Best Percussions Poems
Winter Sonata 11-29-23
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Winter Sonata
In grave allegro solo grey gathers,
Strings of winter fantasias
Brewing staccatos of frozen fall remnants,
Downbeats for the first movement
As shivering sleet wipes away bucolic barcarolles
Rocking on sapphire barges,
Harbingers of hoarfrost and hibernation,
When leafless boughs conduct the opening motif
To summon deepening darkness
From restrained shadows of turbulence
To beat warnings on frosted windows
Of snug dens – sheltered hallows.
Sweet solstice flutes sing adagio
Then scatter crystalline mists across snow packed paths
In the movement pathetique when sunglow
Glides between aspen,
Ankle deep in fleecy billows,
Sugar flakes flutter in Heaven’s perfect pitch
Rhythmic silent rests hypnotize crisp midnights
When fluttering flakes of dreamy andantes
Ride on melodic cantabile whispers
In flurries of fleecy decrescendos
Spells of codas, enthralled by idle snowfall,
Glitter in lyric tinsel of sparkling crystal beads on twigs.
Movement presto crescendos in frenzied storms
Snowfall pizzicatos fall in descending measures
When rondos of wind song ensembles
Ascend in frigid notes of icy scales
That pirouette in pulsing beats with resonate strings
Plucked by boreas in thundersnows percussions,
Vivace mistrals whirl in powdery ghosts
That spin in tremolo trills of icicles,
And in whiteout scherzos of blizzard sonatas,
Dizzy with solstice frosty fevers
As winter’s thundering cadence modulates
Into vernal sighs of resolution.
Composed, he walks towards the podium.
At first to applause, until a hush forms.
His heart beats like a water pump,
sweat drips - eyes fixed at his ensemble.
Audience anticipates,
as he stands at the nexus of musical creations.
With a brief glance - nods and closes his eyes,
baton in hand and a flick of wrist,
an oboe penetrates the silence,
violins trill and bass begin to roar.
His empathy connects with each note,
as his wand moves to the tempo,
conjuring symphonic magic,
softly then dramatically,
as emotions ebb and flow,
like waves weaving solo tones.
Spectators lost in imagination.
Gradually the melody flows faster,
as trumpets and trombones blow.
He feels a sharp pain in his chest,
as his pores drip like little rivers on his lips,
but he still guides the harmonic mood
with precision and clarity.
As the horns blare and percussions echo,
he loses grip of his baton - falls onto his knees,
clutching his breast - the music stops,
pianist plays her last key - audience gasp
he falls to the ground - curtains close.
blue ribbons of light
drift over me in grand
orchestral seas of hope
strings, winds and percussions
fill me with every
color, shape and texture possible
renewed,
I reach out with strength
to
bring
the
music
to
life!
*Tribute to the Minnesota Orchestra...Osmo Vanska, Music Director
drum beat
of raindrops
on the rooftop
its rhytmic percussions
echo
TEMPTATION'S TOUCH
-----------------------------
His palm soothes the ridges
Furrowed in her starlight skin
Her masseur, he replenishes
Each and every aching extremity
The chiming bells of his strokes
Ring again and again
Summoning her to his lair
Collaged in deep affinity
Her rock solid attraction
Draws her savory soul
Into a lustrous world
She's never seen nor known
A vibrant virgin caressed
Then clasped by her first
Drowns her soul in his lake
To diffuse her thirst
Heaven's hallowed sheet
At last drops her drapes
Unveiling her cast concealed
Behind the stage
Lines from her script
Long lavished in capes
Sifts and locks his eyes
Embellished by each page
Chastity's cloud exiles
Then expurgates her existence
Extracted by he who
Extricated her innocence
Alive and awake, she shows
Herself just the same
Fluorescent radiant flower
Who bears a different name
Restlessly she reclines
Atop her apple green ground
While her heart percussions
Her wedded lover's sound
Each tantalizing twine
Designs his touch so sweet
Tightly tying the tongue
Of the tasting rose
Flooded in fervent favor
From Gehenna's heat
Deteriorating the stem
Decimating her pose
I can still feel the weight of the heat colliding with my face as I first stepped off the plane,
And how beads of sweat would tickle my neck the same as when it rained,
How the harsh odor of the atmosphere would nauseate my nose,
And the courage of a people despite our impose,
I hear the splashing of the Tigris as I kneel to rinse my hands,
And how it felt to think that nothing’s promised, even on promised lands,
From wailing sirens and the buzz of the Phalanx at night,
To the popping of shots and the whooshing of helos in flight,
From the honking of horns and roads without lanes,
To swishing through traffic and the jingling of chains,
I hear the whispers of prayer being broadcast through the air,
And the murmurs of locals and their unwelcomed stares,
To the thuds of percussions from bombs in my chest,
Detonated afar but still rattled my vest,
But of all that I remember, I’m fully aware,
That I've left a piece of me there.
"When I stand with this silence
between us all, we are still never here --
and then I move and your whole world
shifts, and there you are. We were."
-- Tom Mars
and he had told her that he loved her, out here
between the valley of the shadow of dead twin
suns and the petrified web of the tinfoil
rocketship's silver scaffold, here, with the
wind snapping into the cult and bolt of them
and they were lead, precious pewter parachuted
across the little lakes of mercury like so many
silvered fishes smeared on sound Going
their own separate ways together The
wind weaved a momentary pyramid of sometimes over
them They breathed like partime pharaohs
disfigured as so many lovely paradoxes, holding
back the frenchblue gaseous
night with the infamous electric lights of
there own selfish suckled selves, especially
right here in this nubended yellow room of
a world, jaundiced by the naked raw bulbs
of stars and the disappointment of crushed
cigarette lives A kind of Autumn came for them and
the cadmium ground was lost leaves of foreign sands, out
here between the last light and their starship,
their thoughts caterwauling into
the limestone dusk of an alien world's
amphitheatre of the sensual, licked in its
familiar percussions, she had walked laughing
away.
Today is the day
To get things done
Come on girl
I know you have it in you
Roll your sleeves up
There's dishes to be washed
And laundry to be spun
There's checks to be written
And groceries to be picked up
Your hairs all matted
And oh my god!
You look like an episode
of the walking dead
Sew back on your skin
And walk straight
for god's sake
And put on some makeup
You can't look a fright
When your fighting
For your right
To move on and heal
Come on girl
I know you have it in you
Go through your closet
Pick out your favorite outfit
And a matching pair of high heels
Girls work best
When they feel their sexiest
Come on girl
I know you have it in you
Slip into some bubbles
And get all washed up
While singing your
freeing songs
adding drums and percussions
Come on girl
I know you have it in you
Roll your sleeves up
And let's get to
this work of
getting things done
Symphony of the Devil
(and yes I do play with fire
on a number of levels... hehehe)
Drums of despair
Beating my will...
My Surrendered soul
Bleeding unrepaired
Horns of dissention
Devouring their fill…
My Surrendered soul
Painful comprehension
Strings of consternation
Branding their way
My Surrendered soul
Eroded determination
Cymbals of disgrace
Drowning my day
My Surrendered soul
Gone without a trace
Percussions of regret
Following the trail
My Surrendered soul
Tangled in a net
Bands of madness
Describing my tale
My Surrendered soul
Entangling distress
Segues of entreat
Swallowing my pain
Surrendered my soul
Painless retreat.
Rlm ‘10
A distant mumble, a muffled drum roll.
Seconds on, come the serious decibels.
Heavy rumbling with sharp percussions.
Squeal of the steel; wheel scraping on the rail.
Metal clatter loudens then dies to silence.
Spent fares alight and new fares climb aboard.
Ting ting. The cream and green is off again,
Above it, brief flashes of lightning blue
As straying volts are lost to salty air.
Soon far off the rumbling fading away.
Alligators never blink
Bewitching their prey with stares
Creatures submerged in the night
Deep divers holding their breath
Easily hiding away
Fearing their discovery
Generations have wrestled
Hesitant charms and potions
Investigating danger
Joking and trying to calm
Killing them before they kill
Left in the depths of despair
Maimed combatants cannot run
Never to be seen again
Open mouths beg for a chance
Places in the heart, pulsing
Questioning real sanity
Responsibile sportsmen wait
Sensual dangers are near
Trusting in dark destiny
Understanding nothing now
Visions of regret seep in
Wilting melodies of life
Xylophone percussions sound
Yellow horizons steaming
Zero time to turn back now
My silence is as loud as the Djembe
Calling on people to gather together in peace
My silence is as loud as the African drum
A skilled drummer is one who can make the Djembe talk
In silence I cry out but my voice reaches no one
Though skilled this drummer can’t make the Djembe cry
No matter how hard he beats the drum he can’t make the Djembe cry
And my voice is cracking with a painful cry
In silence I cry out but no one hears my cry
My pulses are percussions, I feel the vibrations of their sound waves
I play them harder hoping these vibrations would cause an earth quake
Though the earth shakes no one questions the reason why
In my silence I move the world but no one seems to notice
My silence is as loud as the African drum
When you struck me,i vibrated like a kettle drum
then as smaller percussions and repercussions
echoing from all the glassy surfaces
creating a balletic geometry of sound tracks
in space and time.
When you knocked me down,
I fell against her and her and her;
we were like a row of skittles
and we all went down with the lifeboat;
the infinite chain of being is.
When you hit me,the Fall spread across the world
Now there is no Vertical
All is undivine and graceless.
By the Rod it's ruled
When you left me,I left myself,the world,the rocks,dry land
I weighed down sank to the ocean bed
with coral eyes
gazing.
When you struck my mind
I became an instrument of a foreign power
Singing a song I didn't kmow.
When the glass was smashed
the splinters flew into all our hearts.
You didn't know what we couldn't see.
I lay on barren ground and gave birth
To my own Creator in the desert.
He was not dead at all.
But you killed him.
Hanging in my living room are trees
And a seagull, God's gifts living free.
The trees are Van Gogh, cut off is ear.
Starry, starry night I've seen. It's clear
He was an artist as are the musicians.
Guitars, pianos, horns and percussions.
The trees painting has an orange fence.
Reminds me of my homes, forests dense.
The seagull was bought at a charity auction.
Gambling night, roulette, craps - lots of action.
My music boxes - works of art.
None of which will I ever part.
Thomas Kincard, piano, jewery box, swans, fish.
Also have paintings of olden - two are on a dish.
Instrument
Play it
Play the tune
Doesn't it take you, to the moon
Imagine me a flute
Play the note
It sends you to a space
Where do you want to float
Float on a cloud
And the flute
Doesn't even play that loud
I'm a cello
To a lucky fellow
He makes me mellow
Then here I am a violin
The connection comes from the hand and chin
Can you just Play me again
This time slow
Before you know it.
It comes together and creates
Something you will appreciate
Play it
My music
It's supernatural
Don't abuse it
Play it my music
It's supernatural don't abuse it
Here I go the percussion
Should I bring it up for discussion
They hold a special place
To let the band face
They bring the style
Without the percussions
The band would sound like a lot of fussing and confusion
No unison no togetherness
The percussions bring the cleverness
The special touch
Oh how I love it so much
You can feel it
In your hands
Doesn't it make you want to dance
Play it
My music
It's supernatural
Don't abuse it
Play it my music
It's supernatural don't abuse it
I will be your favorite genre
Baby, it's all r and b
Rhythm and beats
Dancing with our feet
Somehow this makes me complete
Play it
My music
It's supernatural
Don't abuse it
Play it my music
It's supernatural don't abuse it
Play it
The instructor
I'll be the conductor
Conduct my song
Play instruments all day long
(Repeat 1×)
Play it
My music
It's supernatural
Don't abuse it
Play it my music
It's supernatural don't abuse it
Written by Concetta Hardnett
02/26/2023