Best Piano Poems
It's 3 am,
her pillow soaked in regret.
Loss has left her spirit lonesome,
darkness a definition of insanity.
In the silence of the night,
vexatious voices vibrate inside
her somber state of mind.
Restless, she sits at her proverbial piano,
as a plethora of pain bleeds through
her fingers onto ebony and ivory keys.
Rain drops drip from her eyes,
unable to contain the sorrows in her heart.
In perfect harmony with her faithful piano,
her heartache performs the perfect poetic personification,
echoing a serenade of melancholic melodies.
Her whole body is numb, but the
music mesmerises her mind, as memories
of her prophetic protagonist persist.
Her souls sighs, as she sings;
"If only you could see the pain,
maybe then you would explain,
what do you think you will gain,
from my mind going insane?
It seems like you don't care,
tell me how is that fair?
You'll say it's you and not me,
because you're too blind to see,
only your love can set me free,
but you say it's not meant to be.
It seems like you don't care,
tell me how is that fair?
Oh my love, is this goodbye?
Your silence makes my heart cry.
Within the deepness of each sigh,
I will always question why."
27 March 2018
Simple Musing
Silent One
Porcelain keys create
Passionate sonatas
Pitched in dulcet notes through
Prewritten preludes that
Piercingly vibrate when
Pianists softly press
Pedals to enhance tunes
"The Blues Released"
Black velvet
sits between
what is read
yet unseen
crushing sullen passion
across ripe crimson lips
holding tight those
dancing fingers
seduced
gliding across
the Player’s
pristine alabaster
piano keys
burning
the bluest blue
release
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Black Velvet" / Alannah Myles
https://youtu.be/ZHHEmd5mECY
“Pianos, unlike people,
sing when you give them
your every growl.
They know how to dive
into the pit of your stomach
and harmonize with your roars
when you’ve split yourself open.
And when they see you,
guts shining, brain pulsing,
heart right there exposed
in a rhythm that beats
need need,
need need,
need need,
pianos do not run.
And so she plays.”
“When you play, never mind who listens to you.”
LYRICS/ "Black Velvet", Alannah Myles
https://genius.com/Alannah-myles-black-velvet-lyrics
My piano sits alone a lot of days,
Waiting for someone to come along who plays.
Usually that someone is my son or me,
But lately since he's in college, it's been me, you see.
My piano knows when I am angry,
and lets me take out all my anger on the keys.
My piano knows when I am sad,
and lets me play it until I am glad.
My piano knows when I am in grief,
because of the songs I play, it's really beyond belief.
And of course my piano knows when I am happy,
I play songs of contentment and joy and lots are snappy.
I can be feeling blue and play a harmonious melody or two,
And in no time at all I will feel like new.
But my piano is loved best at Christmas time
Playing all the Christmas Carols and Christmas Chimes.
Songs of Jesus love for us and how He came to earth.
Songs of Angels singing and about His lowly birth.
Songs about three wisemen, my piano plays them all,
"White Christmas" "Blue Christmas" and songs played at the mall.
I love to play my piano for people to enjoy,
Elderly, mid-age, young folk, and every girl and boy.
But listen carefully dear hearts, take heed in what I say,
My piano knows that most of all, God gets the praise always!
My late father
played gorgeous music
on his Steinway
Debussy, Ravel, Beethoven
along with his own compositions
He set eight of my poems to music
I sang while he played
Every Hanukkah he would play "Rock of Ages"
on the keyboard
The piano is silent now
His students preserve his legacy
with their compositions
Music - like poetry
can melt the heart
I sit here on an autumn day
Remembering my father
People leave this mortal coil
That is our fate!
But some leave behind great poetry and
music in their wake
Seems like they are almost immortal!
The piano is silent now
But I am still here
and hopefully inscribed
in the book of life for a good year
My father being gone for a number of years
he left his mark on future generations
by giving them the gift of music
And he left 4 new individuals in his wake
I am one
I was a fairly good son
The piano is silent now
But memory persists
And one can take joy in that!
Patience is the first rule
Passionate harmonies
Playfully on the keys,
painted in black and white
Prelude in E minor
Piano ... played all night
Price; be famous and rich
I now type with only a finger
For neuropathy makes me lame
Muscle spasms in hands linger
My hands seem to ignore my brain
It’s as if I never was a typist
Who flew 65 words a minute
Now I’m limited my gripe is
Takes me longer to finish
You’d think I’d complain I’m not vain
My other deficiencies are worse
But who wants an artist who can’t paint
Or a poet too hurt to word verse
I know my lupus has no cure
My asthma is no fun to me
But give me fingers fast and pure
To delight in the writing with ease
When I try to play piano
Fudge fingers suck the air
Notes yell like silver Soprano
A melody ruined by despair
I have mixed feeling about it
We all have a cross to bare right
But with fingers like mine I doubt it
Could complain and moan all night
Dear poetess had hip surgery
And has persevered despite all
So I say what the nerve of me
To complain of finger pain small talk
Melodic passion, lilting harmonies lull my slender fingers,
when I play with the stringed keyboard, I sink into the mellifluous music, can feel the gentle keys under my fingertips softly as the alchemy notes cadence spasmodically.
Swirling colours lost in time, chimes of the electric waves rhyme, repetitive sonorous beats one after the other replete the very ambience with cancerous, calm vibes.
The reverberating strains of those sacrosanct, subliminal-sounds' ripple effects lull senses with esoteric mellow polyphonies and my secluded, aesthetic-self, unconsciously submerges in those polyphonies silently.
The lyric goes on and on while immersing my soul,
the world seems calm from every harm on those ambrosial moments, once the last crescendo is struck, the enamoured silence of tranquility generates an utopia of its own,
yet, an art of magical touch of each pitch to the subliminal conscience and existence in sublime solitude can't be captured by interpretive ink
Can sense the calm after playing the stringed keyboard in solitude;
the exalted gadget is the catalyst to inner peace, a feast to the soul, what makes the esoteric journey complete, her dreamy rhythm makes my heart beat .
© Silpika Kalita
Like shining jewels tossed into the air
Each note rings out with brilliant voice
Gifted fingers flying on ivory wings
This magic that makes my heart rejoice
Music that rocks me on gentle waves
Or ride where raging fires have been
Coloring the prisms that are my tears
The piano- evoking emotions from within
For Kristin's contest - "Soul Tunes"
Internal Quote by Albert Einstein
On the eve of the invasion, the world braced for an upheaval.
Two ancient foes were poised for war, a war between Good and Evil.
For things are deathly dark and unsavory when Satan's soldiers ride,
and only acts of heroic bravery can help Good turn the tide.
So we watched with pessimistic dread as soldiers circled ‘round Kharkiv.
We feared so many would soon be dead, we feared what’s up Satan’s sleeve.
In numbers seeming infinite, his warring hordes were drawing near,
when we watched a young Ukrainian boy, a boy who showed no fear.
He would play on a grand piano, he would play a soulful song,
he would play sweet chords of calmness in the face of the warring throng.
He would play with skill and feeling, he would play with a touch of class;
while the rest of the world was reeling, he was kicking Putin’s ass.
Electric chills spilled down my spine and there was nary a dry eye,
while we watched and prayed he played unafraid of missiles from the sky.
Will he live to see tomorrow? And what about his family?
Will we learn their fate with sorrow? And can we cure insanity?
For nowhere in this universe could crimes of cold cupidity
be justified and understood but for human stupidity.
And I'm not sure who will win the war, if wars can be won or lost --
the one thing I am sure about in the universe is the cost.
For the cost of freedom is bloody steep, the consequences grave,
if we fail to battle bullies, and if we won’t stand with the brave.
And while we watched him on our big-screens, this boy’s bravery was clear;
just don’t think for a single second “it could never happen here.”
Now yellowed with age
a lonely music book,
hidden in every page
old musician dreams
of endless nights passed
struggling with melodies,
lovely trills and arpeggios,
etudes and symphonies;
a sentry keeping watch
over dirtied ivory keys
played and loved once
by souls of olden days;
labors of faceless men
held close to its breast,
strains still remembered
kept deep in the chest;
an old piano book stands
now sullied by the years,
within its torn pages live
dead musician tears.
I crave your ivory touch
on my fingertips as I feel
my way out of this darkness
into the world of melodic sound.
Our piano with silence speaks
The rickety rocking chair squeaks
Where Mama sits and stares each day
Music memories stored away
Our loved inheritance remains
Melodies cycling through our brains.
So strange.
On the tuning board I'm an F
and yet I feel quite sharp somehow.
Perhaps I need an adjustment.
Here.
or there.
A tweaking of metal wires
wrapped a little too tightly
and then I'll hit the perfect C.
So strange.
for somehow sharp still feels like me,
looks like me,
is like me.
Hmph.
I guess it's better to be sharp than flat,
and while I'm at it, better yet,
full with chords and rhythm too...
Maybe I should synchronize
and be a little more like you.
These tiny hands. Black and White hands twirl. Vibrant palms ripple the Flower-land. Dancing onto the rainbowous piano. Music permeates the thirsty airs. Notes float upon the multi-hued keys –
Red
Orange
Yellow
Green
Blue
Indigo
Violet.
Black and White Hands on colorful keys. Magical hands whirling into aural anthems. Fists and fingers allure the dry, solid airs.
A melodic tune touches the soul of each flower. Turn by turn their chemistry churns. Juicing the chords of the roots in the damp soil. The stems curl and stretch calligraphing into clefs and altos. Petals strike classical beats. The rhythms of nature are awakened.
The fragrances of Roses lead the choir. Then play the violinic tune of Lavenders.
Gradually follows the oboe sounding waves of Jasmines. Then tumble into the song, the harmonious vibrations of Violets. The Magnolias infuse their trumpeting energies. The flow has begun.
Roses
Lavenders
Jasmines
Violets
Magnolias
Lilies
Chocolate Cosmos.
All shades and tones of lyrical perfumes tie Flower-land into a charming, irresistible atmospheric bouquet.
These tiny hands. The phenomenal fists decorate the spectrums of Flower-land. These black and white hands. These multi-coloured keys. These fragrances now adorn the dry airs and garland them with their musical aromas.