Best Mouthpiece Poems
If I could play the violin
I'd write a melody
euphonious to draw you in
and play my rhapsody
to bring a smile to your dear face
and calm the storm within
if I could play the violin
If I could play the saxophone
with timbre silvery
I'd paint a poem of pure tone
to laud your alchemy
for you turn iron into gold
and granite to gemstone
if I could play the saxophone
If I could coax an oboe's tone
a dulcet sound divine
to craft a raft for you to own -
a musical lifeline
when waves have knocked you off your course
when winter winds have blown
I'd play a soothing oboe tone
If I could sing a heaven-sent
anthem or hymn profound
I wouldn't need an instrument
when you feel nearly drowned
I'd whisper arias of hope
my mouthpiece, bow, and strings
are prayers for God to heal your wings
and soar beside as heaven sings.
Categories:
mouthpiece, encouraging, love, music, song,
Form:
Rhyme
I am to him a Stradivarius, a treasured violin
His bow expertly caresses my supple strings
My body moans when tucked beneath his chin
Revving to his rhythmic pulse, my heart sings
I am the delicate ivory he strokes on his keyboard
his adventurous fingers roam over me in staccato
Those romantic interludes he's adeptly scored
accompanies intimacy to the point of crescendo
I am the mouthpiece on his golden saxophone
Our blues brings about passion and lustful desire
From a distance I hear the pitch of a lone trombone
Emotions build with the heat of a roaring wildfire
Across the well worn bridge of his idle acoustic guitar
I yearn for the virtuoso's touch to strum my chords
But there's no harmony, although we've come so far
No gliding glissandos found at the tips of drawn swords
Now he plays mournful melodies on a native Hopi flute
Reflecting our lives in every wistful and somber note
We're both lost, wandering like phantoms in pursuit
of lost love. We're adrift without oars or sail for our boat
With each wave a tear falls as I lay sheltered in the bow
He sits astern listening to music whistled by the wind
staring at the far horizon with worry etched on his brow
Is this, I wonder, punishment for those who have sinned
Categories:
mouthpiece, lost love, passion,
Form:
Rhyme
I feel it in the hush of twilight's gentle glow,
where spiritual shadows dance in whispers.
An intangible force, unseen yet sincere.
A magnetism from realms where ego dies.
A profound vision influencing my mind.
A divine devotion connecting my heart.
I search for your sacred bond to heal my heart.
To touch my soul in your ethereal glow.
To enlighten the dark chambers of my mind,
I seek you in distant stars, tired from whispers.
Their silent light reminds me hope never dies,
as the moon guides me upon a path sincere.
At dawn your persona spreads in views sincere.
Blessings from sweet perfume flowers ease my heart.
In the birth of a new bloom, angst from pain dies,
as mercy spreads in a vibrant pastel glow.
Your presence lingers in soft and wise whispers.
A source of compassion soothing a tired mind.
Your zen grace pull me close, transforming my mind.
Read your stories in scriptures with text, sincere.
Heard about your legend from scholar's whispers.
I crave for you to complete this boundless heart,
so I can ascend to dance in stardust glow.
Embraced by love, where inner growth never dies.
Oh, eternal beloved, the darkness dies,
as you mentor like a lantern in my mind.
In black skies, I feel your cosmic wholeness glow.
Lead me through life's winding maze to be sincere.
My spirit in alignment with soul and heart,
has a true higher purpose through your whispers.
May I, forever blossom through your whispers,
upon a quest where fulfilment never dies.
For the path you've laid is the bridge to my heart.
Selfless like the sun you bring warmth to my mind,
as your rays transcend in messages, sincere.
I surrender to your pure mystical glow.
I'm a verse written from your poetic mind.
A flutist playing a flute in tunes, sincere.
A mouthpiece resembling your magnetic glow.
Categories:
mouthpiece, spiritual,
Form:
Sestina
Why do mechanics need manuals when they’ve fixed it before?
Answer my question or I’ll walk out the door!
Didn’t they attend trade schools or get OJT?
Why need repair manuals? That what gets me.
I just want a mechanic who won’t refer to a book.
Just fix my car already, don’t give it a second look!
Why do pilots run checklists and reference their charts?
Just push the dang button and hope the plane starts!
Didn’t they go to flight school and pass all the tests?
Pilots fly most days, so who needs all the mess?
I want a pilot who knows without referencing a chart.
Just get on with the flying and prove that you’re smart!
What about the doctors who are practicing still?
Why can’t they get it right? And that includes the bill!
They’re always researching new studies in journals
When time’s better spent attending patients’ internals.
I just want a Marcus Welby, Ben Casey or Kildare
Instead of keeping up to date, I just want them to care.
Why do lawyers review case studies and legal decisions?
Such antics in my book leave them open to derision.
All that studying in law school should have been more than enough.
After passing the bar they should already know their stuff.
I just want an attorney who’s a know-it-all ace,
Not a book worm mouthpiece to plead my case.
Finally, the poets, being wordsmiths their art
You won’t see them referencing a checklist or chart
But look, in their hands, just what can that be?
A dictionary? Thesaurus? Are those what I see?
A real poet never needs help reading Shakespeare or Keats
Using Webster and Roget would make all of us cheats!
If a poet is real, the words should just flow
I think that all poets should automatically know
The right words to use, and literary crutches forgo
How dare they try better vocabulary to hone
They should come up with good things to say on their own.
I’m looking for poets who’ll just know what to say
Like Lewis Carroll’s poems in his heyday:
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogroves, And the mome raths outgrabe.”
Don’t bother looking up his words, for that would be a dumb thing.
Using a dictionary or thesaurus, you might actually learn something!
Categories:
mouthpiece, fun, humorous, hyperbole, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Rumi
Upon my quest for quintessence.
I was an amorist,
positive in poetic philosophies.
Elysian and empyrean effigies,
enlightened in an ephemeral existence.
Life a fragile garland
festooned with a frangipani fragrance,
meandered in meadows of melodies,
a mouthpiece to a frivolous flute
but gone are lucent lusory lullabies.
I turned to the ballad of birds.
Dulcet desires dreamed of diamond drops,
dulcifluous, dulciloquent and diaphanous.
Delusions led to an interpretation of illicit illusions.
I became a metaphor for afflicted adjectives.
Mimesis mind became brittle and barren,
aphonic and amort - a crestfallen conscious.
A wild wallflower in an orchard of opal orchids,
slowly decomposing - in silent semblance
clocks won't stop for sojourners of the soul..
I searched for footprints left behind,
upon porcelain seraphic shores,
but knavish kismet lay lamenting,
disconsolate upon a distant island,
manifesting murmurations of a
maleficent maelstrom monsoon.
My life was once a
razzmatazz of reflections
gold, ivory and bronze,
but now silver sighs slither,
releasing a soft susurrus,
as once sapphire sylphlike skies are
now vermillion and violet visions.
Haematic horizons close the gates to heaven,
yet in my ruins, I know there is fortune,
as I polish my mirror of misfortune,
hoping it glows in canorous colours.
Categories:
mouthpiece, angst, emotions, how i
Form:
Alliteration
Oh, Land of the Free
You have presumptuously deemed yourself the mouthpiece and policy maker
Of the world
How overconfident
How impudent
Who makes you...
Oh, King of impertinence
Regulators of the human race...
The monarch of the agitated sea
Who are you to dictate MY household’s wishes?
As with the Roman Empire, your greed and moral deficiency IS your destruction
Your sins are hidden behind plaster, ramshackle, and termite-infested walls
You sit on your throne of deprecated morality
You twist your neck and roil your head in an idiomatic cistern of ethics
Oh, how those merchants whom seek shelter under your fiscal confidence...
Will wail and rip their outer garments, as they witness your
great
Collapse
Nevertheless, just like men whom seeks the warmth of a harlot’s bosom
They will easily turn their face to the next woman of ill-gotten gains
Categories:
mouthpiece, allegory, history, mystery, philosophy,
Form:
Elegy
Short prayer I say
Each day I keep all day
Each night I breathe and pray
With my sweater, all night I dream so gay
Clothes I wear with no pocket
I change and bring with locket
Picture of faith I keep in a bucket
All year round I lit with socket
Whenever I feel blue I just sing
Songs of fife that life can bring
Songs I bite without a sting
Melodies I strike with my light string
Strings of faith and joy I play
Keeping my feet on the ground, not stray
Living a life so cool that lay
Wreaths and olives I reap, not wray
One day I lost my faith
Erred and haunted by wraith
Wisp of tendrils creeping and saithe
Noshing my body and molded like dearth
Then instant light flashed on my face, I freezed
I was speechless, frozen without a mouthpiece
A prayer inside my pocket that please
Sweater I wore again to keep myself at ease
Categories:
mouthpiece, faith, for her, for
Form:
Verse
My name's Rocky Balboa,
Some say I'm old as soil;
An' if you call me punchy,
My blood begins to boil!
Mickey's gone to heaven,
Apollo and Adrian too;
Now I'm stuck with Paulie,
A bum without a clue!
I'll wake up in da' morning,
Right at da' crack of dawn;
Shuffle for a block or two,
An' pass out on da' lawn!
"Yo Paulie!"..."Where are you?!"
It's time to start our day;
Don't forget da' liniment,
I only use Ben-Gay!
Let me box my shadow,
For 'dis I have a knack;
"Whoa!!"...I must be crazy,
My shadow punched me back!!
"Drop 'dat Seagram's, Paulie!"
Come help me to da' ring;
Did you pack my 'focals?
'Cause I can't see a thing!
I float like a fire truck,
Sting like a flea;
My feet are tired an' swollen,
Sit ups make me pee!
Ev'ry time I skip rope,
My feet get tangled up;
Who says I need a mouthpiece?
My teeth are in 'dat cup!
Da' punchin' bag's too lumpy,
Push ups makes me sick;
I think I'm gettin' dizzy,
"Somebody help me, quick!!"
I had my millionth fight,
It didn't go too well;
I couldn't leave my corner,
'Cause I never heard da' bell!
Put 'dis one in da' books,
I'm feelin' like a fool;
Have you ever seen a boxer,
Get knocked out on his stool?!
It's time to go home, Paulie!"
We'll never quit 'dis scene;
Get ready for da' sequel,
I'll see you in 'Thirteen!'
Categories:
mouthpiece, funny, humor, sports,
Form:
Quatrain
The rich man’s mouthpiece Scalia
Spread his will like gonorrhea!
In an overreach
He ruled money is free speech
And gave us all such diarrhea
Author's note: The decision ($$=free speech) murders our democratic process. He didn't champion free speech for whistleblowers or students. Does this make him a champion of the constitution and a great American?
Categories:
mouthpiece, death, humor, political, satire,
Form:
Limerick
5th Ave. was shoulder to shoulder with
hungry lunch-seeking business men
and women. Ricardo unpacked
his horn nervously and a foot cymbal.
Spring, early street season, too cold
for most musicians but he needed money.
His lips kissed the cold metal mouthpiece.
Carrying the saw and the pulaski.
Cutting brush for a fire line high up,
where raptors and ravens fly. No sound
but wind if you could subtract the crew
working and dirty, joking during lunch.
A good year it had been sitting in the soil
feeling Ricardo's body on the mountainside.
Mountains moving as good a feeling.
Alone in his town, most neighbors at work,
housecleaning done, Ricardo settled down
with pen to write and ate lunch.
People = chickadees.
Clutch size, substrate, territory, gestation period.
Mating rituals. Use of alcohol and hallucinogens.
Forms of cancer, heart disease. Burial rites, memories.
Creation myths, beliefs for which there is no evidence.
Range: tundra to tropics.
Categories:
mouthpiece, business, cancer, fire, heart,
Form:
Verse
Man you a wizard warlocking written to spellbinding spoken word.
Jargoning prolific prophetic like the bible real truth.
I'm xeroxing you so x-ray this diagonally
Awe inspired me like Edgar Allan Poetically
Your magic wand sleight of hand transform to a mic.
Hand quicker than the eye trick.
You the spoken word godfather - whose
Hawking pen spit out
A magical abracadabra mouthpiece
Poetic secretions flowing from heaven
From page to the stage
A hocus pocus Houdini spoken word escape
Unlocked the handcuffs of the page
True illusionist of poetic illusions brought me to this conclusion.
Categories:
mouthpiece, inspirationalme, spoken word,
Form:
Acrostic
Tarzan could yodel with a beat
A whale can sing melodies sweet
But Donald is mean
His mouthpiece the machine
That disseminates hate with a tweet
Categories:
mouthpiece, abuse, betrayal, bullying, crazy,
Form:
Limerick
I went ghetto gold .......
I was told that when I flip this,
I'm come sicker than syphilis,
My verses come in 3's like triplets,
I drop ebonic type scriptures,
That keep your eardrumbs numb,
when my psalms roll off my tongue,
my adversaries hide & run,
as the oxygen escapes from my lungs,
I lace my poetic sermons with codeine
the mo' feinds means the mo' green I separate,
I'm a cheese head like in Green Bay
so I stay in a chedda' state[money state],
of mind frame & 1 of my prophecies,
I will rise at a high velocity,
and my thoughts'll be,
sprinkled[spoken ] far from sloppily,
when my voice is transmitted,
the pathetic get netted & shredded,
by my unsweetened poetic antidotes
see i'm sugarfree like diabetics,
Strong Faith,Family&Love's a good trinity,
and my deliveries,
during my performances or soliloquies,
will let all know this should be,
broadcasted throughout history,
I'm the vocabulary minister,
If your poetry soul's empty I'll replenish ya',
and when I'm finished
I'll stamp your inner thoughts
with the Rhyme Pedllaz signature,
And my mouthpiece unleashes verbal hand grenades,
from the block to the stage,
and the weak gets quarantined
when I deliver 1 of my spoken word plagues,
You can wipe your ears off now.
Categories:
mouthpiece, hip hop, spoken word,
Form:
Rhyme
at first glance my heart leapt within me
i felt a sensation i never once fell victim
you stole my heart and i had to get it back
i unleashed upon you the gift of my mouthpiece
even Shakespeare would have given me my due
with the eyes of a lamb you invited me
to share the beauty spot of you gorgeous heart
you came knocking at my door step
at the eleventh hour my ark angel
made my life a blossom of Lillis
once in a lifetime i experienced heaven on earth
exchanging rings inspirited our love
beautiful like diamonds Rihanna did say
our love proved spherical for it had no end
till that day you left without a word
under the wreck of a monstrous machine
you left me for the land of the leals
for even the gods adored you more than i
and the paradise curtens fell
a paradise too short indeed
Categories:
mouthpiece, lost love,
Form:
Narrative
I never wanted to be your mighty mouthpiece
I never asked to be the morning trumpet
in the troubled town
or the prophet clown
that would be scorned from all around,
I just wanted to be a mason
like my forefathers before me
to build homes and temples
with honest tools that my heart could handle
to have a family that could worship you
with a love that would never need to lean,
but you demanded that I go to Nineveh
speaking to me like some inflexible father
pushing me with the wind
scolding me with a stubborn sun
chilling me in the nervous night
so I ran,
I ran to the sea so I could be me
found a ship sailing for Italy,
but your wrath found me on the water
tossed the ship to tip
and there I was adrift
worried that this was it,
swallowed by a whale
thinkin that I failed
I prayed to you with passion
pled to be undead,
you, oh Lord, brought me back to the living,
your mercy taught me about the calling,
in my second chance
I received my first glance
of this great gift,
to you, oh Lord, I look for love...
J.A.B.
I began composing this composition on April 24th,
and have completed it, through the grace of Providence
at 2:39 am on May 24th, 2017...30 continuous days,
approximately 120 hours of intellectual labor.
This poem is inspired by, and dedicated to
the great men and women of the Old Testament,
and to the divine genius of Michelangelo Bounarroti
and his masterwork of the Sistine Chapel...Justin A. Bordner
Categories:
mouthpiece, creation,
Form:
Epic