Best Crescendos Poems
"At the end of my life, with just one breath left, if you come then, I'll sit up and sing. That cannot now be said or written." Rumi
Lyrics of loneliness liberate in a lucid language,
lulling loveless librettos of lamenting loss.
In deadly depths of darkness,
deep desires dipped in despair,
misplace my marooned mind
in metaphorical mists of misconception.
Deserted in a domain of demons,
there's an aura of angst amongst absent angels.
When reality resembles a betrayal of butterflies,
withered wings wilt in wild winters without a wish.
In timeless tender tunes of tearful toxic torment,
nocturnal nightingales cry in a crepuscule chorus,
confessing caged crescendos in cryptic codes.
Sickness slithers in sinister silence,
as grinning Grim Reaper reveals his reflection.
My sojourner soul seeks a saviour's silhouette.
Who soothes in seraphic serenades of serenity.
To float in fate's fountain of featherless freedom.
In forbidden fields where fluorescent flowers flourish forever.
Her effervescent eyes exhale an elixir,
evoking an exotic, enticing, everlasting epiphany.
Enchanting in echoes of an Edenic enduring enigma.
Beneath bluebells, breathless and broken,
let me lay inside the lilacs of her amorphous aroma.
Her swan song closing chapter of my chronicles.
A halcyon harmony of heavenly harps,
guiding my gondola towards golden gates of grace.
When tuscan tunes of twilight,
cascade as clementine confetti,
She searches for secret silhouettes,
swirling to the symphony
of sunflower serenades.
In the midst of faded fields,
marigold memories crawl back,
refraining yesterday’s
tangerine dreams.
Swans glide in
sullen grace,
illustrating a saffron
backdrop from
sweet sighs of
fauna’s concerto.
Harmony of melodies
is the idyllic essence
of dulcet beginnings.
A plethora of
prewritten words
soar as passionate notes,
harvested through
hypnotic crescendos,
emanating amber toned scales,
whilst she sways below
apricot streaked skylines,
adorned in champagne
hued consonants,
synchronizing dandelion
desires,
fluttering beyond
darkness that floats,
as lyrical lines vibrate,
and ascend to
euphonious heights,
where bronze keys of
her mellifluous heart,
evolve from a tapestry
of twinkling tenors.
Her muse mimics
scentless petals.
There’s no wrong interval,
when performing in a world,
where rays of
honeyed glow drift,
veiling the rhythm,
between bleeding
dusk and dawn.
Changing chords remain
oblivious,
to the pulsating pain,
as her perfectly
manicured fingers lift.
The hunter’s moon
too refuses to see,
how her heart no
longer is made of flowers,
but nostalgic ferns
and leafless forests,
that twist and turn—
wilting away to
songs of sorrow.
But there’s a maestro
with a pristine prologue.
He understands her mind
blisters when colors tumble.
How her fragility has
been sleeping on
weathered pansies.
He guides her to
softly press the
porcelain frame of
piano keys,
playing the prelude
to a classical sonata,
lost in the maple waves
of wind-blown whispers.
Her oak leaf twirls and
sows duets
of sanguine tomorrows,
pitching lines within
veins rhymed in vain.
Birds of paradise croon
to orchestrated
hope and love,
while a palette of sounds
piercingly rise to unravel
a synopsis for healing.
Deep golden choirs ringing out
their scarlet anthems with a shout;
blood orange whispers echo
as the violet innuendo
scatters all about.
The dusky pink clouds fade to grey,
the gulls, the sun, soon fly away;
this sunset's lacking just one thing -
your voice to help me sing
the colors of my day.
The evergreens are violins -
crescendos of December winds
conduct the hills.
With rhapsodies of terraced hue
the sky resolves to royal blue,
but where are you?
The rainbow arches high above
and in it I see cascades of
your multi-colored resonance
I reach... and feel the presence
of your ardent love.
Absorbing this, I realize
through many shades of changing skies
that you cannot be tied to one,
for your love is the sun
by whose light I see with iridescent eyes.
Song of the Four Seasons 2-16-24
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Song of the Four Seasons
Jagged steel gray skies
Compose barren bough sculptures
Midnight days, Orion nights
White fire crystal symphonies.
Spring wriggles adagio toes,
Sunbeams thaw tuneless meadows,
Daffodils dream yellow melodies
Blossoms burst fragrant ballads.
Downbeats of summer rainstorms
Silver sonatas of moonlight
Heat rises in crescendos,
Cool waves soothe sunburns.
Scarlet scatters leafy notes,
Crisp sapphire skies motifs,
Harvest chorales of harmonies
Harbingers in orange transitions.
Nature unfurls charms
Loving emotions flourish
Her cup runs over
Exquisite passion
Limbs entwined in sweet embrace
Move in symphony
Senses on fire
Symphonic crescendos peak
Cocooned in slumber
Nature’s Miracle
Blooming as she takes on form
Grand Expectation
Footnote:
A Happy Mother’s day to all Mums, Mums-to-be and Grand Mums for without you and the gift of love, this day was not possible.
POTD 16th May 2017
Mystical labyrinth of twisting harmonic warnings
Gazing into infinity’s composing handiwork –
Moonbeams in silver sung sonatas –
Ivory hued cantatas resolved from heart pacing crescendos
Spring’s soothing birdcalls after tympanic thunder.
Measured tempos of rhythms search for their time signature
As aching melodies in moveable feasts of swans
Search for resolutions in atonal firebird tango ballads
Through classical dusty suites of western legends
Not losing pitch or tripping over downbeats.
Too many notes squeeze into four square spaces
When magic flutes songs soar over seraglio dreams
Imperial marches set imprisoned phrasing free with fanfares
And close encounters of key notes discard dissonance
Seeking rhapsody in hues of blue.
Plaintive and joyful - hopeful and merciful -
Healing rhythms inspired from the eternal melody,
A lost chord to haunt then heal the midnight heart
All arranged in one accord from the Master’s apprentices
To rest in finality of one trailing echo of waltzing river.
The golden hour for rising has arrived, and there are violet roses in the sky,
So, I bid hello to you, my robust friend, as the vibrant, cerise birds float by.
The obsidian night, it was very long, and was filled with pleasant dreaming,
Like scenes from the heart of jade forests, where lush nature is screaming.
But the dark hours seem as ages past, since you have risen on the horizon,
Reflecting your glory in the limpid waters, as day slowly begins to brighten.
So nice to see you again, my old friend, peering in the doors and windows,
As beautiful songs from emerald trees, begin their daily, rapid crescendos.
Soon all the world will be colorful and glad, like skyward birthday balloons,
Drifting on backlit skies of somewhere, like the aromas of various blooms!
We've traveled a long way, you and I, and like orioles, we've gone together,
Screaming our joys at midday hour, as warmth blankets the divers weather.
You trail every individual, peach dawn to dusk, and from season to season,
Forever going in and out of our lives, silently, and without apparent reason.
My work as a seasonal park ranger, has kept me in the glitter of your gaze,
As gorgeous wildflowers pursue us all, down the myriad, natural pathways.
Living with my family and my cat, and having a happy life on Pretty Street,
We danced all through deep amber days, terribly soon to become obsolete.
And often enjoyed memorable outings, birthday parties, and get togethers,
Like the euphoria of your floral days, are inclined to following predecessors.
Days at the beach, days at the park, ballgames or fun backyard barbecues,
At the happiest of times, everyplace I look, the first thing that I see is you.
And in olden, golden days, when I played on and on, your warmth was felt,
Like the presence of bittersweet autumn rose, though unseen, lately smelt!
Sweet summer evenings, you gazed redly, to say your melancholy goodbye,
Like the redness that strangely appears, when you're trying hard not to cry.
Crickets in the lilac bush, butterflies in the grass, all smile to greet the sun,
And yellow days are started and soon done, in dreamlike, skyward visions!
Flowers titter in warm, fragrant meadows, and oceans shudder with delight,
People beam at your kind warmth, and robins sing once they see your light!
Love,
Is that a word,
Or the foundation of all mountains of speeches?
Is love a whisper or an ejaculation?
A prayer, or a plea?
Why is it that love crescendos off the tongue
Like caramel in symphony?
Why does it melt me,
As if by heaven God made me an iceberg,
To later fall in the heat of destiny like my enemies?
Love,
Is it woman,
Man?
Is it the softness of your hand,
Or the coarse scratch against a rocky sand?
You say you love me so simply, genuinely
What is it my mind cannot comprehend,
As my eyes zoom in to your wanting lips,
The almost anticipated sound saintly slips
Love,
A fraction to my experience,
And a lifetime left of its dark and intimate peaks. . .
In these mountains of words,
How does one sleep?
How shall we rest willingly in the dangerous unknown,
With you and I alone?
Love,
I love you too..
How can I not when all of its footprints lead back to you?
Love is as simple as the word yearning on your mouth
As deep as the dark, undiscovered creatures of the sea
Though, most of all,
As far as I dare feel and see,
As simple as it sounds,
And God must well agree,
Love is you and me
Winter Sonata 11-29-23
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Winter Sonata
In grave allegro solo grey gathers,
Strings of winter fantasias
Brewing staccatos of frozen fall remnants,
Downbeats for the first movement
As shivering sleet wipes away bucolic barcarolles
Rocking on sapphire barges,
Harbingers of hoarfrost and hibernation,
When leafless boughs conduct the opening motif
To summon deepening darkness
From restrained shadows of turbulence
To beat warnings on frosted windows
Of snug dens – sheltered hallows.
Sweet solstice flutes sing adagio
Then scatter crystalline mists across snow packed paths
In the movement pathetique when sunglow
Glides between aspen,
Ankle deep in fleecy billows,
Sugar flakes flutter in Heaven’s perfect pitch
Rhythmic silent rests hypnotize crisp midnights
When fluttering flakes of dreamy andantes
Ride on melodic cantabile whispers
In flurries of fleecy decrescendos
Spells of codas, enthralled by idle snowfall,
Glitter in lyric tinsel of sparkling crystal beads on twigs.
Movement presto crescendos in frenzied storms
Snowfall pizzicatos fall in descending measures
When rondos of wind song ensembles
Ascend in frigid notes of icy scales
That pirouette in pulsing beats with resonate strings
Plucked by boreas in thundersnows percussions,
Vivace mistrals whirl in powdery ghosts
That spin in tremolo trills of icicles,
And in whiteout scherzos of blizzard sonatas,
Dizzy with solstice frosty fevers
As winter’s thundering cadence modulates
Into vernal sighs of resolution.
~
Whispering apricot beams shine upon frilly sheers,
lazy shadows dance in daffodil dawn colors,
pirouettes of pleasured moments,
silently flowing on smooth brush stroke walls
You breathe, softly, the sweetest sonnet,
rhythmically exhaling beneath satin sheets
symphonic…bringing a grin to the sunrise,
blushing clouds hide behind a bashful horizon
Placing a gentle kiss upon rose petal shoulders,
you stir ever so slightly…eyes flutter like chiffon wings
hugging the pillow wistfully, floating within,
cascading between dreams of us
Exploring the mesmerizing curves of your body,
my lips touch warm porcelain skin,
the faintest sigh escapes, a smile appears
as your wispy fingers seek my own
Probing gentle folds, serene recesses of silken slivers
sipping the morn’s perfect elixir, ambrosia,
seeing your eyes wide open now
and falling once more deeply into their hypnotic beauty
Hands fondle my hair, wavy lengths, grasping
tickling heated embraces, melting into the warmth,
maple syrup cravings, sweetened stickiness in
pleasure flavored temptations
Sunshine illumines the room with sparkled effervescence,
writhing deep into the blue sky destinations,
azure visions of springtime promises kept
and green grass wanderings
I rise with you, fall with you…with this perfect time,
mirroring movements in reflective crescendos, rapidly,
as your voice sings my name, feathered pillow melodies,
an ending ovation in hummingbird inspired quivers
And you collapse, tethered breaths, tiny giggles
pulling the sheets tight to your chin playfully
I peer up, cinnamon eyes gleam, twinkle,
rejoicing as brand new day begins…in love
~
It is an unusually cold morning here so
I thought I would repost this and warm
the place up a little. : )
A cocooned cacophony of crickets serenades overgrown fields,
drowning out the creaking of rusted cars long since abandoned.
Maroon and sable tents blot the dilapidated ground—
bloated and weathered,
strips of fabric flapping in the harsh elements.
Legends of wraiths wander,
replicating whispers of infected insanity.
Laughter lingers in suspect echoes,
Rippling from pasts reborn in presents: futures to be later replaced by the past.
The smell of burnt sugar crackles with the purr of buttered kerneled corn: invading the nostrils with senses whose stimuli feign belief.
A faint humming of Entry of the Gladiators creeps in loudening crescendos, adding to the cacophony deigning dormancy in the field
Fragmented timelines intersecting by the call of the Barker
Stained cotton candy melts, reconstitutes, melts once more
Saturating replicating stands with insidiously sticky omens
Ghastly sickeningly sweet mori mementos
Resurrecting the dead from preternatural slumber.
Within fractured milliseconds, the cycle of the tormented deceased rise
From the ashes of unburnt airwaves,
Rippling through screaming minutes yet frozen in the midst.
A varicosed bearded woman floats aloft grassy overgrowth
Reanimated tigers lurk and phantasmal elephants howl,
Rings round the air in gaseous hush, like cigars puffed by moustachioed men of game,
Insufflating smoke with striped suits in candied reds and white.
The air rises to the resurrected show,
Cries confused for laughter tickle cochlea of the living.
Late afternoon.
I settle into the last warmth
cradled in a patch of mottled sunlight.
The garden is beginning to darken
and fold away.
Is this all there is ?.
Reflections in the cooling air,
cloudy streaks on a lens
trying to focus meaning,
a pale flickering
of things going out.
No crescendos of birdsong
or the wind booming
in the air above,
nothing but a shallow breath
leaving not even the slightest
ripple on the still
of a late afternoon -
something seeping
into a nowhere
with just enough left over
to spill into tomorrow.
If love does not live so that love may live,
Wrecked on rugged rock like a pirate ship;
Tiresias speaks to hearts—no love to give,
Darkness and void with no inspired lips;
If love is quashed short of its golden prime,
Like dinosaurs smashed by a meteorite;
Crushed from its age of blossoming on time,
Like breath strangled from life not to unite!
Then O’ love, send me Pegasus to ride,
Spread your wings—lift us to Zeus in the sky;
Touching constellations with them abide,
Creating cherished crescendos for weepy eye:
Lightning life beaming love from golden clouds
Descending passion upon earth erasing shrouds!
The silent dark encroaches
with another hollow night.
Old poets whisper sonnets
of love and sacrifice.
Her lips move to each arduous verse;
the emptiness advances.
Crescendos find their soaring crests.
A taunting shadow dances.
The moment lingers at a peak
then brings a slow descent.
And as the final stanza bows
her yearning heart relents.
Her memory finds his gentle face.
His voice resounds a vow.
And a quiet faith moves through her
expelling any doubt.
Soon her love will cross the sea;
his promises to keep.
Until that time, the poets sing
and soothe her soul to sleep.
The laundry on the line is dancing in time
to a wind whipped tune in early June
it tosses and turns, it whooshes and whirls
around and around in a yard before noon.
As clothes gayly flow, with pink socks in tow
the magic of the cool breeze surrounds
while bold colored shirts flirt with frilly skirts
the gossip from lace nighties abounds.
Sweet dresses sway and swiftly sashay
‘round blue jeans and tee shirts alike
they flip and they flap, they jitter and snap
as the wind crescendos and spikes.
Sheets fill up and fluff in billowing puffs
‘til the breeze takes a break and rests
“hands” then appear to put an end to the cheer
and the clothes slump and know they must rest.
In all of my days, of this simple display
I had never imagined or thought
that a view from afar, a clothes line in a yard
could bring pleasure that cannot be bought.
5/5/2022