Best Piece Of Music Poems
Beauty
Beauty is all around me, in a million different things.
The silvery haired, wrinkled face of one that has impenetrable memories
She smiles and longs for someone, anyone to bust her out of her prison of silence.
It is in the wispy, snowy white, silk of a milkweed as it frees itself of its casing
It arrives in the sound of a beautiful well orchestrated piece of music that penetrates my soul.
In the simplicity of a simple clump of wildflowers that grows freely in the ditch.
As my dog Quincy runs freely with his friend Sawyer
the beauty of their comradery and unbridled joy is unparalleled.
It is in the kindness of those who consider the feelings of others and gently encourage.
It emerges from the generosity at Christmas and unselfish acts all around from veritable strangers.
The lake on a late November afternoon with its shades of bluish greys
And a backdrop of thick denseness but a silvery light reflecting on the water
and peeking through to show me one more surprise before covering up with its blanket of dark.
The tedious overnight work of a spider who sits in wait
in the most radiant web with drops of dew sitting carefully on a strand.
In the spirit of one who never gives up
and remains grateful even after unmentionable hardships and grief.
In the words of the poets claiming words as their own
to create the most unique ways of speaking their truth.
In the love of a couple simply holding hands as they walk.
The joy of a child’s face as he sees his favourite grandpa has come to visit.
Of course, there are the generous sunsets
and flowers of every colour that decorate my outside world
The seagulls that stand on one leg,
The geese that fly to unknown destinations at the same time every day
The elaborate sandcastle built lovingly with a dad on the beach
The nest with chirping baby birds begging furiously to fill their emptiness
made lovingly with grasses and twigs and various treasures.
The smell of beautifully roasted coffee permeating my early morning
It is a beautifully crafted piece of art that is fresh from the soul’s expression of the artist’s brush
I have learned to see the beauty all around and build a life of gratefulness
Beauty surprises and comes in simplest form
Which helps to drown the sorrow that inevitably must come to us all.
Grace Daub
December 1, 2021
The Keyboard of My Heart
By
Stan Almendro
The Keyboard of my heart has no ivory keys to play
Music comes from what I think, dream and what I say
A melody that people hear is my happy, sensitive heart
It is a song that will stay and never from me depart.
There are also no black keys in the keyboard of my heart
And you can in fact not tell the black keys from the white
No hands are found striking these keys that don’t exist
Yet the sweetness of the chords no heart can really resist
With no white or black keys in this keyboard of my heart
Where and how does the music begin to make a start?
No music sheet was written for this keyboard of my heart
Music that you hear gets your feet tapping to every part
No musician, grandmaster plays this keyboard of my soul
It sends forth a celestial joy to the weak and to the bold
The weak and frail are not excluded from this joyous tune
They need no physical energy to frolic from morn to noon
The bold and strong live in this music which never stops
It is not a piece of music bought in some corner shop
Because it’s not for sale the poor also to this music dance
Yes weak, bold both rich and poor all have an equal chance
No very expensive grand piano or master music hand
Is needed for the music seems is written in the sand
So as you see me frolic, dance to the music of the band
Ask that the keyboard of your heart be touched by the “Master's Hand."
By Stan Almendro ©
You stare at me with vacant eyes
It’s like living with a stranger
Tears and tantrums we both despise
Where is the man I once loved?
Locked inside your own little world
Sometimes a piece of music makes you smile
But every day I know I’m losing you
I’m losing you bit by bit
I no longer get greeted with a loving kiss
These days you lash out uncontrollably
I get battered and bruised by your flying fist
But I’ll never give up loving you
NOT written from personal experience of living with someone with dementia
08~07~16
In a world of desire,
Beauty is often confused,
with physical appearances......
Yet, what is real beauty?
Beauty reflects one's tender heart,
One's sweetness and gentleness,
It's the beauty of one's soul.....
And if carefully examined,
Can be found in all.......
Beauty seeks expression,
And leaves a lasting impression,
Through such things as kindness, compassion and service,
And leaves such reverence,
And love for all humanity,
And all the world's creatures......
Beauty is the souls true essence,
Which has the most beautiful fragrance,
It's expressed in a piece of music,
Or a noble pursuit....
Its core is tenderness,
Which enhances togetherness,
Which brings humanity together,
And lasts forever....
Beauty is in the dew drop,
And the summer breeze,
In a Mother's caress,
And I must confess,
If one looks hard enough,
Can be found in even the most flawed person.....
If we look for only the beauty,
In all people and life,
We will see that it is always reflected back to us,
In life's beautiful song,
To which we all belong.
Long ago I was given a medallion, a gift from a beautiful women
when she gave it she said "remember"
Whenever I look at it, I remember
The night, the music, the snow falling outside, the frosted windows
This medallion has a flower engraved on it, with the word love
When I look at the medallion a song plays in my head
a beautiful piece of music called Europa, it haunts me still
A night when love was held like a beautiful painting
by two souls lost seeking fire with hearts of caged emotion
where a timeless sense of forever was burned
into the fabric of our wants and needs
I can still smell her perfume, still, feel the smoothness of silk
still see the candles flickering she lit before playing Europa
On a small table, the empty wine glasses reflected the candlelight
in a glimmering glow
She led me into an unknown world with a smile
where every sense was opened and spilled
Of all the memories I hold close, none as tight as this one
The night I was taught romantic theater
by a beautiful woman and her music
3/14/21 contest I Remember
sponsor Malabika Ray Choudhury
What we are trying to do this morning,
pulling some poetry out of nowhere.
Drag it kicking and hopefully screaming
out from under the bed,or from somewhere,
maybe crouched behind some lonely synapse
deep within the jelly I call a brain.
Just try to fill a page, you fool, no lapse
is allowed. Beat the bushes, stop a train,
play a new piece of music, a new beat
that you can tie some words to, stalk the muse
into a corner, fight dirty, some heat,
anything you can, I don't know, some ruse,
cross-eyed, tongue out, drooling on the keyboard,
anything to add a poem to your hoard!
Spirits float and glide
on the notes of the Native flute
echoing off the canyon walls
resounding through the pine scented forests
cascading over crystal falls
dulcet tones soft as a lovers caress
the melodic winds drift and sigh
as rivers flow through pristine mountains
coaxing the morning star over the horizon.
Vignette on the theme of a piece of music
inspired by: Song for the Morning Star
By: R. Carlos Nakai - Native American Flute Music
from the: Canyon Trilogy CD
African savannah grassland;
The grove world of beautiful lands.
Open and vast with opportunity
For every lion to go hunting.
The grove world of beautiful lands
For every lion to go hunting,
Watching is culture perched on a branch
Upon the decaying to come and feast.
For every lion to go hunting
Upon the decaying to come and feast.
The weak drool upon greedy king of the jungle
While the strong cut down oak of the forest.
Upon the decaying to come and feast;
While the strong cut down oak of the forest
And tap on withered porous papyrus branches,
Boiling fresh latex of the rubber tree.
While the strong cut down oak of the forest
Boiling fresh latex of the rubber tree,
They're cheered on by dancing blades of grass
That create beauty to appease the touring spirit.
Boiling fresh latex of the rubber tree
That create beauty to appease the touring spirit
Seeking to know every insect hidden in burrows
While in the strong wind the grass sway.
That create beauty to appease the touring spirit
While in the strong wind the grass sway
Not really dancing to any piece of music;
It creates a beautiful tune for dancers.
While in the strong winds the grass sway
It creates a beautiful tune for dancers
Attending the party of starved herbivores
Who feast on African savannah grass.
It creates a beautiful tune for dancers
Who feast on African savannah grass
The grove world of beautiful lands
For every lion to go hunting.
Swan-Bird; instruct me and pray ye swift
That I might show (Babs) as villainous
For he forced Father's self-abolishment to his beloved gift
Thrice- as insect- my revenge has proven venomous
So out of the sea- my flight becomes son-ominous
http://enwikipedia.org/wiki/Flight_of_the_Bumblebee
Inspirations:
Aleksandr Pushkin's original poem
Fanfare - a vignette about a "piece" of music
April 14th 2009
Contest Sponsor: Brian Strand
Written in Quintain (English) form: rhyming sequence of ababb, no set measure or foot
All rights reserved - reposted 6-3-09
Thank you, mother
You like a melody of life,
A small flame that warm me alive.
But now that piece of music is lifeless,
As the soul, the heart, the inspirational,
Were lost into time.
Oh memories!
Oh mother!
You float and soar the skies
riding the winds thermals
vast oceans you travel
majestic and mysterious
Thought by mariners of old
to be a harbinger of death
the sight of you a sign of doom
a bird bringing ill fate
How could anything so beautiful
have earned such ill repute
yet mariners feared you the most
and signed themselves with the cross
Albatross as you soar up high
you take my heart with your beauty
on your endless wanderings
and fill my heart with delight
For me the sight gladdens my very soul
as you silently glide above
your wings dazzling white in the sun
truly you are a Spirit Bird
30/05/2013
contest Mood Music
long before he started Fleetwood Mac I knew Mac I have always thought Albatross to be the most beautiful haunting piece of music ever I would die happily to its notes Did you know that Mac did not think it good enough for release? Lucky for us the record company thought differently.
In awe, I welcome Thor with utmost glee.
The powerful celestial force set free
amongst the hills and over the coarse scree.
The winds that whip and slink — the hailstones loudly clink.
Flashes segue to link — I quell the urge to blink.
My pulse quickens at the rank petrichor.
I ignore being drenched, making my soul soar,
I turn my face to the rain to taste more.
The storm will not abate — it’ll make me very late
for meeting that’ll seal fate — my destiny won't wait.
Our tempers complimenting to a T,
and search for impressive clichés in sync.
Remembering that which had gone before,
I’m quite blasé about the hot debate.
This poem was included in the 11-poem anthology dealing with hailstones, in the online publication Pick Me Up Poetry, March 2022:
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© SUZETTE SONNET—SUZNET for short (9 April 2021)
A 14-line sonnet of alternating triplets and couplets, concluding with a quatrain.
1. Rhyme scheme: aaa (b1–b2)(b3–b4) ccc (d1–d2)(d3–d4) abcd
2. The triplets are iambic pentameter [*/|*/|*/|*/|*/].
3. The rhyming couplets are iambic hexameter and include an internal rhyme, namely [*/|*/|*/—*/|*/|*/] (alexandrines).
4. Concluding with a quatrain in iambic pentameter that summarises the poem in a rhyme scheme set by the triplets and couplets.
5. The volta is at L9. OR the couplets may define pivots within the poem, ie a tilting or shifting in the mainline of thought. When the latter is employed, it needs to be uniform throughout the poem.
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LEXICON
ceraunophilia: (n) A fondness (loving) for thunder and lightning and finding them intensely beautiful.
The term is derived from the Greek ‘keraunós’, meaning lightning or thunderbolt. On the flip side, ceraunophobia may be defined as a fear of thunder and lightning.
scree: (n) a mass of small stones that form a slope on a mountain.
segue: (v) 1. (in music and film) move without interruption from one piece of music or scene to another. 2. Move or shift from one state or condition to another.
petrichor: (adj) it describes how rain makes the hot ground smell at the first rains.
A Coming Together
Lizzie Treetop
We reach out to each other across space and time
What an incredible, challenging world we live in
Joining together as one, different people different cultures
Reaching out to each other through modern technology
Accepting things that once could only be dreamed
People recognizing a kindred spirit searching seeking
Exchanging ideas, beliefs, beauty, pain, tears and... fears
Artists joining together beholding sheer beauty
Contributing ideas, thoughts and their many varied talents
Some even sharing a poem, a picture, a piece of music
Friendships, growing developing, becoming everlasting
Even love suddenly spanning across space and time
Awakening an all consuming passion, desire and need
Tis a wondrous world that we have all suddenly entered
To be a citizen of this internet age, such an adventure
Barriers even, maybe one day, seeming obsolete unnecessary
All fears of the unknown disappear as we become as one
A family of the internet age, together across time and space
It's obsessive Compulsive
An addiction For fiction
A need I must feed
To clot the bleed
I feen for intensity
Of searching for clarity
In an enchanting mystery
The opposite to reality
The house becomes still
Not a soul to entertain
It's time for my meal
Everyday it's the same
A short piece of music
A cosmetic aesthetic
The very reason they use it
To stir my fetish
It's an intense venom
Paired with tachycardia
Slow metabolism
Is how it'll get ya
Suspense induced paralysis
Excluding sticky fingers
My personal analysis
Lethargy lingers
So I keep coming back
Escaping my existence
I'm hooked like crack
Doomed to be defenseless
Crazy people are life’s brilliant colours
A Street can look so dull but to a crazy person a parade of dancing fairies appear as the floor catches the rain
A fence post can look ordinary but to a crazy person the scratches in the wood would unveil a renascence picture to the brain
A wardrobe is just a piece of furniture but to a crazy person it’s a place to hide from the fumbling green giant when he goes insane
A quiet room is something familiar but to a crazy person it’s somewhere the voices in his head can tell him to do things he shouldn’t again
A piece of music is common place but in the mind of a crazy person the wonderful memory of a young lover that he still in his heart retained
A conversation can be uncomplicated until the crazy man comes in on a complete tangent and starts talking about how the trees tell him of the midnight crocodile train
A man walking towards you seems unthreatening but watch the crazy man believe that he is chasing him with a big bread knife yet thinks he is sane
A window scene seems incredibly dull yet the crazy man watches every movement in the window to make sure he is alone and not liable to meet the devil at the window pane
A word like crazy can seem normal to say yet every time I see it the crazy man always and forever will be in unequivocal pain.