Best Tambourine Poems
can shivering in pain be heard,
taut timbre ~ now memories...
the sound is real ~ pain forgotten
yet heard like iced limbs shaken
and crash where summer thunder reigned
~ now fall in icy silence...
Written Jan 29 for Nette's "Connect the Dots" contest
Oh, merry tambourine, shake-shake your beat.
Entice our gypsy lady from her seat.
Swirl her body. Make her show each bangle
round her ankles. In your pulse entangle
all of us with magic mirth replete!
Turn and thrust and twist her hips petite.
Let staccato move her tiny feet.
Make her shimmy-shimmy with your jangle.
Oh, merry tambourine.
In the night, by fire, we feel the heat
as you jingle for our gypsy sweet.
As she moves in moonlight, at this angle,
how her green eyes shimmer! Make her spangle,
oh, merry tambourine!
For Brian Strand's 'ALL YOURS (Jan 24)' Poetry Contest
No sonnet to hold the magic of feeling,
A trembling tenderness in my soul delights –
A shadowing sonnet to reflect the lights,
The beauty, the beauty, of ever believing.
No sadness to spoil the depth of compassion,
A freedom so simple, though love lives still –
A flyaway sonnet to soar with the thrill,
The release, the escape, of all love and all passion.
No days and no years could cut its throat,
A timeless emotion that cannot know never,
That can never quite give enough.
No cymbals for us with one splendid note –
A tambourine sonnet for you, forever
For the soft steady shake of this love.
Copyright (c) Silverla StMichael 1998 (previously published under a prior pen name Sherry May Curnock)
Along the road where moonbeams spill,
the gypsy wagons wander still.
Their lanterns swing like fireflies caught,
each wheel a whisper, each song a thought.
The fiddler hums a ghostly tune,
that weaves beneath the weeping moon.
A tambourine keeps time with dreams,
and horses wade through silver streams.
No map can mark the path they tread,
no stone remembers where they led.
They chase the winds, they court the skies,
with fortune shining in their eyes.
And if you chance to hear their song,
it means your heart won't rest for long.
For once you glimpse the roaming stars,
your soul will follow gypsy scars.
Tambourine tears fall with such grace
They actually make music on my face
A festival of salt on blackened skin
Pickled smile teasing the audience again
Bitterness is an acquired fruit
After fasting, it is at least something…to eat
A means of consuming protein…the meat
Of getting back to business and reconstructing
Changes shuttle as seasons flavor the wind
Like melting snow
The saltiness gives way to new perspective
Like lemonade from lemons
Tambourine tears begin to sing
Of jaded joy
Of laughter after loss
Of love and light again
Lovely
Mystical one
Hearing what we cannot
Flowing with your tambourine dance
Gypsy
Tom played the tambourine
It was a spectacular scene
He danced as he played
The dreadful noise that he made
Caused the people that passed him to scream
She twirled in like falling autumn leaves of gold.
The ultimate heroine of fabricated stories of men of old.
Her castanets clicked in a gleeful, happy friendly way.
Tambourine Woman had entered the fall fest fray.
She brought in dragonflies, they flew at her command.
She is here! Someone said. They organized an impromptu band.
Tambourine Woman was no legend or myth.
Her sapphire eyes danced as she lived her pure bliss.
We were perplexed, bewitched, enamored and astounded.
Corn moon gave her attention that was mostly unfounded.
Butterflies surrounded her, and flitted their truth and love.
Her glorious dancing must have been given by those from above.
Murmurs went through the family on that October night.
She is real! She exists! We saw her, in all of her bright!
To others we could never spread this truth or express our zeal.
Because they were not ready to admit this myth was actually real.
I woke in a cheer toned embrace.
Enthused by the bubbly hold,
I wished to spread its hugging sound.
Joyful feel emotively
played jolly, jingling, jangling notes
on a gleeful tambourine.
Room to shake my tambourine
That’s all I ask, and a space to dance
And twirl my scarves and entice you to pay
A corner to read your palm and collect silver
A tiny nook to park tarot and runes
Most of all a place to shake my bracelets
Blond light
Falling through
The clouds
Traveling down
For miles and miles
Striking beneath her
Tambourine smile
Mr tambourine man played a song for me
Why does Mr musician play a song for you ?
I'm crazy
Crazy people need a tamboriner .
I bet every one in the world is crazy it only matters
The degree of craziness
I will not go to the grave because
When I go to the grave my head will be high
Wage wage till the dying of the light
For the light shines brightest in the darkness
The beauty of all things is when it gets ugly .
Once upon a song, through the rings of smoke,
down the foggy ruins of time, they spoke
to me, straight from Bob Dylan’s potent pen.
Mr. Tambourine man, play that song again.
These words had introduced me to a world,
as a new consciousness burst and uncurled.
It doesn’t seem so very long since then.
Mr. Tambourine man, play that song again.
The jingle-jangle morning is not bright,
It’s now the crumbling, creaking dead of night,
and I’m a long forgotten, aged man.
Mr. Tambourine man, play that song again.
As from the world, it’s time to take my leave,
on this, my prayerful, final, earthly, eve.
Remember me. Don’t forget to say amen.
Mr. Tambourine man, play that song again.
In honor of “Mr. Tambourine Man”, written and sung by Bob Dylan (1965), covered by many.
Every tap and hand touch
Rhythm to the highest
Quality echo
Praise to the finest
Appreciation that mounts
Blessing count
Inner soul outburst
Feeling of thank you
Ultimate assurance
Tambourine lesson
Listening to what the tambourine is saying
Let the beat carry on
Tambourine being its own voice
The standalone
Needs nothing shown
Tambourine above all
Assurance of the touch
Tambourine friend
Tambourine tap until then
Tambourine Master