Best Etude Poems
Soaking up sunshine on sandy warm shores;
sipping sangria while sampling smores.
Under umbrellas we’re putting to use;
utterly euphoric as the day comes unloose.
Mid-morning mildness is making me muse;
mild mannered time I must never misuse.
Madness of midnight is making mandates;
making fond memories while mingling with mates.
Eating cold eskimo pies by sea’s edge;
enjoying the easy life nothing can enhedge.
Resting by the river with rod and reel;
ready for catfish their tails to reveal.
Tracking the bull toads and catching tadpoles;
Taking it easy as heat takes its toll.
Ice cold sangria will surely incite;
into the icer, our friends we’ll invite.
Mid-summer party and merry we’ll make
memories to make us forget our mistakes.
Ending this etude I hope you enjoyed
every small ethos that I just employed.
June 9, 2018
Contest: Alliteration Old or New
Sponsor: Joseph May
Thirty years on, across our globe, my daily ritual.
Alone, surrounded, marching silently forward,
the vast weight of humanity moving back and forth,
in an awkward dance, street theater for the masses.
A piano and a flute, emoting to this interlude,
the analog broadcast, my chosen soundtrack, together
with the metronomic pulse of my worn out wipers,
as they collaborate with the falling snow. Half asleep,
I contemplate the sweetness of this etude, on the radio.
Two instruments, a man and his car, a piano and a flute
building a theme and gathering speed, captivate me
as I am drawn in, the audience applauding in gratitude.
In this exalted state of grace, the light changed a little too fast,
and I was caught by the flash that soon will be a demand for cash.
Haiku 2 Do About U
Should I tell U how
Love 4 U within me sings?
Swinging scatted tune
Haiku About U
Sound brought me 2 U
Feelings for U clear and pure
Dulcet notes on glass
Haiku II About U
Time always 4 U
Time 4 Me? When U want 2.
Metronome off cue
Tru Blu Haiku
Customer Service
Counter for unwanted things
Symphonies in blue
Haiku What U Do
U caused me true pain
My heart a minor etude
Composed in lieu of rain
Blue Haiku N Rue
Silence with me now
Heart pacing on shards of glass
Strewn beneath its feet
quatrain
Clearly put - the star was up to no good.
Musicians have an innate sense of time.
The guests, notwithstanding, all understood
their host - a conductor well-past his prime.
Novice performers, the host chose just three
for the opening event of the night.
His niece, as it happened, was one invitee;
he could still orchestrate who’s in the limelight.
While each one of the fledgling young trio
aced their solo in the gateway prelude,
the simply grand - violin virtuoso
excelled in his mellifluous etude.
Not wanting to move on his host and niece,
the star asked for an encore from her flute.
Would she segue into his final piece?
(in the vernacular of music’s astute).
The auspiciousness of the occasion
would exalt any young lady to conceit.
With tempo way fast for the transition;
it was clear she had been swept off her feet.
Artist: Lowercase Noises - Title: The Things Your Eyes Have Seen
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnU0aOA788U&list=RDGnU0aOA788U
written 5 Feb. 2016.
Life in Indigo Mood
The gray cat’s a drowsy pet,
during days of blue violet.
Noon sun rays fill beige rooms,
hastening A-bomb dooms.
Patent leather rules on Sundays.
Clothes are crucified on Mondays.
Soap operas, ice water and fans
Lux for lovely, soft, clean hands
Golden era times etude
Song of life in indigo mood.
10/25/15
I hear the words. In autumn's silent verse
lie anapestic wafts of falling leaves
with golden syllables both bright and terse,
the crimson pluck of summer as it grieves
its loss of verdant shimmer. In the wake
of crisp and subtle gusts the florid blades
crescendo as the sunlight comes to slake
a thirst for saffron til the morning fades
into the afternoon. Throughout the day
as cherries black and sweet scaled up and down
the August clef these notes atonal splay
like drifting heart beats, every verb and noun
irregular. September's brusk intrude
has come to hold in taciturn embrace
the last of shy begonias, an etude
in bitter truth as spiders' tattered lace
lilts in wisteria. I hear the moans
of aimless cadence rattle through the trees
as nascent winter's catechumen hones
his hiemal vespers by dead white degrees.
I can't obsess. It's early fall, yet I
am not immune to meter in the loft
of birch unleafing to the gloaming sky.
And though the fledgling whisper is still soft
as eider I hear words. The coarse enjambed
reprises with the start and stop of wind
presage the future of a world that's dammed
in ice without damnation of the sinned.
I can't escape the scape. The pewter gape
of frost bound windows as October girds
for gelid isolation brings the scrape
of branches on the glass. I hear the words.
9/9/19
I freely admit I love classical music,
And please don't think me a snob
If I keep my composure
When I mention composers
As Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, and Schumann,
And not Ludie, or Wolfie,
Or Petie, or Bob.
And a symphony simply cannot be enjoyed
At just any old time of the day.
I can't listen to them
Prior to seven p.m.,
And I don't mean to brag, but I couldn't be dragged
To a Wednesday or Saturday matinee
Of a ballet by Bizet or Massenet.
My taste in classical music, you see,
Is eclectic, but not meant to shock.
I choose Strauss for the schmaltz
Of a polka or waltz,
And Chopin is my dude when I crave an etude,
But I do tend to doze in my seat in the loge
Through an opera by Wagner…
Or more Offenbach.
Exotic egos evade exit endings, encompass=ing eccentric
extensive earwaxed essentials/ergo enameled equi,
existentials everexuding extra egg entrenched eyecons,
extricating eerie effervescent
ephemerals. Ecoli epitaths engulfing erratic enticing eras, escorting
electric eel embraces establishing estival estates ever enticing
etiological esrogenic excerpts effecting extracurricular edsel
edacious eddy ecto estrogenic ecstacies---endemic endowments
enervative energies, etheral engagements, ethylolic etudes eulogized
evinces evasive evidenced evil equipped evocative enforced
excimer excised exercised excessed extrapolated, extended, excess-ed
extravagantly exualted enviously extroverted extrinsic extrose
excused excited exclusive evolved evangalized eventualated
everlasting etude estranged estopped etched eternal enriched
enthralled estate established espirited expressed essemplastic
erosive erratic errantly erased equipoposed epitomized eualized
epicured entombed enthused entertained enthroned entitleded
enlightened enlaced enmeshed enlisted enlarged endured.
Enclosed encounters enlist enclaved endeavors. Endangered
empathys em pale emotive embalmings empty emulsions
extricated eleventh elevated elegant elementary existentials.
Elderly ego ejections, elastic executions, egrets. Ecstatic entrails
endorsed. End-demic equivalents extracted.
Might he find it in him self to
see error in his previous thought
than might he recognize the
way his lyrics and music
might blend together to
be heard in the finest hall's
of this world.
Those lovers, and those who love music
might come together to and hear
the sweet tones of tenors, alto's, soprano's
rangey, and rangeier
Etude inspro' Vivace?
perhaps, or which, watching to await
seen then in performance
those of Decapp Grooves
Consonancnist Contralto
Legato Motif? Objectio's of Cantar
might he than show a world
of unloved folk, that togetherness in music
can inspire healthy relationships
the kind that blossom and bloom, without taking from others
than when sum see
The.................................Fermata........................................!
they will stand and say Bravo! bravo ! Bravo!
The sounds of words , Written as lyrics, Sang to Music(complimentery)
and enjoyed by those who wish to repart take in such endeavors.
Nights for lovers, and Lovers of Music.
That those the world abroad might ask, who inspired such,
that these mentions gather interest..
Than might the person marry, and shall be happy from such these inspirations.
He might be blue due to the fact that they boo'd him twenty miles away of his home town, they cheered him at home. He introduced his New lover amiss the boo's.
For M.
Nothing in life repeats itself
Even when it seems to repeat
It's never the same
Every incoming moment
Every small piece of space
Brings with it another sign of novelty
And you are not even you
A little later on
And I'm not me
When I finish this word
Each instant ages instantly
And turns gray like every man
Bringing another world
Only the fact that I love you
Never changes
Form:
My nocturne is a mighty wind
blowing across fragrant skin
the world relentless in its struggle
she is an etude, I know that now
it comes along in whispers
between strangers who share the feeling
of what it is to love the April breeze
so many of us acknowledge virtue
in the shining disc of the sun
with all its unique perfections
nothing seems too onerous
with a little sunlight dashed upon it.
Wait till you feel the strangeness
of a cold summer day, I tell myself
April is not through yet, still my heart remembers
the warm summers of laughter
and the imperfect world making its way
along with the seasons
like a romantic bride off to see the whole of Europe
on her exciting honeymoon.
HAZELS KITCHEN
How many meals have we children eaten there?
Although possible to count, it’s vaporized in thin air.
Zilch is not the number and we don’t have a clue,
Eating was foremost but mom had other offerings too.
Longing as we do for her kitchen’s sights and sounds,
Scarcely any scraps ever left for neighboring hounds.
Kings’ never ate better and it’s very easy to see,
I just look in the mirror at the extra inches on me.
This little lady knew more than just how to cook.
Calmly speaking without hesitation or a second look,
“Heavenly Father, bless this food.” reverential in mood.
Each word gave us a lesson, in her non-musical etude.
Now mom cooks in heaven waiting for us to arrive.
Thee nonpareil Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan
blessed honest to dog goodness her person doth bring
never could her brother wish upon NON GMO
(archaeopteryx, buffalo, chicken...) wing,
and genuine prayer anybody more a maze zing.
Many countless years before
our dear mother passed away four
plus eleven earth orbitz ago,
she voluntarily repeated more
times than I can remember "your
older sister possesses altruistic qualities."
The above words enclosed by this bloke
with double quotation marks, okey-doke
not necessarily the way mama spoke,
but yours truly took poetic liberty
without any intention generating impulse to choke
the harmless, nameless, and stateless writer
and literally went bonkers
while going for Baroque
for recognized virtue that recently woke.
Kinship towards angelic, fantastic, pacific anchor
understandable why her spouse did hanker
during their courtship to pledge his troth
to maneuver metaphorical
hook, line, and sinker as though steadying a tanker.
Innocence and naïveté suffused little boy
occupying body of aging long haired
pencil necked geek without gainful employ
and (and as a shy person without benefit
of powdered milk biscuits)
generally trended solitary
verses masing with hoi polloi,
nevertheless ofttimes relentlessly teased
bully me, I loathed treatment on par
with worthlessness linkedin with discarded toy,
thus gratitude prevails toward eldest sibling
(no matter just thirteen plus months older)
pseudo motherhood she did deploy
to ward off aggressive monsters.
I reckon eyes appreciation
matured into present thankful attitude,
now with mooch time to ponder and brood
how earlier in my life behavior childish and crude
methought meself as hotshot dude,
yet these days, I couch sincerity writing
one or another poetic endeavor
knitting words analogous to composing an etude
contemplative, intuitive, and ruminative mental food
for thought hoop ping to convey
honest to goodness gratitude
communicating reasonable rhyming message
(if yee be downcast dearly beloved sister)
delivering uplifting, kickstarting exalting mood.
Oh those pizzicato drops
Play a frantic melody
Tour the scale from high to low
Bravo! from the sleepy heads below
The maestro empties out the clouds
And then so quickly steals away
But he'll be back to play again
So lovely to have my roof of tin.....
An etude is a musical piece, usually very difficult, that is especially written
to help develop musical techniques...
“The number 34 is the magic constant of the 4 by 4 magic square shown on the engraving “Melencolia I“ by Albrecht Dürer. Wikipedia"
Oh, my room’s square melancholy!
Les femmes préfèr les hommes au Lee*.
My bed is empty, my ripped jeans
alas, are still on me. It means
you did not come. I’m thirty four.
I've never been so crushed before.
A dusk, a stillness, an alone
shade on the wall, a sleeping phone,
a melancholical etude
of poet’s square solitude.
(fr.) Women prefer men in Lee jeans. A pun: it sounds in French like “Women prefer men in bed” (au lit).
18.07.2019
Writing Challenge 2, July 2019- Melancholy- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart