Best Harmonised Poems
Mandolin melodies harmonised horizons,
yet the only strings being strummed
were those of my heart.
In the midst of enchanting melodies,
where nothing else mattered, but her,
we wandered barefoot, hand in hand,
as the tenderness of our steps decorated the sand.
In the simplicity of pure beauty, lost in a moment of perfection.
We lay admiring the heavens, watching daylight drift away.
The jealous golden orb silently sank, as colourful skies summoned
illuminated expressions to light up a black and white world.
In darkness we lay and gazed
lost in the silent serenity of the stars,
until the tranquillity of her sequin eyes
hypnotised my soul and I danced devoted
to the magnificence of her delicate elegance.
The whisper of sweet sentiments
revealed our secret serenade.
In the distance an orchestra of humming birds
hummed the chorus of our passionate song.
Her arms like celestial wings, embraced me close.
Her surreal kiss guided my lips home.
As waves washed away our footsteps,
the moon closed its eyes, as millions of shy stars
hid behind a blanket of nocturnal clouds.
Silent One
Simple Musings
10 December 2017
As the glistening jewels
of snow cascade like
ballerinas pirouetting
to the crescendo of time,
choreographed from porcelain
keys of your h e a r t,
delicate fingers of the
winter moon stretch,
enveloping forlorn footprints
of poignant memories,
framed with petal-like poems
you've placed in the
gallery of my melancholic mind
where soulless shadows still~
haunt me in holographic
hues through somber nights, but
If I were to rewrite the anatomy
of this romance with~
juxtapositions, should I rescript
your promises in p s y c h e d e l i c ink?
knit silken sonnets from the
tapestry of scintillating
stars in our favour,
letting go of all the
seasonal silhouettes
that seized redolent rhymes,
maybe, it is from pain
we relearn to dream
in periwinkle pigments to
nurture and navigate through
decayed gardens embalmed in
opalescent tears and fluorescent fears
suppressed and
personified within gossamer
tales of sunflower s i l e n c e…
Quilted with questions that your
quintessential quill can~
reveal, in romanticised verses, to wade
through the abstracts of weary woes.
So, set your stones to
architect cobalt grey lanes,
to usher feathered thoughts into the
serenity of your scented sanctuary.
until I find the perfect gateway
adorned with crystals in the
verdant valleys, engrossed in vanilla flakes,
where cosmic yearnings are embroidered
between mauve instruments
harmonised from
xylophone whispers reverberating
in vermilion s t i l l n e s s…
You will always be the
clementine crown of my sun,
the scarlet scrapes in my ink,
zested in zealous dahlias
and no rain can drown
this celestial
c o l l a b o r a t i o n…..
Elegant frequent interludes
Ebony and ivory harmonised
The maestro raises his hands
A single note from a violin
Reverberates the soul within
Piano keys dance the storm
Conductor's baton waves the way
The orchestra now as one
Vibrations pounding in my heart
Sweet cellos and harps sing
Two dueling clarinets take front stage
Silhouetted angels fill the mind
As the beating of timpanis start
A fluttering flute swiftly flies
With dulcet melodies swirling about
A double bass begins the final coda
Then blissfully, I open my eyes
Thumbs Up To The Journey
At the footbridge as it bridges past from present future and perspectives your
feet might be-come and may be-go confused be-fuddled as can your mind before
the shadows rainbows feathered fancy pastel tunes and blues-bound colours
can memories anticipation taking-stock ooze pots and lots of lived experience
re-scribed re-told rewound projected narrated from emotive thoughts
stand still
At the bridge as it cradles the canyon with ladles and measures of the moment
where it spans what once was what you enrich in here and now not there and then the sweeping meadows fields of harvest schisms unions paradigms evaluations can treasures scary scars letting-go liberate scents and stents of living fragrance perceived untold configured touched upon stocked up condensed
reflected wait
The past is yet to come and not withstanding what bridge which side what size
and whence long gone remembrance spins and spans and slows and speeds the motion the sunrise dusk and dawning tapestry mosaic photographic lens sensations can truth reality attitudes and imperfections find soul and solace shared solitude re-modelled shaped anew confronted soothed harmonised
accentuated rise
The future has arrived and has been long projected and the past is living on
where they settle and sizzle on in ember’s glory and ashes to ashes and Phoenix in flight when horizons and boxes un-boxed wriggling worms preceding grave graves can joy pleasure senses and sexes passion peace human works of art in progress accepted invited challenged unchallenged channelled welcomed
gratitude prevail
At the foot-bridge at the mind-bridge where it bridges cradles sweeps your meaning brushes and jungles juggles and wonders which hand’s intuition which path to follow lie the answers to the questions asked lie the questions known and
not yet explored
24th July 2016
The walls open their eyes as
the mantids begin to weave
a loving celestial vibe, incensing
the onset of this boundless drive
Not questioning if one will retain
sentience, escaping for a time
confinement within her hive
machine-like serpentine's
propel mega metallic craft
exerting complex, magically carved
oaken ores
opening dimensional gateways
ascending straight-through
intensified vibrational planes
utilising the great wave
unlocking these secret doors
Fantastic crystal-blue eyed
gnomes with iridescent feather
shaped cheekbones perform
a dance, whilst oscillating
their elongated gold spoons
Traces of a nameless ancient face on
innumerable orange-pinkish moons
within vast space, divinely harmonised
eternally ringing out in high tune
Predict every possible way for a world war to break out and prevent them
In times of need
set up the dominos of disaster
dont think there is no god in control with a plan
and a blue print
and when the scripts come out for the world layers
on how to get along
all my generation has to do is rehears it
and learn from it
and pass it to the next
live in peace forever with the perfect harmonised seven characteristic leaders
of the world scripted politics perfected for peace
because the geniuses solved the riddle of thou shalt not kill
then show man how to perform a man made miracle
and pass it down as a legacy of peace and life lessons to the next generation
as they figure out metaphorical riddles of knowledge
and work towards the wonder if you can become the god trainer
and pull of the surprise holiday?
You were like the proud king lion,
Strong with thick main,
No hair out of place deliberately.
Constantly parading by your pack;
Commendation stood tall in there,
No questions, phraseology or rubs,
The podium harmonised plans,
To scrub up for an alighting,
Before medium light settled;
Hereward stood better than the rest,
And all needed to agree with you,
Then you roared at me with jesting jaws.
You were like a bird,
Not specifiable,
Except by the RSPB,
In a crowd which could only brake,
Under a focused eye,
One son too unstable,
Flying through the clouds,
In a flock,
Only falling for a reason.
You were like the hawk’s eye,
On me, all the time, relentlessly,
To see if I wanted to follow,
Or else love the arm amputee;
My friends were not yours,
Your mind was not mine,
I was your perusal,
but I was also your feed,
To sicken or to satisfy.
You were like the bear,
Dangerous because you swear,
Calling people skanks,
Just for walking able-bodied;
Separation has its faults,
And Hereward students,
Were only assisted anyway,
To love able-bodied people,
For their sameness to us,
In mind, body and fashion,
In heart, beliefs and views,
In vision and in choices.
You were like the sheep,
Most truly, conclusively,
With secrets and shyness,
Insecurities filled your vision,
Until the leader in you died:
You resided within your norm,
Of wheelchairs being normal,
Mounting the ewe in incest,
To your sacred inside.
But you were frightened inside really,
If the truth is to be told,
Of enrolling in Coventry University:
Your Hereward lane,
Of educated brains,
Of medical people and care staff,
Of other disabled students,
Who had been in physio like you,
Made you recline into your sleep,
Didn’t let you live or jirate.
But you were my sheep,
And you lost your white coat.
My palette is my imagination.
I paint pictures with my words.
Swirling colours of composition.
Mixing metaphors - agitating them
with the paintbrush in my mind.
My vocabulary is my keyboard.
Trilling notes of expression.
Crescendo of composition...
tumbling, falling....allegro, or
andante, and harmonised in my creativity.
My glossary is my tapestry.
Fixed firmly to the frame of verbal
inventiveness. Stitched in synchronacity.
Cross stitched sometimes - or
tacked in draft for later publication.
I cannot sing to you in thrilling arias.
I cannot paint for you on colourful canvas.
I cannot play for you in perfected pitch.
I cannot hang my works of art,
but I can write what's in my heart -
and, maybe, I'll touch yours?
4.
the sex-appeal of the telephone
and the bugle of the carnies-breaking cock-crows
are all harmonised seamlessly
the noon in the blood
is flowing along the river
all the dialogues are covered
with misspelling of men and women
the tailors want to increase life
cutting rightly the walking of clothes
after the vanishing of collyrium
from the eyes
there is not a single being
in the relief-camps
as far as the eyes can travel
i can notice in the ear-lob of the village-boats
the water-colour of fire-flies
twinkles
then let an agreement be signed
with the defence ministry
on the right
to enter into private bathroom
5.
in the air
on which flowers are engraved
the union of the betel leaves are making their outposts
anew
before the calling of the next pine-woods
you all the butterflies do take on board the tram
to go to the south-pole
is it well to incline so much
towards the tv-screen
who can say
the waves of the terracotta
would never make revolution
i’ve sent some full-moons of winter
and some water-bodies
into the holes of the handkerchief
the lacking of the colours
may kindly be excused
the birds that are blind from their birth
has been singing till now
the songs of the cave-civilisation
there is no question any where
this eclipsed-valley is adorned
with the answers only
It all began as normal
The fiddler's practice session.
Lively rousing tunes
Were his prime obsession.
A frog leapt suddenly with a croak
On the final rise of the bow.
" Keep playing! We'll collaborate! "
He ordered with a bellow.
The fiddler laughed and asked the frog,
" Do you know any songs? "
With widened eyes, patience worn thin,
He yelled, " Just play! I'll croak along! "
He did just so and to his surprise
They harmonised quite well.
Though the frog was bossy and rather rude,
The fiddler fell under his spell.
Since their first rehearsal
The local towns and pubs they tour.
The fiddler obeys the frogs commands
So his ears don't get sore.
Written 18th January 2023
For: The Fiddler and The Frog Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Athletic angels are analytical and archaic. But dust bombs do not derive from red, yellow, blue and purple shimmer shimmers nor do they derive from green, pink and orange glitter glitters. A hesitation of hue is not a hut queuing, a cart horse dancing in a ballet or a valley rising and spinning around and around. And always be very aware that the wearing of a coat in a moat is not advisable and pickles cannot ski in a pan so one must follow and adhere to the currents of the darting rivers and play in the littlest leaf boats to be seen then take several journeys up and down the waters for to travel is to take teachings and to take teachings is akin to Trapezing, or going on a pogo stick down a very busy motorway. Great then. Fantastic isn't it? Blossom not the seed of a giant kettle for giant kettles can appear harmless and harmonic but are actually in a boil and to be in a boiled state is said to be a wild and violent strength that should be timely avoided as to stop any corrosion coming from the steam. But to bloom a blanket by a stream in the heat of the midnight or the haze of a summer day is widely considered to be quite normal really. Particularly when the blanket is chatting. And the pillows have finally found some sleep. The gushing of the waters bring renewal and cleansing to unsurfaced unfaced areas of brief eye spots in a leopard tree. And a tingle tangle song is said to be the sweetest song belonging to no one but harmonised by many creative calming creators. Moon dance jive on a pickling fork. Haha the wheeled vehicle of a very loud obnoxious telephone is dashing to see a film with the carbonated cables. Hahaha the goldfish are all leaving their bowls and sailing out of houses in special water suits. Xxxxx cosmological calf said "moo" loudly to a blade of grass today. And a wildebeest snores in a back gammon game. Twenty six left angled shots in a interplanetary billiard game. And a central arch of a plate dancing in a discotheque whilst eating several cup cakes. Xxxxx astrologically z z z z z at twenty nine mules to eleven lamposts. In a forest glade chewing a toffee and treacle pie. Z.
Inherently people are prone to pry
Wherever there is more than meets the eye.
Black and white, by patent definition,
Dazzle in latent opposition.
Byproduct of a shady interplay -
Panoply of 50 hues of grey.
The contrast between black and white
Is not as trite as day and night.
In former days they harmonised
On the big screen before our eyes.
Beware of black, beware of white -
Clandestine colours out of sight.
Verse 1
There's a father in heaven, who always leads me by the hand
Who picks me up if I would fall, a father who always understands
He takes me to his dwelling place, where I can go to seek his face
His face
I have found my hope in you, you reflect a solemn truth
Golden crowns I will accrue, you will see my victory through
A harmonised refreshing dew, for I live to follow you
Follow you
Chorus
If you would shine your light, if you would shine your light
A promising refining, of no greater timing
Casting out the darkness, a divine fulfilment
Bringing all completeness
Stretch your mighty hand
Verse 2
Let your waters overflow, a joyful countenance to show
A faithful vine will surely grow, lead me to the place to go
For in you I will not lack, your promises, not taken back
Not taken back
As I bow you will arise, your awesome power realised
A mighty wonder symbolized, present glory magnified
Of your ways tested and tried, for you are the greatest prize
The greatest prize
Chorus X2
Bridge X2
If you would shine your light, if you would shine your light
Bringing all completeness, stretch your mighty hand
Outro
Oh yeah, ooh, oh yeah
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
| Oceans - Of Thought |
Harmonised hypothermia sets
through the darkened depth
of the chasm deep,
Like a heavy-weighted wreck
of my linguistic mind.
As blithe planulae float
amongst the turquoise torrents
of the surging tides.
Efflux my porous skin
that secretes the bitter brine,
Void of lust, my halitous breath.
When will I find the courage
that guillotine faith;
cut across these saline soothing shores
That reflects like crystalline glass,
that rips and takes.
But, incompetent to see more;
the calm of the sea.
But under tide
the waves topple above
like whitewash remembrances
Beckoning me to emerge and find,
Flavours of youth
in the lull of the sea
So I begin searching of forever freedoms
in the caress of the breeze.
I say my adieu to the abyss-abundant sea
My love for the ocean;
Is a coral of burnt sienna,
tipped with lanvanda,
and blushing pinks.
The azure's solvent divinity
has annihilated fear
Like an oakum of my sanity
My mind finally carefree.
Jettison the code of silence...
tune in to the understand...
Boot straps are a tightened....
controversial harmonised...
rebirth the code resilience...
critically acclaimed aware...
The tar that once stuck
to the sole of our shoes...
...Has all but disappeared...
Some sense the new beginning...
...the chaos they avert...
...The code has been rewritten...
...a reply yielded
The code will serve us well...
In the silence we rethink...