Best Piccolo Poems
~
Morning dew melodies whispering soft,
harmonies dream on the wind
Scented illusions of days in the past
and those about to begin
Choruses blooming in amethyst shades,
sweet as the day’s precious glow
Penned in the key of to never forget,
symphonic breezes a’ flow
Beneath a sunrise of violin vistas
precious this garden of song
Petals in piccolo solos are beaming
hoping you will sing along
Listen as marigold arias play
now as the day it does start
Find every note is performed just for you
composed by the love in my heart
~
Categories:
piccolo, good morning,
Form:
Rhyme
The Yule Tide Sights (Sight)
It’s tinsel, ornaments and lights,
The Yule Tide sights all people love:
Bright yellows, reds, and greens and whites;
It’s tinsel, ornaments and lights
We yearn to see December nights -
Delights we all never tire of!
It’s tinsel, ornaments and lights,
The Yule Tide sights all people love.
The Gladdening (Hearing)
As bells go ring-a-ling-a-ling,
And old St. Nick goes, “Ho, ho, ho,”
The people’s hearts are gladdening.
As bells go ring-a-ling-a-ling,
Its “Fa la la,” we hear folks sing.
An elf joins in on piccolo
As bells go ring-a-ling-a-ling
And old St. Nick goes, “Ho, ho, ho!”
Categories:
piccolo, christmas,
Form:
Triolet
“A maestro is like a candle. It consumes itself to light the way for others.”-
~~ The Poet ~~
Conductor of an art form, stands the maestro of the storm.
Instruments take their place, then the symphony begins.
Firstly, a tuneful rhapsody of woodwind with violins.
The sheer spellbinding rhythm builds increasingly strong.
A tinkling as the rain begins, he uses spiccato to bring the tempo along.
The piccolo sends notes scurrying for cover by the continued rain,
And introduces the flutes into the mix once again.
The cadence evolves, with heralding intensity to engage.
Notes follow the beat, to a crescendo of immense rage.
Now, as the kettle drums implode within their skins,
The conductor is in full control, as his baton spins
Music’s fury is reinforced by trombones, entering for the first time.
Cymbals clash, cellos and double basses offer a fortissimo effect, sublime.
The percussion again, joins, as the woodwind slows,
Notes soften, and the flute’s melody gently flows.
A solo of horns, a transition with the full orchestra, it springs.
In suspense of his melody, the piano takes us to strings.
Tempo lighter, airier which is juxtaposed with the timpani drums.
The soft gentle tones, once hurtled by deafening wind, silence comes.
Audience captivated, orchestra foregone. The maestro lowers his baton.
Categories:
piccolo, music,
Form:
Rhyme
A is for Accordion, squeezing air with bellows
B is for Banjo, five strings plucked by bluegrass fellows
C is for Clavichord, keyboard with a metal sound
D is for the Drums which percussionists will pro-pound
E is for the English horn, using a double-reed
F is for a brass French horn, three valves is all you need
G is for Glockenspiel, metal bars arranged in rows
H is for Harmonica, both in and out she blows
I is for Ingoma, on which skins or hides are drummed
J is for Jinghu, just two strings that are bowed not strummed
K is for the Keytar, keyboard guitar held upright
L is for the Laser harp which plays on beams of light
M is for Maracas, their rhythm shaken by pros
N is for Nguru, Maori flute blown through the nose
O is for the Oboe with a mouth-piece that looks bewitched
P is for the Piccolo, a half-sized flute, high pitched
Q is for the Quena, a notched flute from the Andes
R is for the Rattle, maracas for the babies
S is for the Shofar, a Jewish horn hard to blow
T is for the Tuba, largest horn and tough to tow.
U is Ukulele, four-string Hawaiian gee-tar
V is Viola, a fiddle tuned a bit deeper
W is the Washboard, just for rhythm, understood?
X is a Xylophone, a glockenspiel made of wood
Y is Yotar, a guitar with four strings grouped in threes
Z is Zither, played on the table or cross your knees
This alphabet of instruments just breaks through the top
The're hundreds more to know, but Z's a good place to stop.
March 11, 2013
Allright Poet's ABC Poetry Contest
Categories:
piccolo, 11th grade, music,
Form:
ABC
E-Z Glo Punk, Lightning Flash,
TNT Devices will burst, do crash
Southern Night, Piccolo Petes
are hard to beat...
I like hand held Sparklers, Tanks
flashing fountains, Solar Flare
Six to #20 Gold I have to share,
no incidence, no burns, thanks...
Whistles blow, fountains glow,
pop'n sounds, entire sky all aglow
I love those colors, high an low
trails eched onto my retina
inspired me to let ya know
Now you close both eyes
in pitch dark, what a surprise
for you to see, right there
darkness, absolutely anywhere
beautiful trails of lights in motion
"Always read a label of caution"
Categories:
piccolo, beach, color, dark, fire,
Form:
Narrative
There is a lark who is born to live in the meadow,
perched far above the smooth mountain stones.
She will rise from fields of the cloverleaf cradles,
with a foxglove petal, riding her wings.
A feather she's worn, will flutter on down,
to welcome us here, and to tickle our nose.
With a moment to cling, it is soft as a dream;
then it lifts into streams, of the sweet morning breeze.
She must sing from the heart, to awaken the dawn.
Her valor will linger, in the late morning sun.
Her tempo, announces a thaw in the spring,
Bringing a promise, of flowers and green.
Her voice has a cadence, a solo, ascending,
that comes with an encore, tremolos impending,
so fragile, it harks as a piccolo, playing.
She circles at dawn, to wake you and cheer you.
But at sundown, she croons, a soprano to soothe you.
She's a lark from a meadow, that mellows the heart
___________________________________________________________
Categories:
piccolo, bird, nature,
Form:
Personification
I stand on the beach in silence
Listening to the steady beat
Of the waves
Rolling and splashing
And covering my feet
Listen very closely
Can you hear that sound?
Of the music in the waters
Of the magic that I've found
The dolphins play the piano
The seahorses blow their horn
And with the salty spray as symbols
A symphony is born
Jellyfish strum the strings of guitar
Anemones play the oboe
And the delicate five-pointed starfish
Plays the piccolo
Use your imagination
Think way outside the box
Think of seaweed dancing wildly
Underneath the ocean rocks
I try to tell everybody
But no one can really see
The music in the waters
The orchestra of the sea
Categories:
piccolo, ocean, sea, music, music,
Form:
Free verse
The cow was playing cowbells,
Giddy Goat joined in on his guitar,
The horse was hoofing bongo drums.
Animals started coming from afar.
The chicken clucked an egg out,
Pig was oinking right in time,
Duck was tinkling on her triangle
While dog was hammering on his chime.
Pussy picked up her piccolo,
Goose was flapping on his flute,
Donkey brayed on a big trombone,
It really was a farmyard hoot!
-more poems like this can be found at:
kidscomedypoetry.com.au
Categories:
piccolo, kids, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
All around me, vegetables grow -
ripened by the soil upon which I kneel.
I fan my brow with a curved lettuce leaf
as I quietly study the geography of my legs.
The stilled roots inside my calves,
slightly veined yet supple, are
stroked by the sinewy arms of a
tomato vine. From my angle, lofty
statues standing taller than giraffes,
bend into leaning and nuture my wounds.
Proud cornhusks purse their lips
towards the mouth of Zeus. They speak
in a tongue only I can decipher and
hear. Two celery stalks are my drumsticks.
A whittled carrot acts as my piccolo and a
soundless symphony inaugurates in Cushing.
My Sunday cotton dress becomes moistened
with dewdrops and sweat. Pushing a fallen
strand of hair behind my ear, I stare ahead.
Focusing upon the neatly aligned rows of
strawberries and cantaloupes, I exhale.
The fruits of my labor cuddle the earth, as
does a belt caressing one’s waist. A topical
strap that separates paralysis from mobility.
The house and the barn seem miles away.
Distracted by the continuing concerto, I
ignore the distance and prop myself into
a seated position. Hushed harmonies rise
and empower, as I nurse my gifts from Dionysus.
Purity’s essence is dissected and the consent
of being is absorbed. I look back at my legs and nod,
as I gingerly study the secret science of a twinkling.
Categories:
piccolo, imagination
Form:
Free verse
The concert Band
A work of reeds, air, and hands
Reading sheet music isn’t easy
And our uniforms are anti-sleazy
All instruments must be in tune and time
Otherwise we sound like a broken chime
The flutes sound sweet and dainty – like a fairy
A piccolo can go so high it’s scary
Our key of music is set in the key of C
When we are in tune we sound so pretty
Clarinets are reeded
When they squeak, earplugs are needed.
They play way too soft; you must strain to hear
And you have to be quite nearfor that my dear
Saxophones are loud, reeded, and sqeaky
Sometimes they can be quite spit leaky
Those sweaty neckstraps are almost like ties
You could wear it with a suit and look like one of those classy rich guys
Trumpets range in color - silver or gold
Their sound is quite bold
They have valves of three
And all the fingerings are quite easy
French Horns are very hard to play
Tis hard to get the note you want to stay
You have to put your hand in the bell
The smell is totally not swell
Then the oboe and the bassoon.
Oboe sound high and sqeaky, and the bassoon sounds like a loon
Both reeds are double and small
And they arent quiet at all
Percussion is the busiest part to every band
They dont use air or reed; they use thier hands
They keep the tempo for the most part of the time
All of the precussion instruments cost one thousand times a dime
Trombones are made of brass and a slide
If they're loud, your hearing is fried
Stand to close, you'll get hit
Ive heasrd that hurts quite a bit
Without the conductor. we wouldn't be a band
They can change tempo with a flick of a hand
They control everything; we bow to your wow
They tell us where to end and when to play now
Categories:
piccolo, art, funny, imagination, music,
Form:
The flute plays low
Dum, dum, de, de
Organ joints the tune
Dum, dum, de, de
Clarinet delights the ear
Dum, dum, de, de
Baby elephant wobbles
Not graceful now
High piccolo shrill gay
Dum, dum, de, de
Trombone show the way
Woddle of baby elephant
Dum, dum, de, de
Dum, dum, de, de
Dum, dum, de, de
Dum, dum, de, de
Categories:
piccolo, imagination, music
Form:
Quatrain
my voice is a blade of grass not a piccolo
between two lips I tell you a great story
why is a spent of twenty on beers a day cost less
than to provide a meal
let's do the math of why a bag lentils
cost more than a six pack of beers
for sure the carrots were there
and so the green pepper to peal a bell
the produce most certain should kill the oast
of toast smiling the future and tomorrow
Categories:
piccolo, french,
Form:
The Mockingbird sings out his misleading best,
in hopes to attract a dupe with a nest,
where the squatter believes mate’s eggs should belong;
so mimics and jabbers uncountable songs.
Catbirds and Thrashers, related critters,
both grey North Americans sport throats of a twitter.
These gifted Warblers mock tricky bird tunes,
deceiving, deluding as feathered dragoons.
In fairness to balance the Tweeters’ intent,
creating, demanding a need to invent
a song to attract a new or lost mate:
so, a beacon to follow and commitment to state.
EXAMPLE MOCK SONGS
whistling, hey-hey yip pittie-yap
frog gurgle, snarf-chickie claw-saw
peep peeping piccolo-staccato bleat
sniftering chit-chat, yodel-do do
snerling, rat trap, blah tat-tat-tat
crunchy nasal chirp, coo-coo-coo
Categories:
piccolo, allusion, betrayal, bullying, irony,
Form:
Rhyme
putrid rascal was a real truant
and also a junkie
and a somnambulist too
and wicked gourmet bought a new guillotine
then the rascal walked dizzily
like a mechanic dancer
around the cinnamon circle
right under the scythe
and underwent a severance
the staggering truth was quite vague
then a postwar prelude under the lurid sky
piccolo semitone
sacrament
orchids
silhouettes on a merry-go-round
the jetty broke up
and a castaway went away
right before dawning
beforethe stellar equinox
but journey was a humdrum
with nautical nausea
just a medley of flukes
so we hit the road
on the roof of a magic bus
not just figurative
really peculiar
and finally let behind
all the cold sensations
a marble queen visits
with a priest with no faith
and start gentle mutiny
the celestial journey
is over at ten p.m.
and all we got left
is a sobering lethargy
Categories:
piccolo, dream, freedom, imagination, journey,
Form:
Free verse
SEHGUH ASIL
Both of us were very well fed by a flame
Each gaze made right what once seemed so wrong
You gave me a gift and I was never the same
It was the gift of lyrics, music and song
But finally I have a freshly found fact, indeed
Information you may not know
It is a fact my fate has decreed
As you stroll with unawareness in tow
It’s about words as they relate to music and notes
Specifically the songs you bestowed upon me
A dozen fine tunes with a flute that floats
While waves of wonder flowed upon me
The lady lilts lyrics that are razor sharp
As the syncopation slices my flesh and soul
I pray to a piccolo while my heart hears the harp
And when she voices vibrato I’m pacified whether for a half-note or whole
So I merely care to point something out
About the intricacy of what a man like me learns
Each song is a scene that demands I should pout
and sadly the song now conveys why our flame no longer burns
© 2013 copyright PHREEPOETREE…..~free cee!~
Categories:
piccolo, angst, romance, song, song,
Form:
Quatrain