Best Descant Poems
THAW AT CROWSNEST PASS
Huge mountains massed and cliffs sheer. It’s March
And endless blue sky cold is held back by the Chinook arch,
Snowy prairies rolling into their thousand-mile realm -
The landscape is gigantic, majestic, orchestrated to overwhelm.
But I stand and watch the lake-ice thaw,
Surprised by the tiny delicate music -
Descant ice - jingling, jangling, tinkling
In delicate accompaniment to the giant symphony.
Ice chunks tangled in slow waves with the wind
Tiny tintinnabulation before total ablation.
There is silence and harmony around the sound,
The small melody of the ice breaking into spring’s chorus.
Note: Crowsnest Pass is the southernmost way through the Rocky Mountains in Canada
When Azrael* comes knocking, it won’t be with bony fists,
I believe, he’ll be a Doctor, with a cure,
Or a Maiden with her posies, a Knight jousting in the lists,
Or a gently whistling, mournful Troubadour.
When my time has come for leaving, I believe, I’ll punch him out,
Though I’ll break my hand in doing it, I’m sure
Or he’ll duck the blow and throw me o’er his shoulder like some lout
And I’ll have to go with him to Evermore.
I suppose he’s used to fearsome images, limned in the mind,
Where spectres, spooks and ghouls widely endure
But I think he’s just a jailer, come to open (and be kind)
The way out of a cage that serves, no more.
So, when he brings his medicine, I think I’ll swallow it,
And thank him for the friends he’s brought with him
I don’t believe he’ll be a jolly soul, although I wit
He’ll stroke my bald head, turn the lights to dim…
Or, when she shows me posies, with a certain tranquil air,
I deeply will inhale, nod, go to sleep,
And let her cool my hot brow with a hand that isn’t there,
Give thanks, she’s eased the passage I must keep.
Or, when he boldly rides at me, sharp angle to his spear,
I’ll bellow out a challenge, DING! his helm,
And keep my seat, take point through shield, ride at him without fear,
And know my lady watches o’er the realm.
Or, lastly, when he whistles a low tune that stills my heart,
I’ll join in, softly sing along with him,
As he plucks his sombre lute strings I will hum the descant part
And slowly fade away, heart in the trim.
____________
*Azrael – in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem of the same name, the Angel of Death
2/28/2019
Outside the classroom
Sun and cloud dapple the vale
Thrush rehearses triple phrase
The while overhead
Lark ascends in descant stream
Studies the Elysian scene
2 May 2019
Contest: Bite sized poem No.4
Humpback beauties call to their young
Communicating to calves so precious
Don't be so immediately audacious
You can wander, just don't go too long
Blubberous parents are there to keep them close
For companionship, warmth and learning
Send each other many signals, the little one is yearning
Because of the ocean they want to make the most
Eating their fill of plankton and krill
The smaller babe makes a hydro sonic point
To the older one who loves this oceanic joint
He doesn't want to hurt or kill
The humans who eavesdrop on their descant
Like some other whales with mammoth choppers
Accidentally maiming overboard fishermen and surfers
These watery wonders are appreciated that's all they ever want
Imbibing benevolent attention only for half a century
Deep sea divers first decided to bring down equipment
When he spoke his special song, they had no idea what the male bull meant
That day being approached he was so hesitant and on sentry
Because whalers before had waited for them to breach
The surface for mere minutes finding some oxygen
Finding instead a foreboding air of danger without question
So reclusive they remain, staying out of reach
Beaching is another danger when whales will cry
For help they so need it and must be rolled back out
A benign thing on sand dangerously sprawled about
Back into the depths it should be before it go dry
Nature's biggest mammals can never be at rest
In the wild and bountiful marine, using fluked tales to swim around
Whales have a lot to say, their stories abound
In civilized society with whale translators today we are at our best
Making compact discs of them, something special we can keep
The arias of the ocean composed of many shores
Whales speak responding in the ripples as prophets do with lore
It works quite well for some, to lull ourselves to sleep
We should always stay in assonance.
Life way back then when i was ten,
From wartime days, to peace again.
Few luxuries on ration books,
Not even scraps for feeding ducks.
But more important than our wealth,
To tend our needs the National Health.
As smoking chimneys mixed with fog,
Our lungs were filled with filthy smog.
Always hard up, no cash to spend,
My mum would say, make do and mend.
Bows and arrows, were once scrap wood,
We all took turns being Robin Hood.
Old pram wheels and packing cases,
Now soap box cars, for thrilling races.
In summertime, games in the park,
Promised my mum, home before dark.
Some orange juice with jam and bread,
Those poor little ducks, never got fed.
On sunny days we had picnics,
Saturdays our treat to watch the flicks.
In windy weather, flying our kites.
Our streets at night, lit by gaslights,
We raced pell-mell down helter skelters.
On top of disused air raid shelters.
Chumping wood for the Guy Fawkes fire,
Sundays, i sang descant, in the choir.
Wintertime rugby, for the school team,
Lots of energy, we let off steam.
Exam results were a big surprise,
Top of the class, winning first prize.
My eyes are set on my night Flight
I emerge into my rest
To lull over my surroundings
Lilt encompasses twilight
Descant enchantment to lovers
Destiny enlightens night
By: Eve Roper 1/14/2015
Descant hums of air,
Reverberate the forest;
A wind lullaby.
Spiraling snowflakes.
Dance ballerina duet.
Pas de deux descant.
Exuberant Light
Selfless rays spring from tonal anagrams
Crystal daybreaks that never know twilight
Released from the pure rhapsody “I Am”
Innocent of intention, free of night,
Nascent from infinity’s essence – light -
Unselfish benediction leaping up
Vitality born in perfection’s cup
Pure spirit, benevolent chivalry,
Enduring present animas closeup,
Crucible, animation’s ministry.
Breathless, lives without infected judgement,
Simply chanted bliss in the present tense
Torrents of chaste delight’s descant descent
Dainty clarity, effervescent zest,
Seeks no return – collects no interest -
Unselfish bounty - Eternal always –
Cascading lambent merriment of praise
No need of sun or moon nativity
Incorruptible abundance ablaze
Light sings everlasting festivity.
11-16-21
Contest: Agendaless Exuberance
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Syllables checked with PS
...inspired by 'August Rain' by Joseph Brodsky
The afternoon dissolves to darkness,
suddenly the downpour tumbles
and the spouts regurgitate.
Willows wilt and elm trees tremble,
intertwine, then dissassemble,
all awash in green and grey,
threads of nature cast asunder,
unattached they dance and scatter
at the dimming of the day.
Hedges stripped, once meshed together,
tree tops tussle in the fray,
the kettle sings a screaming descant,
shrieking o'er the storm's foray, and listen
to the cabin creaking, squeaking loud
as if to say, I'll bear this, and so much more.
Windows grey with condensation,
all are safe and warm before the fire.
Comfort can be relegated,
greatcoats hang from studded rafters,
scarves and mufflers blend together,
boots and slickers for the brave ones,
regimented rows aligned.
Now there's stew and home-made biscuits,
mugs of cocoa laced with rum,
a cure for nature's howl and hum.
The afternoon dissolves to darkness,
suddenly the downpour tumbles
and the spouts regurgitate.
Willows tilt and elm trees tremble,
intertwine, then disassemble,
all awash in green and gray,
threads of nature cast asunder,
unattached they dance and scatter
at the dimming of the day.
Hedges stripped, once meshed together,
tree tops tussle in the fray,
the kettle sings a screaming descant,
shrieking o'er the storm's foray, and listen
to the cabin creaking, squeaking loud
as if to say, 'I'll bear this now, and so much more.'
Windows gray with condensation,
all are safe and warm before the fire.
Comfort is for kids and grand folk,
greatcoats hang from studded rafters,
scarves and mufflers blend together,
boots and slickers for the brave ones,
regimented rows aligned.
Now there's stew and home-made biscuits,
mugs of cocoa laced with rum,
a cure for nature's howl and hum.
The afternoon dissolves to darkness,
suddenly the downpour tumbles
and the spouts regurgitate.
Willows tilt and elm trees tremble,
intertwine, then disassemble,
all awash in green and gray,
threads of nature cast asunder,
unattached they dance and scatter
at the dimming of the day.
Hedges stripped, once meshed together,
tree tops tussle in the fray,
the kettle sings a screaming descant,
shrieking o'er the storm's foray, and listen
to the cabin creaking, squeaking loud
as if to say, I'll bear this, and so much more.
Windows gray with condensation,
all are safe and warm before the fire.
Comfort is not relegated,
greatcoats hang from studded rafters,
scarves and mufflers blend together,
boots and slickers for the brave ones,
regimented rows aligned.
Now there's stew and home-made biscuits,
mugs of cocoa laced with rum,
a cure for nature's howl and hum.
Flouncing flamenco style or doubling up for a pass a doublet is neither a right or a wrong in a semi colon in nightgowns. But trespassing on a land? Really? Who said? Hum. Huh. Disgusting. Go irrigate a system. It is irrelevant in an underpass. Really. Are Astronaughts astronomically passing? Or is it the ordered preordained multitasking whisk that whirls around. Speaking in a descant voice is rather a pleasant octave. Ignoring ignorance irrationally is a quotation on a journey. But planting ones feet in a mystical view is an integral part of being a being and being a being is good and who would argue with a ninety thousand year old goldfish. Not wise. Not clever. Compunction compounds. I don't wanna wear clothes says I but I have to. Says who. Snails travel at high speeds un the morning. Hahahahahahahaha now eat. Hahahahaha boom bang. Imminent. Dangerous dogs demonic. No ha ha to that bunch of dying arranged posies. Xxxxx decriminalisation z
Eviscerate my being! Distort my face!
Bring me closure to my ego; replace!
Seizure in dark games through which we interlace,
Beckoning the reaper's embrace.
Subvert my empathy!
Break me into colluded ecstasy!
Mold me in your image of apathy!
Put me in a daze of senseful apogee!
If only I could help You experience the same...
If only I could put out what had went aflame...
If only I could rid you of your own self blame...
My ultimate goal- to personify your game..
Knowing I belong on greater stages;
I set out to share a seat among your stations!
As I'm marching alongside your pages,
I'm taunted by the echoes of ages,
mocked by divine wages.
Taxing are the paths to your way.
My will's faltering, hope's grey,
mind's in a state so risqué.
Tell me, is this the price that I must pay?
"Fractious paranoia vying to supplant.
Vying to take over, to ruin your descant.
To kill that which would lay bare, the one which I shan't.
And destroy the altar to which I hum and I chant."
bleakness of Autumn
on a cloudy-sunless day
muted colors droop
spirit’s s i l e n t interlude...
…blush of solo-leaf descant
12/1/2017
descant - a melody or counterpoint sung above the plainsong of the tenor
(from Merriam-Webster)