Best Flute Poems
"Play the flute of felicity! You, yourself, are the melody."
~ Rumi
Play the flute of felicity
Convey the melody of joy
Sway with the rhythm of gaiety
Allay all fears, all doubts destroy
Vibrate the air with your tempo
Create the beat for your flute song
Relate your passion with gusto
Captivate them with cadence strong
Replay this magical moment
Display your finesse that lingers
Portray your symphony intent
Slay them with fast moving fingers
Generate a heart-tugging tune
Indicate your mirth through the flute
Fascinate the crowd with your boon
Radiate ecstasy acute
Form: Double Lento
15th February 2023
For Constance La France's "Writing Challenge - F words" contest
A wooden flute,
I glimpsed among my mother’s treasured keepsakes in childhood.
being curious, asked her once…
I didn’t notice anyone playing the flute!
Why it seemed the most precious than everything else she cherished!
Hers was the saddest smile when she told me about her brother,
who played the flute when she sang,
passing away from tuberculosis, in his twenties ..
the implacable separation from her most loved one..
the two efflorescent roses on the same branch…
one fell and perished, when it could have blossomed and
charmed the earth with its fragrance!
When my mother passed away,
she asked me to bring the flute,
couldn’t believe my eyes ..how much comfort it brought to her,
touching and caressing that musical instrument with her fragile fingers…
and her last sigh was peaceful!
September 5, 2021
"This Or That - Vol. 6 " Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
My rhino can play the flute
And is good at the maracas to boot
Alas he is quite forlorn
For his flute bangs into his horn
So now he has a saxophone to toot
I walk an already trodden path...
Uncertain, of future lives that lie ahead
But, in faith I close these earthly Ojibwa eyes
In trill, thus, I hear the old ways in your presence amidst Chinook winds
As harmonic they play across the plains, from sacred astral pipes
Mimicking cricket songs that echo abstract out of the season's last autumn mist
I also hear your fifes in the rustle of the leaves, rising into writhe
And almost see your spirit aura as it accompanies the Algonquian breeze
Ancient ghost of proud, but now lost upon a dying nation tribe
Your music from beyond is narrations of a mystical language nature speaks
Sweeping thrush calls, chirps through weeping willow weeps,
Unto past September sounds, beating down on war drum clouds, of thundering maelstrom claps
And babbling brooks going on and on until narrowing creaky creeks
Alas, whooper wills warning and morning loons mourning, hidden amidst the swaying grass
When I see you, I imagine spectral legends majestic high across horizon's sky
Snowy silhouettes in headdress, drifting in flowing rainbow crowns
And with the night, I see you in my mind dance as the "Will-Ó-the-wisp" just might
Then, my body shivers from the distance, where your flute imitates the cry of the lone coyote's sound
As for all of your Mishomis (grandfather) traditions, I accept there is a greater essence
Kindred I am, son to your spirit and without partition from an Ojibwa eye
And I stand here staunch in cattail marshes, pondering my place in ancestral questions
Now, your answers again begin to play upon the wind, but this time traveling through the November... Whispers on needles of the pine
I walk an already trodden path...
But, each new step before me keeps this culture alive...
Written in honor of my Chippewa family ©2012 Michael G. Smith
From the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound
the lamas leap and the water falls-- clear,
mindful, the wind's play on the Quechua's ground.
The majesty of the Andes astounds
for from behind the clouds, the peaks reappear.
From the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound.
Like great red-clay dunes or snow capped mounds;
courts rise and fall in terrain, so austere;
mindful, the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
Rainbows of red, blue, and gold oft surround
distant ruins of gray stones, now severe
from the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound.
Solid, earth-bound, sun-browned, lost to the hounds,
so, Quechua shepherds bound stairs cavalier--
mindful; the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
Pachamama's love surrounds without bounds,
long gone are the conquers; all life is here,
from the mountain's peak, the wooden flutes sound--
mindful, the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
* Quechua is one of the native people of Peru
**The Dominican Monks set hounds trained to kill
on the natives who refused conversion.
*** Pachamama, fertility Godess in Incas Mythos
Through closed eyes, I see what has become of your land.
I hear flutes, blessings drifting across a land filled with
highways and stoplights, never silenced.
Through closed eyes, I see children screaming and running,
smoke from soldier's muskets settling upon their fallen bodies.
Through closed eyes, your drums still beat, Warriors still dance,
and strength of your Elders lives on.
Through closed eyes, flutes are heard,
and Spirits
never die.
Minnesota
12/26/12
A stick of simple bamboo. .
A wood of no repute.
Hollow, empty, dull...
Deaf and dumb..so mute.
Then..just a few holes they put..
and Oh!! ..how it looked so cute.
Behold the brown bamboo..
It changed itself to a flute.
Fingers flowed..
Sliding the route so smooth.
Acoustics played paradise. .
So serene and so soothe.
Soft humming sound it found..
Pied Pipers tuned in all around.
Breathing melody deep from heart
Mellifluous magic ? or
Music of Mozart?
What an harmony...What an art!
Lord Krishna embraced ...
His immortal part.
The music of the flute..
In resonance with the Truth.
The world bowed down..
to love and salute...
The 'Opera' of life..a divine astute.
~ Flute Song ~
Born in the deep depths of a hollow womb
Winsome notes float out with a sweet perfume
Poetic pearl tones glow through twilight gloom
And from sacred shadows pure music blooms
A haunting call from melody’s cocoon
Heaven’s breath invites trills of joyful tunes
Spread on sweet silver wings ‘cross fields and dunes
Wand’ring lithe airs born burst from tone heirlooms
Argent brush of angel’s wings for new moons.
11-2-22
Contest: Monomixorhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Hilo Poet
Syllables check with www.howmanysyllables
Rhymes checked with www.rhymezone
Pursed
Lips
Again
Yield
Through
Holy
Exhalation
Fine-tuned
Lyrical
Unclouded
Tonal
Ecstasy
My favorite instrument: the Flute
My first and only instrument I received as a little girl was
a Flute.
My godfather had gotten me a Flute after he and my mom had broken up. I don’t recall what happened to my Flute.
A few years later I had a music class my Freshman year in high school and we all got black plastic Flutes we were supposed to learn how to play in music class.
As an adult and a lover of good music I wish I had learned to play the Flute. I’d play in music videos on BET and on the sidewalks of city streets collecting money to pay my bills.
The life of a musician is fun and interesting. You love to travel, play your instrument and collaborate with other artists but never have much money! LOL
my mother had two tokens she never parted with -
a book containing music notations,
and a flute, made of brass.
her favourite book had her name handwritten on the cover,
and the unadorned flute had a name engraved on it.
she lost her brother when he was in his twenties,
to tuberculosis,
it was he who wrote her name on the cover,
with calligraphic dexterity.
he played music on the flute...
mesmerizing audience with cadence of the melody
while she sang
and danced like a captivating fairy,
until the disease took over,
and one fateful day, he was gone.
the flute remained with her....
the day she passed away.
she asked me to open a sandalwood box,
and there it was! The Flute!
she touched it, caressed the name with her frail fingers,
and closed her tired eyes.
April 1, 2021
Inspired by " Last Token" Premiere Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Placed Third
In the snow and ice,
a flute is played in the blizzard
by someone who makes tunes like a wizard
to tame the weather, in order to create paradise
Snowflakes fall ever so slow,
the wind softly breezing by the flute in the ever-white land
forever striving in eternal glow
and happiness is always at hand
The girl picked up the flute and played.
It sang and sang and sang;
Sometimes low like a wild cat’s purr;
Sometimes high like a songbird.
Sometimes loud like a charging bull;
And sometimes quiet like a whisper that dances in your ears.
for Wallace Stevens
it's not an ordinary toot
That's played upon the golden flute.
One time a man asked me to play
Upon my flute his flustered way.
I said, "This is no substitute!
This is the esoteric flute!"
He looked at me and muttered. "Shoot."
I then began to play a scene
Of lovely notes in floating green,
Then asked the doubting, blinded brute,
"Now have you heard such from a flute?"
"Such notes, " he said, "I've never seen;
But I detest the color green.
Play me red notes. Blue is cute.
Come honk them on your golden flute."
Such people I have never seen
Who doubt my melodies played green;
And so I thought, and so was mute,
But floored him with my golden flute.
Exotic perfumes opulent
Hibiscus and jasmine sentient
Charming flute and sitar entice
Indian chants undulating
Heads pivoting eyes inviting
Warm smiles reminiscent of spice
Voices that throw you in a trance
In a most voluptuous dance
Timing of twirling so precise
Long black waves of ebony hair
Swaying through the sumptuous air
Sweet frangipanis caressed thrice
Exotic perfumes opulent
Most seductive graceful movement
Colorful sari paradise
Hand caresses so alluring
Romantic moves hypnotizing
Expressive beguiling eyes slice
Through melodic extravagance
Beckoning magic’s elegance
Playing on heart strings that suffice
Such flair as spry as pure prayer
Let your soul embark if you dare
Swirls of sensuous bounty twice
Hibiscus and jasmine sentient
Charming flute and sitar entice
Exotic perfumes opulent
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~NAMASTE~ 2020
AP: 3rd place 2020, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on April 29, 2020 for contest STRAND PICK H sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 3RD
on January 31, 2019 for contest 2019 POETRY MARATHON MILE 14 sponsored by MARK TONEY
and May 30, 2018 for contest HUTINASHRO sponsored by CONNOR LOTTS