sun beat down in the still May air
The streets were thronged with people there
Expectantly waiting for the large parade
As it marched its path down the Palace way
The marshal music from afar
Soon became a louder roar
As the bands played gaily down the road
And the ranks marched stiffly, straight and proud
The people gave a loud applause
But received neither glance nor pause
From the uniformed troops
Each in their smart individual groups
Drums rolled and bagpipes skirled
Bass drums boomed and kilts, they swirled
Trumpets blared and cymbals crashed
While clarinets, our ears, caressed
On and on still they came
Some so slim, some sturdy of frame
Some so young, some strangely old
Though either shy, cheeky or bold
Men, women, boys and girls were there
Bearing down upon the Palace square
Then the stiff “Eyes Right!” was moot
As the president “took” the salute
The sun beat down in the still May air
Oblivious to it the throng stood there
Scouts and Cubs, Brownies and Guides
Yes, even Dolphins made the ride
The annual May Parade
Has passed us by, splendour thus displayed
The “military precision” might not have been there
But their effort was – And that’s more, by far!
Categories:
clarinets, appreciation, celebration, children, may,
Form:
Rhyme
Rain seeps into every crack and crevice
chilling to the bone
Winter has arrived with a vengeance
and summer is forever gone.
Ice slicks the asphalt, into a
glittering glistening death trap.
Here begins the slow invasion
of the unrelenting cold.
This grubby little mutt follows one day,
His hair matted, claws overgrown.
You take pity on the poor thing;
Starving and probably ill.
(A miserable pup with big sad eyes)
And leave blankets and scraps out the door
You wonder of his owners forgotten
He’s no street dog- well behaved and gentle
Perhaps abandoned, lost.
But maybe not. He’s ugly, scarred
Hairless in patches- He belongs in a kennel.
You don’t want him- and feel an inexplicable deep hatred
The wag of his tail infuriates and the curve of his snout enrages.
You slam the door.
A glass spills and everything is red.
Merlot on the carpet, scarlet on the bed.
You knock over the roses
Deep crimson of condolence
You want to draw blood, you want to destroy
You crave another’s red bloody torment
Schadenfreude, be damned
His whines pierce-
through the cold air of the night,
and the solid wooden door.
The royal blue E minor: the laments of the abandoned
You can’t help but join in song
As the wretched creature
howls expressivo at the starless sky
a symphony of loss.
Violins screech to his scratching
with trills, mordents and turns.
The descending melodic line fades and echos;
As the merciless tonic pedal of time ticking
crescendos.
The clarinets wails accompaniment;
subdominant, tonic, leading.
And with a plagal cadence, the mutt droops his tail
Morning arrives- painfully slow
The rising sun thaws anguished aubergine
And leave only tender lapis of fingers frostbitten.
They struggle; falls a familiar key
As you reach and bend
Moist; a warmth unexpected and wet
As the mutt licks your hand
tongue curling around a corpse’s digits
nuzzling his cold snout into the back of your knee.
Tongue lolling, tail wagging
The mutt never leaves.
The frost on the tree branches promise
Of how you’ve lived and grown
They shimmer like precious silver
and accent the beauty of home.
The fresh biting air,
with great gasping breaths you shiver.
Here begins a new journey
With your most loyal friend.
Categories:
clarinets, angst, bereavement, grief, growth,
Form:
Personification
The concert Band
A work of reeds, air, and hands
Reading sheet music isn’t easy
And our uniforms are anti-sleazy
All instruments must be in tune and time
Otherwise we sound like a broken chime
The flutes sound sweet and dainty – like a fairy
A piccolo can go so high it’s scary
Our key of music is set in the key of C
When we are in tune we sound so pretty
Clarinets are reeded
When they squeak, earplugs are needed.
They play way too soft; you must strain to hear
And you have to be quite nearfor that my dear
Saxophones are loud, reeded, and sqeaky
Sometimes they can be quite spit leaky
Those sweaty neckstraps are almost like ties
You could wear it with a suit and look like one of those classy rich guys
Trumpets range in color - silver or gold
Their sound is quite bold
They have valves of three
And all the fingerings are quite easy
French Horns are very hard to play
Tis hard to get the note you want to stay
You have to put your hand in the bell
The smell is totally not swell
Then the oboe and the bassoon.
Oboe sound high and sqeaky, and the bassoon sounds like a loon
Both reeds are double and small
And they arent quiet at all
Percussion is the busiest part to every band
They dont use air or reed; they use thier hands
They keep the tempo for the most part of the time
All of the precussion instruments cost one thousand times a dime
Trombones are made of brass and a slide
If they're loud, your hearing is fried
Stand to close, you'll get hit
Ive heasrd that hurts quite a bit
Without the conductor. we wouldn't be a band
They can change tempo with a flick of a hand
They control everything; we bow to your wow
They tell us where to end and when to play now
Categories:
clarinets, art, funny, imagination, music,
Form:
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:
clarinets, music,
Form:
Free verse
Proud parents gathered for the fifth grade band presentation.
The kids labored long and hard to enhance their musical education.
'Twas the band's first concert since its recent organization.
The harried teacher approached it with a sense of trepidation!
Moms and dads endured the commotion at home for many weeks,
As their blossoming prodigies practiced and honed their techniques.
Suffering through the blare of trumpets, the bleat of saxaphones,
The wail of clarinets and oboes, the atonal pitch of trombones!
The girls were dressed in white blouses and black, slinky skirts.
Boys wore dark trousers, black bow ties and snow-white shirts.
Each of the girls had a pretty ribbon adorning her hair.
Boys had even combed their hair - which was very rare!
Teacher apprehensively grasped her baton and waved the downbeat.
The program began with a simple rendition of "Bonaparte's Retreat."
At the end of the concert a heartwarming thing occurred.
The audience rose exclaiming, "Twas the sweetest music ever heard!"
Though at times they were not in tune and the tempo somewhat slow,
They proudly gave it their best and put on a wonderful show!
Was a spark in a child's soul that night fanned into a flame,
Boosting his or her enthusiasm to strive for musical acclaim?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
clarinets, music
Form:
Rhyme
Silence expands over the steep cliffs,
the lively colors of the waves
undulate like the fingers
of a conductor leading
a harmonic orchestra of blissful faces
which execute his gestures without delay.
Violins' notes keep on rising,
trumpets make ample sounds,
clarinets follow tone and pitch,
and the piano accompanies them all.
The blueness of the sea has a unique softness,
displaying its fickleness and changing to green;
sailboats drift very far from the deserted shore
and vanish into the vague gleams of the evening.
I am the only listener
of a classical symphony
with notes of superb
mastery, and perceiving my sadness,
his smiling eyes turn to me-
he places the baton in my hand.
Entered in Debbie Gucci's contest,
" Ten Picture, Ten Poems, Ten Poets, Ten Days "
Written on 1/6/2016
Poem # 1
Categories:
clarinets, beautiful, blue, god, music,
Form:
Free verse
We were there for th wind ensemble,
There was where I met you,
My senses traversed through
' ` th geography of your body,
Then, th first song.
In th expanded moment,
Tubas transformed into windmills,
Trumpets moan and yearn,
My senses never left
' ` your cotton-covered hills.
Golden canaries flew out of clarinets,
As bell flowers bloomed from th horns,
I glanced to you when it was th solo sax,
And imagined children when
' ` th percussion frolicked and fawned.
Then, the last song wrapped.
Encore! Encore!
Just one more: One more, I begged.
Categories:
clarinets, music,
Form:
Light Verse
Starving cats shriek to a full, hopeless moon
The thick air drips with decay and rank ruin
Feral dogs scream, adding pain to the chorus
Extending an invite to those gone before us
Fred Astaire and Miss Rogers they clearly are not
As they stumble and scrabble up through Hadean rot
Their eyes wormy sockets, foul-toothed, dangling jaws
Macabre click-click-clicking sounds a hellish applause
Dry bones clack-clacking, grotesque, face to face,
Partner holds partner in hideous embrace
These skeletal dancers reek a rancid perfume
Unsure and undead, their lives re-resume
Their clattering waltz is relentless and jerky
As they dance to hell’s music, unrhythmic and murky
The conductor’s malevolent, ghoulish, reviled
His empty eyes glitter, black flames burning wild
Clarinets scrape the nighttime with fractals of silence
As violins offer melodies of mayhem and violence
Percussion and horns build a battlefield wall
‘Til there is no escape from the dead dancers’ ball
Categories:
clarinets, animals, death, funny, imagination,
Form:
ABC