Best In Concert Poems
In all her glory, dawn has burst forth,
With a slight glow of early morning brightness
I sit in the bower, listening to birds in concert
And admire wonderful, Rosebuds unfold,
Revealing a beautiful red rose
With a precision wisp of light prancing around them
Emitting a velvety feeling, so tempting to touch
Long green stems, prickles,
Full of scallop trim leaflets all in green,
With brown thin veins
Around the red velvet leaves,
Music playing on cool fresh air
Coursing through the whispering leaves
Sweet aroma of moist dew and rose perfumes
Floating gently on the breeze
Gives me an intense curiosity to embrace the rose
Just the sight of the red roses
Reminds me to breathe
Reject not sweet musings memories evoke
Extolling elation our passions amplified
Assuage the fervid hints emotions stoke
That eternal vows once callously denied
Let bygones fade away on skyline bright
When your smile scintillates opaline skies
Being my delight of Venus every night
Blazing flame of desires glinting your eyes
“Share the hopes within you still
And hold the dreams that in you reside
Invite a kiss from parted lips
And trace the paths where hearts abide”
Awaken your impulses reveries fantasize
As nightmare of yore in womb of dawn dies
And ambiance of day, aspirations surmise
Where sparkles of amethyst glisten sunrise
Savor again missives your feelings confide
As pleadings of hearts doting souls revive
Let whispers of yearnings be your guide
While blossoms of romance fervently thrive
Entrust me your voice, music of my choice,
Strumming evermore rhythms of your song
In concert of my beats, it is you I rejoice
Pulsing my heart where forever you belong
May 28, 2021
Placed 1st: Choose your form 2 poetry contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Placed 1st: All yours (June 4) by Brian Strand
Soft lights with warm winds pirouetting in time
whispering its music so perfectly in rhyme
Hearts searching, ever searching for love's sweet caress
Wishing, ever hoping, to so tenderly possess
Moonlight in concert reflecting its bliss
Starlight's twinkle, a pretentious first kiss
Hearts searching, ever searching for love's sweet caress
Wishing, ever hoping, to so tenderly possess
The concert of summer called gently your name
Softly, by this music into my life you came
Hearts searching, ever searching for love's sweet caress
Wishing, ever hoping, to so tenderly possess.
08/10/2018
Summer Breeze Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Heaven has kissed the rolling hill
the ocean waves, and desert
an earthly token of goodwill
set sparrows to sing in concert.
A gentle touch awakes the morn
in shades of pomegranate
a fragile lipping, dawn is born
through the woods and cliffs of granite.
The globes caressed and embraced
as each denizen is delighted
for death is not a rendered grace
life is heaven, all are invited.
Maestro – 4-23-24
Dedicated to Dr. Stanley Chapple. Co-founder of Tanglewood. Conductor of the London Philharmonic. Head of the Music School University of Washington. Conductor of the University of Washington Symphony Orchestra. Beloved Professor and so much more!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Maestro
Music flowed from his baton
Like water from his English wellspring,
Taming trills in the perfume of restless scherzos
Coaxing shy adagios into lyrical splendor
Charming sinuous rondos into sinuous symphonies
Coaxing Thalia from cobwebs into tarantellas
In tangled woods and brick paths lined with cherry trees.
Bewitching a young baton to rise
Like a cobra hypnotized in west side stories
In concert with souls of Glorianna and Appalachia’s spring
And arabesques of rodeos to fanfares voces
Riding on concertos beckoning for east to oceans west
To streets glistening in an hourly carillon cadence,
Rain showers so like the Old City’s rhythms,
He found sheltered rests beneath gothic eaves
Soaring with scores of venomous revenge,
And octaves in librettos of a butterfly’s death,
To crescendo young symphonic dreams and emeritus chords
Maestro, melodic mentor, gift and inspiration
Friend of Lenny, Ben and Aaron.
To harmonize within this dream
A brazen dance of cornered screams
Along a wafting, winding lane
Where melodies in concert themes
Are more than any can explain
I wander by this sad request
In minor chords and broken strings
As clarinets don’t pass the test
Among so many other things
When from the shadows comes a tune
On paisley painted violin
Now echoes from a crescent moon
Where cellos find a chance to win
My feet they move a city mile
Across the square where banners fly
And I cannot contain my smile
While rusted church bells sanctify
The streets of rice once thrown in doubt
Form petals on the cobbled ground
Where children run and parents shout
Attempts at drowning out the sound
But I, now charmed and held at bay
Sing loudly over hill and stream
As here my voice shall find its way
To harmonize within this dream
Just a bit of nonsense
(A Blank Verse Sonnet)
In June, we traveled south to Memphis town,
a public poets' fete with Southern flair.
The mid-south heart unfolded nationwide,
an open cloak of warmth spread far afield
in concert with the sound and sense of rhyme.
A graciousness so coupled with its pride
to sharpen all who came in studied hope
and reasoned well effect, to prove result.
Yet seasoned poets put their pens aside;
the books they found, devoured with eyes and minds
already voiced the thoughts mankind repeats,
our ageless chants for hearts in love or pain.
The weather's pull to southern ports advanced
the lure of southern charm from heart to heart.
Stiff pleated fronds in concert rise
to wax under the April sun
and trill their canticles begun
in verses jade that they comprise.
Chartreuse of thorny branches splay
a tumult to belie the grace
that on display they interlace
like rose stems on a breezeless day.
Atop the thatched denuded bole
gush fountains cast in cardamom,
an opalescent diadem
that glistens on the mossy knoll.
In thus exuberant array
do cloistered peacocks mime ballet.
1/20/18
Sing the Song of Love and Loyalty
Raven lurking in the stillness and quiet
dark moon lit ashen mist, fog of night.
Burst of sparkling electrifying woven blanket;
Lovers spin clinging upon the wind laced secret intimate flight,
Musical chant vibrates shape hidden in sound and light.
~
White wolf walks in courage by day,
His lover black raven by night.
Under the drunken midnight moon bewitching charm two lovers lay;
Stolen moment of time freedom to hunger in delight.
In concert howls answers the calls of invite at twilight.
~
Made to roam,
carrying their spirit souls throughout eternity.
Their pleas ignored to be set free in their home;
denied of their earthly life because of jealousy and envy
of their song of love and loyalty.
© 8/9/2015
Based on a tale of two lovers magically transformed into a wolf and a raven because of the love they shared for each other never to be together as humans. One would become human during the day the other at night thus they pursue each other around until someday in some way they would become human once more.
The artwork shows a
female gymnast balancing on a pile of rubble
on the side of a building damaged by Russian strikes
The graffiti artist posted three images
the piece Friday on social media,
with a simple caption reading "Borodyanka, Ukraine,"
using an alternative spelling for the town's name
Speculation had been mounting that
Banksy was in the war-torn country after a series of murals
appeared in Borodianka, located about 35 miles northwest of the capital, Kyiv
The town came back into Ukrainian control on April 1
returning residents found their houses ransacked and shops pillaged with windows broken and contents stolen
The letter "V" a symbol used by Russia's Eastern Military district in concert with the letter "Z" an emblem for Moscow's so-called "special military operation" was found painted on buildings, vehicles and checkpoints
Who's Banksy? Clues about the mysterious artist!
Slippery, provocative, mysterious Banksy, the British artist
whose identity is still unknown,
is considered one of the main contemporary street art icons
His art, many times satirical,
address universal issues such as politics,
culture or ethics
In the center of Los Angeles, an "unauthorized" Banksy’s exhibition,
dedicated to the enigmatic artist,
lets visitors dive into the controversial artistic universe
of the most influential creator of present time
HUNGARIAN RHAPSODY
Her hand’s swan-like dance,
ivory shadow puppets
romance. Hungarian rhapsody.
The musician sans existence
as emotive fingers move
imaginary marionettes
with splendiferous precision.
Drama drops onto piano keys
occasionally taking a gentle stroll
then in sensuous sway, sashaying
like an exotic dancer. The musician
plucks and plinks as if
with chameleonic charm, like an
angel playing a harp.
Her fingers fast walk the keyboard
then resound tremulous keys.
(The audience swoons, spooned
by a rapturous torrent that enters
the heart, strokes and kisses
the yearning flesh, like the taste
and feel of brandy, burning and
tantalizing in breathlessness)
The musician’s slender fingers
now strum along in gaiety, like
paramours on the streets of Paris,
Springtime in the air. Palms nearly
rest upon silent keys as if two lovers
lay back upon a bed with puffs of smoke.
Dawn’s crescendo, with peaks of happiness
reside upon streets of ebony and ivory.
Life’s serendipitous monologue begins
once more with foreboding or adventure
or both. Is there loneliness upon this crest
for what has happenstance brought,
are they star-crossed? Do we see the sun
and the moon racing through their pulse —
days of birth and mourning?
(The blond marionette in concert black
seems to be mesmerized or hypnotized
by the muse of music. She’s like a dream
on a performance stage. Practiced in
illumination of flame. She releases the arrow
and the audience brightens up like a chandelier
with clinking and brilliant crystal pieces)
Happiness once again but with ferocious fervor
sends the keys to a heavenly place - to ears,
to mind, to soul...a cheer of a great parade,
and then the shivering of climatic peak,
followed by a lullaby of dreams - we imagine
a newborn wrapped up in a life well-lived.
The darling gal still doesn’t give up the ghost
but plays and plays...can you hear the needle
stuck at the vinyl’s end...spending all love gives?
Only the Creator Himself can lift the arm and
carry the musician still incubating all her charm.
3/19/2018
AC/DC, the rockers from down under
Boston, with Tom Scholz on guitar, sweet thunder
Creedence Clearwater, singing Proud Mary
Deep Purple, from the 70's, rocking and hairy
Eagles, easy listening, bum hugging music
Foreigner, with their Englishman Mick
Gun, from Glasgow, Taking on the World
Heart, from Seattle, just have to be heard
Inxs, singing their Afterglow
Journey, from Frisco, under the Bay Bridge flow
Kiss, in make up, after these Crazy Crazy Nights
Loverboy, from Canada, in concert excite
Marillion, prog rockers singing the lovely Kayleigh
Nazareth, from Scotland, singing Please Don't Judas Me
OMD, with their song Enola Gay
Pink Floyd, just let Emily Play
Queen, without Freddie, but their show went on
Rush, from Toronto, three playing amazing songs
Styx, with Tommy Shaw, their blond blue eyed boy
Thin Lizzy, from Dublin, playing Inverness were a joy
Uriah Heep, named after a character by Dickens
Van Halen, with Eddie, and his guitar rockin lickin
Wishbone Ash, a favourite band of mine
XTC, singing Senses Working Overtime
Yes, with album covers, by Roger Dean
ZZ Tops, singing Legs, those legs need to be seen
Hello sunrise woman,
bring your perfect light right here to me
Start the new day calling,
soft upon a breeze so warm and free
Let me feel your whispers,
warm against my skin this summer day
Take me with you,
down along a stream where we can play
Beneath these heavens so blue,
dreaming of you,
seeing every beauty above
Sweet like the dawning dew,
everything new,
here in every moment I love
Tell me all your secrets,
say to me what no one else can hear
Whisper softly,
let me feel your sunrise shimmers near
Hold me closely,
in your arms of fragrance on the air
Say you love me,
in these hours the two of us now share
Now let me know your kiss,
one I will miss,
more than anything I can know
Then lay me down to sleep,
always to keep,
visions of your soft morning glow
Hello sunrise woman...
Watching Fleetwood Mac in concert, Stevie singing Gold Dust Woman as I wrote this. :)
Still brook reflects the morning silver light
damselflies play chase between the reeds
dun cygnets now awash in virgin white
as through the mist a new dawn slowly bleeds.
Bare branches splay, verdant in gloves of green
pink blossom proudly flaunts the shawl it wears
the willow, many months stood shy, unseen
now brilliant, branches arcing like a flare.
I, too, feel something must emerge within
in concert with Spring's promise, hopes arise
leaving dark thoughts behind, what might have been
and see afresh the future with new eyes.
Each year this season nature freely gives,
give thanks, arise, move on, and truly live.
Is Friendship Just a Delusional Fiction?
Is friendship a lifeboat that floats on convenience?
Can we all divorce who we like with a gesture
that’s less than a wave on a looking glass seascape,
ignore too, the wreckage of dreams that waves scuttle,
consigned to obscurity absent a tombstone,
now fodder for lies (Christ’s saints still love their brothers)?
Man’s ‘truth’ proves flawed compass and ‘sin’ haunts earth’s wheelhouse,
as Science fills mainsails, God’s Ark laps Truth’s oceans!
Some fools think strict planning’s the pearl of all notions,
the wisest of husbands intimidates frail spouse,
views women and children just chattel that bothers,
like friends (a close second) whose wild seeds they’ve not sown.
Control is the issue; dictators aren’t subtle
(a friend who’s not under your thumb can’t be shipshape)!
Yes, freedom and friendship’s an unhealthy mixture
for all the enslaved must kowtow to your brilliance.
Lord, let me own friends who own freedom to doubt me,
who own I’ve the freedom to doubt them in concert,
(our music still blends as soul’s melody’s fragrance,
impinges on Hearing, a flavored denouement),
find women and men friends who love I write poems
that skip on mind’s pond like a pebble, or stone-like,
touch depths that no rhyme’s plumbed, just God’s Love could meter,
source undersea landslide of epic proportion.
May God bless my humor though few think I’m funny;
send rain to help cool me though I’m a weak convert!
Invisible, God does not dote on appearance,
His Grace for the sinner’s a sign of rapprochement
though few may see me to have worth His Grace welcomes.
Should Love a God offers be harsh as the Third Reich?
Provisioned for life, what world could be sweeter?
Not friending who friends you, Love’s close to abortion.
Brian Johnston
26th of January in 2021