Best Clef Poems
Under 65 degree starry, onyx blanket
Containment of quarter moon identity
A whimsically soothing song exuded
In muffled taps & Prohibition era lyric
In the distance,
Snow-capped mountains reflecting lunar clarity
Off its tips of freedom
As we lay on recycled steel hood,
Made in 1950s USA, when it mattered,
Her silhouetted fingertips released from my right arm
While insistently looking towards stratosphere’s vocal chord
“Can’t it be like this forever?
Oh, how I want to just make love to the stars.
Become one with Orion while riding
On Sagittarius’s arrow”
“What about our stars?”, he softly questioned.
“I’d like to be your never-ending shooting star.
To ride on blue moon’s comet, by your side”
Cricket whispers manhandled his romantic clef
Mother Nature’s afterglow, upon her ears, fallen deaf
Inherent waxy build-up from illicit tongue,
She pat his shoulders like a dog
Being taught his first lesson
Her eyes, still sky high.
“Sigh, I like how you think.
You’re such a nice friend.
You’re going to make a woman so happy one day.
I hope to meet a guy just like you.”
As her eyes sighed with a powerful lack of substance
Into the arms of Leo,
A slammed car door supplants the reverberation of the car’s V8 engine.
He confidently turns back the hands of time.
Reversal gears become his new tune
“If you get lost going home, follow the stars.”
As he pulls away with majestic, amplified lyrics
Of Whitesnake’s “Here I go Again”
Going down the only road he’s ever known
While she stands in fraudulent gasps of shock,
Looking back up to the stars in blank wonder
As he accelerates into a new page in his book
Closing his chapter with wondrous questions
“Why would I taste your starlight?
When you never believed in our constellation?”
©Drake J. Eszes
It’s good to gaze at the stars and make wishes. But, be careful what you wish for. For Earth has its own gifts…
For Linda, Freddie, Chan, & others that meant something true to us…
Another departure…
Another wistful teardrop
Embracing yesterday’s candid goodbye
No longer can we touch their physical soul.
But, we
Can keep amnesia’s accented clef at bay
Holding their voice beyond new tomorrows
…
It is the triangle of life’s conundrum
When we slow dance with the arms of Why
The breaths of How
The misunderstood elegance of inevitabilities
We are taught the 2 guarantees of life: Death & Taxes
Yet, only one really means more to us
Within sunrise’s incipience
We hold convex reflections with incandescent sadness.
Yet, time allows opportunity to fly higher than God’s perspective
EVEN through our limited wisdoms
While we cherish
Remember
The Candles in our wind
…
I whisper silent prayers for our friends, family, & colleagues that now SOAR WITHIN!
For they may no longer be in front of you & I...
They are
And always shall be
By
Our
Side
©Drake J. Eszes
I was honored to have Chan on our Stand As 1 show back in March 2014. It was a deeply memorable show. You can listen to how it all went down here: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/standas1/2014/03/16/stand-as-1-returns-wspecial-guest-that-archaic-poet
The “forthcoming” backtracks on dilly-dallied whispers.
They place verbal down payments on layaway,
Incomplete soul mates
Running on muted slow dances
Blanketing their pain
“Oh, how I always wished for your lips against my selfless animosity”, said Nobody.
Another decrepit smile
Pandering arrogant Bible verses,
They stroke heartbeats
Made of blood diamond fallacies
Reflecting upon misery with convex eyes,
Companionship denied,
“I’m so glad you stayed”, said Somebody.
Placating vehement touch,
They ache for petulant innocence
To rock them to sleep
Lullabies venture unto unknown certainties,
Lackadaisical clef sharpens ill-fated tomorrows
They make “love” to invisible yesterdays,
Feeding off strenuous caress
Torn, silky dress
Perpetuating restraining orders in duress
Bloodied retinas blink,
Vexed
©Drake J. Eszes
Tear drops fall
between silent lines
carrying the tune
of this weeping melody
written on my heart’s
faded sheet music
Scales cry in sharpened flats
twisting treble clef sorrows
Candelabras drip pain
on withered fingers
roaming ivory slivers bleeding
out of tune syncopation
Unheard choruses
in three quarter sadness
wasted on black and white keys
played long after
the lid was closed
on our love
Where is that sustain pedal
when you need it?
Drizzle and frizzled hair crinkles,
such sounds demand a symphony;
Clammy cold showered with sprinkles
there’s a vibe that says ‘Be easy.’
Stock up the wood burning fire place,
it’s raining I’ll send you a song;
Smoke creates a treble clef trace,
that rhythm will help you along.
My friends say this magnificent rose
Gives off the most wonderful aroma of spring
I am catching a scent somewhat obscure
As yet no recognizable thing
For I'm losing the sense
Of smell in my nose
Perhaps what I'm smelling
Though peculiar and unselling
Is this lovely flower
This most fragrant rose
Most likely it's the pasture
Expelling natural gas
Which is nostalgic and familiar
With its hint of ammonia and pungent aroma
But, I fear, even this shall pass
There's the most angelic sound in the meadow nearby
That is what my lovely neighbor conveys
She jots down the melody with each bar and clef
For I cannot hear it
I am practically deaf
But I do hear the shrill voice
Of my neighbor's young lass
Which is nostalgic and familiar
Though disconcerting and frightful
And never delightful
I fear, even this shall pass
The most beautiful creature stops at my house
It arrives every day to feed
This is just what I've heard
To me it's all blurred
For a new pair of glasses I need
But I do see the glare
From a bonfire of grass
Which is nostalgic and familiar
Though odious and weedy
And noxiously seedy
I fear, even this shall pass
My neighbor is bringing a dinner she will baste
Which others around highly praise
The sensation for me is hardly a meal
I have lost the better part of my taste
But I savor the peppers
She always brings me in mass
Which are nostalgic and familiar
Though indigestible and spicy
And especially dicey
I fear, even this shall pass
I fondly remember my wife's gentle touch
But this sense too I now lack
If it weren't for the fall
I'd have no sensation at all
But, for these sharp piercing pains
Down my back - Alas! Alas!
While nostalgic and familiar
And though crippling and painful
It is nothing disdainful
And I fear, even this shall pass
Now when I'm gone all will be quite sublime
I will have transcended to the sixth sense
I will be free as a bird
Free from the limits of time
Reunited with the Lord of Providence
The distant brass haystacks tune on shorn ground.
Vanilla fence posts chime in saffron sun.
Adjacent jonquils trumpet lemon sound
as amber goldenrod and china mums
in stil de grain complete a trio 'round
high jasmine shrubs, which in the octaves run
aureolin to beige. Nearby is found
a vegetable garden where blond onions,
squash and carrots in harmony abound
with notes of maize and amber. Faun melons
grace a clef of trellis where ecru-crowned
warblers and the sunglow-breasted Hutton's
Vireo twitter in tune with corn-downed,
bumblebees and drone: summer has begun.
Peonies, lavenders, cherry trees
Clef romancing Pachelbel's Canon behind the emerald maze
Summer breeze Tudor breathe
Vavasour Anne, hail thy Lady!
Homecoming carrage drove by quiet road, thus awakens
Ghouls, spirits, elves, butterflies
Celebrating Hazlewood
For thy Lady hath returned.
The bustle and tune of city,
Is composed by the Architects.
Eyes upward, not staring at feet,
Take in cornices, gargoyles and chimneys,
Building high notes reaching down - lifting up.
Harmonies are hummed by neighborhoods of,
Next-door musicians with whom to shoot-breeze.
Rhythm’s source is traffic of crowds,
A quarter rest on the park bench,
Crescendos in fountains and skylines,
Chords lie in store as markets implore,
Side trip timing from Clef library-museums,
Playgrounds emanate the jazz of joy,
In stadiums you hear Souza marches,
Love songs played in coffee houses,
Where I’m drinking cappuccino,
As my eyes listen and ears observe.
(c) Chaim Wilson
Upon perception, a rolling wooden box
with three pedals a misconception
Slick ivory keys the color of milk with black onyx halves
in between, if you please.
Eighty-eight beautiful notes made of perfection,
fifty-two white and thirty-six black
Middle “C” is the place to start, move your fingers up
eight white beauties and you have made art
Sharps, flats, quarter notes, half notes,
it is time to “rest.”
Loud, soft, strong, with feeling, sit up straight
and give the bench some respect
Treble clef, bass clef written by all the best
Mozart, Bach, Chopin, DeBussy know these keys
Glorious musical emotions to be heard
It takes you to places you have never seen
All shapes and sizes, don’t you want one of me?
©Holly P. Moore
December 2012
This simple tree...
Her branches a
Tree Clef staff for song
birds.
Her canopy a trapeze for these
squiggles, these squirrels.
This simple tree...
Her trunk a temple;
a spire to Heaven.
Her bark a canvas
for Northern moss.
This simple tree...
Her roots a roof
to burrowing beasts.
Her leaves a beetle's
green lunch munched.
This simple tree...
Her shade a cooling
respite for a
thousand forms.
This simple tree...
a welcome respite
for a thousand
flapping forms
from a thousand
Wint'ring grounds.
This simple tree...
whose vaulting arch,
itself a royal crown...
whose lyric swaying,
showing unseen winds...
whose quiet patience,
teaches eons, teaches time...
whose singular sangha
is a lone unalone story,
befriended and borrowed,
by all that live.
This simple tree...
husher of poets.
This simple tree.
In the clef death of darkness.
I show no fear to dream big.
The more i fear the better i move forward.
No one sees my minds eyes
Only my self i conquer my weak side of fear.
I stand to raise my both arms
To breath the life of a champion.
To lived the dreams i desire most.
Liberty and happiness i affirm all achievements i dream.
Form:
The morning after
Is there any reality to ?, or is it just another Dream ?
Four AM, and again, I am awoken by a dream,
That dream tells a story, is that story a truth ?,
- a truth that came to light Valentines night –
as I came to visit you – your girlfriend is there –
our exchange of words are brief – you want to leave –
you walk out your door – your friend and I remain
behind – your decision – your friend begins to tell me
you are involved, in fact have been for a long time,
- I am nothing more than a filler for your empty hours –
then I awake with a pain in my heart and a knowledge of.
What ?, a premonition !
Monika :
Four AM, pen in hand, words begin to flow.
They speak of a beautiful Lady, I would love to know !
My heart ache, bleeds, - it is my desire for her – it doth show,
in a million tear drops that run wild through my veins
until the knowledge of, is absorbed and all that remains
are the memories, the moments ( good or sad ) of the pains
I have had to endure – your words “ be patent ”, “ be this ”,
“ do that ” – the implications ? – the dream is realized.
In all honesty Monika, - I thank – never from you will I
come to know your compassion, your passion, a closeness,
nor affection, love and desire – the things I desire to give,
to receive – or anything I wish to experience, to know.
I feel that I mean nothing more to you than the gift
- of Christmas Love ( those black and red lover entwined ).
A block of wood carved into – intimate – lovers twisted
around each other’s souls in a passionate kiss,
a sculpture that you saw as a musical symbol (Treble clef )
An item left on a shelf. looked at but never toughed.
As always – I am conflicted – living with uncertainties,
living in doubt of where I stand and what I mean to you.
Wm. J. Atfield Jr.
Love Bill .
B. J. “A ” 2
February 15th 2007
010101010101010101010101010101010 only numbers left
no walnut dashboard 010101010101010101010 no treble clef
just the breeze where once was sun 01010101010101010010
perpetual war it is no fun:
only numbers now to kiss your cheek 010101010101010 to
grease the starlings hungry beak 01010101010101001
and when the moon hits ice cream sky 0101010101010
numbers talk for sleeping spy 010101010101010010101
on faint telephone lines
the G clef and Bass clef
birds waiting to sing