Best Puccini Poems
Born in New York of Italian descent,
From my childhood and beyond through the years,
Deep in my soul live the sounds of lament—
The drama of romance, fear, death and tears.
The power, the movements, fill up my soul
Like thunder that clashes in dark of night;
So vibrant and flowing, lost in the role,
I listen, to grasp each note with delight.
The voices, emotions strike at my heart,
I'm filled with a depth I cannot explain—
The beauty, the sadness in every part
Bring stories to life that stir inner pain.
Yes, opera I speak of—so part of me;
My favorites played again and again—
Puccini, Bizet and those of Verdi;
Of Tosca, Carmen, and best, La Boheme.
Each opera a drama of life and death—
The singers stir feelings with every word;
Strong voices mingle to deepen my breath.
Emotions rise with great arias heard.
Born in New York of Italian descent
With family that loved and nurtured this art;
Played records at home and many times went
To the Met where opera thrilled my heart.
~1st Place~
Contest: That's why I love (insert your subject)
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
Judged: 06/06/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: Favorite Music Type
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 10/26/2015
Her name was Madame Butterfly;
true love embraced her one fine day.
By sea, he came, neath bright, blue sky,
on Navy ship from far away.
Love, at first sight, it was for them,
this naval officer and his
sweet Geisha from Japan, a gem;
together found a lover's bliss.
His tour was done, and now goodbye
would break her heart, but he'd return...
he said...then left his Butterfly.
She watched him leave, with sad concern.
His son was born, and three years passed;
each day she looked out to the shore.
No sign of him, and she soon asked...
is he now gone, forevermore?
But, then one day, her love arrived!
The ship was there moored in the bay.
He had returned, with joy she cried,
oh, happy day...she knelt to pray.
At once, she saw a woman there...
and holding hands with her dear man,
the father of her son...unfair...
he, with a wife, came to Japan.
Her heart now broken; how life turned...
her true love found then lost, and yet
returned to her...but she has learned
he's lost forever...such regret.
Her honor lost, her life is done.
She hugs her son and says goodbye.
Behind the screen, neath morning sun...
with dagger high...poor Butterfly.
August 7, 2016
~5th Place~
Contest: A Love Lost, Then Found Only To Lose Again
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri-Carroll
Judged: 08/26/2016
~3rd Place~
Premiere Contest: Impaled
Sponsor: Anthony Slausin
Judged: 08/08/2019
Story from "Madame Butterfly" - an opera composed by Giacomo Puccini
Walls breathe insistent hunger,
red as the inside of a split pomegranate,
richer still where the tallow has melted,
slick as the fat from a burnt offering.
Scarpia does not eat.
He savors—sounds of gristle
snapping in the next room—
—low, wet gasps—
body writhing beneath unseen hands,
a melody of muscle breaking.
Tosca stands, spine locked,
as he drinks from a goblet brimming with the color
of a mouth left too long in the sun.
He watches her throat move,
slow, careful, like a deer
scenting iron in the air.
A scream glissandos through the walls.
Scarpia wipes his lips.
His fingers, thick as butcher’s twine,
gesture toward the door—
an invitation, a demand—
a sermon delivered without breath.
Tosca does not kneel.
Not yet.
But the feast has begun,
and the host holds the fermata.
(note: this poem was inspired by a scene from the opera Tosca by Giacomo Puccini)
Oh my dear Mama
I am in love with her
I want to go to Port Rossa
To buy a wedding ring
Yes, yes, I want to go there
And if my love were in vain
I'd go to Ponte Vecchio
And fall to my destiny
I struggle with this tormenting
Oh God, I'd like to die
mama have pity on me
mama have pity on me
To be sung to "O mio babbino caro" by Puccini
You can find it on YouTube I suggest Maria Callas.
No Maria -
when a Bernstein motif lingers.
No rosary beads -
they'll simply slip
through bourbon-stained fingers.
God carved the seven continents,
with skillful guise,
and Puccini cries.
Adam's rib was imminent
when his chest burst splinters
into a scorned dodger's eyes.
No Turandot tonight, please -
Father willed him this disease;
a cancerous curse
Ben's learned to despise.
No Rodgers -
when Oscar Hammerstein is dead.
No hammered halos -
they'll merely desecrate
the madman’s head.
Ben abandoned rued religion,
with toxic breath -
as Mimi wept.
Noah made a revision,
as the pairs filed two by two,
and into his mouth they crept.
No La Boheme, does he dote -
Mother’s cocktail glass
cuts his throat.
A souvenir,
from his childhood,
he’s kept.
No Sondheim -
when one loathes another's company.
No steel wool ragcloths -
to dry the bloodshot eyes of thee.
He minded the duet’s jargon
endorsing the macabre,
and Calaf sobbed.
Judas rethought the bargain,
knowing the silver pieces
wouldn’t save the soul he robbed.
A lost weekend sates Ben's day -
two severed hands on his chest,
he’ll lay; never feeling
a heart
that once throbbed.
To tell the truth,
I was no fan of opera, in my youth...
When did it come...? That turning point....?
I do not know, ........
perhaps I grew, to understand...
a wrenching tale his stories told
can grab the heart... ...grip fast ...and hold!
Puccini came, from out of nowhere
It finally made more sense to me...in spite of those who scoff, and shake their heads
Alive once more....this man long dead
has stirred my soul, ........and I was lead, into the clouds, where heaven lives!
I became a fan, ...and realized, such music lives within the blood
It rushes in, and floods my veins, just as it did to those so long ago
An aria... then a divine duet....Rodolpho and his sweet coquette
connects me to a vine entwined,
with those who listenend, long before my time.
Sitting in the dark tonight, I pause to think
who would have dreamed
how tears in the eyes, have formed a thousand rivers?
Long through the ages, still coiling with emotion
devotional artists, sing of such rapture
into the rafter's to countless reception...
A lover's kiss, the singing with prose
Skins turning cold....from the chill beauty holds
Tears to unfold, hypnotic poses
A bliss such as this
has left generations.... breathless
As the curtain is closed........ I must compose myself
Old music that echoes, as it has for centuries
bouncing off these walls....as I'm torn into two....
mingling with my heart, the old with the new
The rafter's of time, have absorbed one more time
Two tragic lovers, declaring in song
Throngs have been sung to.....hearts have been wrung
I listen, I watch, as lovers fade from the light
in poignant beauty, drifting away...
...........dying in the distance, ........
as will Mimi,
leaving her love behind....alone with a shattered heart
as death tears them apart
leaving my eyes brimming over
with tears in the dark
_________________________________
"Music By Puccini"
La Boheme Series Haiku — Mimi Dies
songs call love ~
bread with wine beg warmth ~
too late come some chances granted
——————————————————————
————
(c)sally young eslinger 6/2022
Thanks be to God
With hugs, dear Puccini
My Secret Place
When the world is too much with me
And I long to fly away
I lay back in contentment
And listen to music play
Rachmaninov is my God
Puccini makes me cry
The symphony is my home
For the Opera I would die
Whenever terror strikes me
And I think I'll lose my mind
I put my feet up on the chaise
And leave my cares behind
I don't need mental help
Or even Dr. Phil
I just listen to the violins
I have no need for pills
This is my private place
Far away from strife
Music is a gift from God
I will treasure all my life
Copyright©2005Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
The murky rolling waves subject
to the whims of the February's wind,
far above the secluded lighthouse;
the roaming aircrafts vanish through thick clouds,
leaving behind a trail of hazardous vapors...
but the geese and seagulls can't continue their existence!
And still the sea offers them its promise,
a distant shore untouched by man...
by his greedy ways and incompassion,
causing the extinction of many species;
my reflection is based on fact :
we can't survive without them!
The stylish wild birds engage,
as if striken by a sudden rage,
in their frantic, daily dance over the marina,
as I listen the melancholic lyrics of " Nessun Dorma "...
the exquisite area of Puccini,
which comes alive through the extraordinary voice of Bocelli!
At four the fog thickens and shrouds the shoreline,
the brass lampposts light up with reluctance...
to shy away the presence of any ghost;
I, in transitive joy, hide my treasure beneath the tides,
hoping someone will find it and remember my work...
long after my thoughts will be no longer alive!
Oh, I dreamed so of marriage when I was a boy,
Of a girl I could cherish, might love my whole life!
In the 'first' grade, a girl (my first love) called me "Roy," (1)
Of course, I called her "Dale," (1) sure she'd make a good wife!
Oh, her folks moved too quickly, by 'second' was gone,
But 'Scheherazade' (2) wooed me; my dream did not die,
For she whispered such tales, 'Afternoon of a Fawn,' (3)
'Madam Butterfly's (4) sorrow' brought tears to my eye!
As I grew 'La Bohème' (5) spoke of life on one's own,
Magic 'Firebird' (6) whose plight gifted feather brought light,
Then Mozart's 'Magic Flute' (7) proved that music's high tone
Could restore man's delight, and depose Queen of Night!
How did ever boy's life such a privilege dare,
Dark and light fight till death, and yet, music is there!
Brian Johnston
14th of June 2018
Poet's Notes:
(1) Roy Rogers and Dale Evans were a famous married couple in movies.
(2) 'Scheherazade' was the princess who finds love in "One Thousand and One Nights."
(3) 'Afternoon of a Fawn' is a famous (orchestra and ballet) piece by Debussy,
(4) 'Madam Butterfly' is an opera by Puccini.
(5) 'La Bohème' is another famous opera by Puccini.
(6) "The Firebird' is a famous (orchestra and ballet) musical piece by Stravinsky,
(7) The famous opera called "The Magic Flute' is by Mozart.
Born in New York of Italian descent-
from childhood on- lasting still all these years,
Deep in my soul live the sounds of lament-
The drama of romance, fear, death, and tears.
The power, the movements, fill up my soul
Like thunder that roars to shake up the night;
So vibrant and flowing, lost in the role,
I listen to grasp each note with delight.
Emotional voices strike at my heart,
I'm filled with a depth I cannot explain-
The beauty, the sadness in every part
Bring stories to life that stir inner pain.
Yes, opera is a big part of me;
My favorites played again and again-
Puccini, Bizet and those of Verdi;
Of Tosca, Carmen, and best, La Boheme.
With musical dramas of life and death-
The singers stir feelings with every word.
Strong voices mingle to deepen my breath;
Emotions rise with each aria heard.
Born in New York of Italian descent-
My family loved and nurtured this art;
played records at home- with happy hours spent
at the Met- where opera lifted my heart.
A damp and dank November morn
A mist hangs over the sea
Another bad night of tossing and turning
Feeling emotional and lonely you see
Then right on cue as if to say
Sit back
Relax
Let your tension float away
Heartfelt notes encompass me
His song gently stroking my soul
A Puccini opera
Emotions run high
Just like in Madam Butterfly
I am in a trance
My soul wants to dance
As my heart he carries along
With the melodic notes of his song
The finale reached a crescendo
Oh no ~ please stay ~ please sing on
But then at the end the softest of sounds
As he turned he flew right down to the ground
My blackbird serenade
My day he has made
My tears he has dried
As this new day arrives
11th November 2020
Contest Name Podium placing promise(6)
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
A radio aired an awful auld aria,
Astounding all my aged aural edifices
In eerie aura of araucaria trees
Aching angrily in a loud typhonic breeze.
My brain wanted to burrow to escape the pain
Of sounds as a warren of rabid jackrabbits
Digging to escape mangy slobbering coyotes
Howling hungrily in panting pursuit of prey.
Such a scratchy song, if played in the briny deep,
Would chase crazy-eyed kraken to the mountain tops.
Callas, Verdi and Puccini would flee their graves
For a screechy symphony of barbed wire sitars.
Praise be! The off button my shaking hands did find;
I woke up, pressing on my belly button hard.
Why does everything have to smell like dung?!?
Molecules wafting up my nose
Forgotten meals
and friends
and good times
Isn't it bad enough that the Puccini disk skips
during my favorite song,
or that I have to use gas station napkins
for toilet paper?
scrape off mold from the block of cheese?
Maybe I just stepped in it.
I have begun a short haiku series based on my favorite opera La boheme. This haiku may begin the series,not sure. Hoping for feedback. Thanks for reading.
le bon homme Puccini smiles
white magnolias
by concert halls bloom
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(c)sally Young eslinger 1/14/2021