Best Thunderous Applause Poems
You give me the desire
a love for composing
word symphonies
yet you give me
the cross of mediocrity
to bear
day by day to know
there are others
who are prodigies
and I must hear
the thunderous applause
while at best
I get the praise
of those who seek to console
my dying soul
I must eat my heart alive
while the words burn inside
demanding expression
soul confession
unborn masterpiece extrication
I fall to my knees
and plead
While I beat my chest
in fervent heat
"Bless me...Bless me...
Make me like him
Make me like her
Make me more than all of these
Make me the best
a word genius
For this love of words will not set me free
Till it is MY name that they chant
My name on their tongues
My name branded on their minds
the Maestro of Word symphonies
Oh, Let it be ME, ME!
BLESS ME!"
Yet...
day after day
night after night
and in my dreams
I see, I see....
I see them take their bows
I see their work showcased
praised
immortalized
while I?
I sit at my desk
and try once more
to write
to...WRITE
the sublime....
Eileen
The movie Amadeus rocked my to the core. "In it, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was killed by his jealous rival, the court composer Antonio Salieri. Salieri cleverly took advantage of Mozart's fondness for drink, his financial crisis, and his obsession with pleasing his deceased father, and tricked Mozart into working himself to death."
Murry Abraham did a wonderful job of portraying Salieri. There is a scene where he argues with God about the wonderful musical talent he has gifted Mozart, who seems undeserving to him, while HE has to live with mediocrity in musical talent. I can relate. I LOVE poetry. It is my life, and yet...I have to watch as others write so effortlessly and reach the pinnacle of fame. It is hard to do. :( Some days are better than others. On the good days, I'm happy that I can write a poem now and again. On the bad days....I want to cry for not being another Shakespeare....or Donne, or Dickinson, or Gibran, or Rumi, or....and the list is endless.
A Harvest of Music
The orchestra gathered under the dome
Audience awaiting the pure joy to come.
Descending silence alerting the senses.
Arrive the maestro, and magic commences.
Trombone and trumpet burst forth with feeling.
Explosion of sound, set senses reeling.
Tuba and French horn now adding their voice,
Uniting as one to delight and rejoice.
Soft music flowing, a leaf in a stream,
Catching the ear in a heavenly dream,
Rising and soaring, empowered of wings,
A dream maker's touch and violin sings.
With long curving bow caressing the strings,
Hair hiding her face, an angel, she brings
The music of angels, rafters invading
Haunting blue notes from cello cascading.
Clarinet cadenza, clear fluid tones
Tugging the heartstrings, embracing the bones.
Filling the dome, ethereal splendour
Fading away, celestial wonder.
Percussion take hold, no longer hidden
Cymbals and side drum do as they're bidden,
Crashing and booming, sound finding its berth
Pulling the listener back down to the earth.
Thunderous applause with standing ovation.
The crowd full of rapture capture elation,
A feast for the soul, a prayer with no word
A harvest of music, to honour the Lord.
raindrops tap dancing
to a falling melody
thunderous applause
Will you leave this life
Without a murmur or a whimper
Be cast down to the depths below
In a hallowed tomb of timber
You did not exit stage left
To the sound of thunderous applause
Or the scream of heavy bombardment
Or some tearing tiger claws
To all the men who slipped away, unnoticed
Here is ye're epitaph
We looked at the world with unblinking eyes
And all we could do was laugh
Inspired by Friedrich Von Schiller’s poem,
The birth to a tumultuous...orchestral bliss.
The flicks of his wand was the rhythm he heard,
A call for dramatic attention...an extraordinary passage.
As he pulls...he demands...rejecting the three movements,
A dense prelude to what is to come softly emerges.
The lower strings of the orchestra sadly...grope,
And transcend into a new melody...a higher plateau.
Intermingling yet surprisingly...exploding into full orchestra,
The rhythm leaves his wand...to the choral of ode to joy.
A musical patriot with passionate poise...conducts in silence.
His soul’s final composition permeates from the gestures of his wand.
A deaf body with a mindful soul...fatigued and battered,
Deprived to listen to the thunderous applause...of his life’s magnum opus.
How different we are
And in the way we act
In love and romance
A heart filled pact
It can start out so good
To a thunderous applause
And fall by the wayside
Just because
Corners are turned
Sometimes we go the same way
And sometimes round the same corner
We can go slightly astray
At the start of it all
To the table we bring
But somewhere along the road
Different hearts, beat on different strings
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-3.php
Mellow autumn….how refreshing!
Draw nigh that my soul may find delight
In the vibrant hues of red and gold
The long walks in cool brisk air
Watching the wild geese fly south
In quiet solitude, latent dreams resurrect
They haunt my fragrant reverie
As I walk a familiar path, down these steps of stone,
That lead me to “my place” by the sea!
Where the cries of hungry seagulls resound
As they squabble over a miniscule meal,
Wild surf crash into boulders-twin, standing in its midst
Nonchalantly, I toss my loafers aside,
“Where are you today, Sir Knight?”, I inquire aloud
“I can not find you in this mist!”
“One moment you are here inside my thoughts
The instant I turn, then you are gone!”
Like ocean spray, refreshing, you then vanish!
So, here I stroll upon this desolate shore, alone
The fireplace lit, soft, pink candles abound
What ambiance these feelings inspire
"Where are you this dreamy day?"
Hear how fiercely the ocean roars!
Wild and relentless, bashing boulders in its path!
Winds softly whispering, brush my cheek, and instinctively, I smile
”Was that a kiss from you? I whisper. But there comes no reply.
Only the silence in the whispering wind
“Gentle, autumn winds, do you know of my fate?
“Have you no secrets to share with me?”
“Do tell, is it you in the mist and wind?”
“Or are you just a wandering phantom
Lost, upon this beautiful, shore?”
“Or, perhaps a magician from afar, casting random spells?”
“What grateful audience you have found in these,
The mighty sea and its countless creatures!
Listen! Hear their thunderous applause for you!”
“Is it you I see, in my autumn dream?
“Is it you within the mist?”
Atmospheric show
Electrical veins preview
Thunderous applause
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-2.php
If all could be said
With one hundred thirty six words
Could my thoughts be coherent
Would words travel in herds
Would they race across pages
receiving thunderous applause
Would they cause one to ponder
or take a moment of pause
If words could take flight
Somehow written in the sky
There your eyes might marvel
thoughts traveling high
Witness the majesty
of words raining down
Stories of paupers
or a King with a crown
So many detailed stories
One hundred thirty six words rearranged
Stories of contented people
or of others estranged.
So I ask you to write
Share your words with me
You may be the next Will Shakespeare
Asking “To be or not to be?”
Now I must finish
My words have run out
You might ask me
“What are you talking about?”
Written for John Lawless’s One Hundred Thirty Six Word Poetry Contest.
August 23 2019
The monsoonal matriarch cradles her pregnant belly
Delirious with life giving blood from the womb of all nature’s gifts
As she lays distended, expectant and grey
Upon the craggy summits
Her breath billows above the bloated forests
Nurturing ominous notes as she sweeps through the trees
Like the phantom of the opera
Tuning her timbre, yet masking her desire
And now
Her contralto; it begins…
Her song breathes across the valley in rhythmical sheets
A symphonic auditorium of liquid splendour
Inciting a libretto of Lyre birds to concert in the mist
A monsoonal medley
Enticing insects to assemble in an ensemble
Their raucous chorus imploring the humid madness
Through a cacophonous chorale
Teasing the tempo from the maestro
As the crescendo climaxes to thunderous applause
Her encore; a sweeping army of waterfalls
Advance upon the sodden valley
Roaring to deafness over
Exploding banks and streams that gouge and tear
And then
It all stops
To a breath of drops…
Leonora Galinta’s contest: Rainy Days
12 September 2014
This dirty old man wrote a poem.
It was an ode to lovers.
He sang a song
that glorified adulterers.
And when his rhyme was done
there was a thunderous applause
from everyone.
People seemed to get
what he was talkin' 'bout
Since many in that room
had tip toed out
with someone who did not
belong to the ring
on their finger.
The poem was a dead ringer
for sin
and much to my chagrin
I realized that the majority in the room
Would never know the truth
that I held within.
The truth that can only come
from being with one.
One perfect man
and experiencing perfection.
Knowing that you are the only one that knows his secret
and he is the only one that knows yours.
Knowing that since with him you have already won the race
It wouldn't matter if you never played the game again
any more...any place
Knowing that you have a reason
to do it all again
Knowing that your memory of that moment
is enough to make sure you always live.
And feel alive
And that even if you died tonight
Your heart and soul would live forever and thrive
in that glorious moment in time.
Yes this dirty old man wrote a poem
Talking about all his experience
that he experienced when he was growing old.
And I i just shook my head
because it only took me once
to remain forever young.
The monsoonal matriarch cradles her pregnant belly
Delirious with life giving blood from the womb of all nature’s gifts
As she lays distended, expectant and grey
Upon the craggy summits
Her breath billows above the bloated forests
Nurturing ominous notes as she sweeps through the trees
Like the phantom of the opera
Tuning her timbre, yet masking her desire
And now
Her contralto; it begins…
Her song breathes across the valley in rhythmical sheets
A symphonic auditorium of liquid splendour
Inciting a libretto of Lyre birds to concert in the mist
A monsoonal medley
Enticing insects to assemble in an ensemble
Their raucous chorus imploring the humid madness
Through a cacophonous chorale
Teasing the tempo from the maestro
As the crescendo climaxes to thunderous applause
Her encore; a sweeping army of waterfalls
Advance upon the sodden valley
Roaring to deafness over
Exploding banks and streams that gouge and tear
And then
It all stops
To a breath of drops…
Leonora Galinta’s contest: Rainy Days
12 September 2014
Dear Graduate,
… Sometimes, a spring breeze softly blowing
whispers that a presence needn’t be seen to be felt …
… And sometimes, the people piling onto the benches
of packed bleachers sense that a sacred space
is simultaneously filling …
… And often, clustered families gleefully
crane to glimpse their cap-and-gown-clad graduate,
but once the band pipes up
and you triumphantly take the field,
you’ll know you’re in perfect view
of missed and remembered mentors rejoicing
up, up, up so high, so very high … in stadium seating …
… And usually, principals and presidents will proceed
to spawn perfunctory speeches … politely received …
by the assemblage patiently waiting …
… But always, always, count on this classic climax
creating an incredible crescendo:
Thunderous applause will
rumble through the bleachers,
rambling onto the field, and
rocket through the air,
rolling onto the heavens
as a sprinkling of caps rains
up, up, up so high, so very high
and … for a slice of a second …
before starting to tumble,
mortarboards are a sea of confetti
tipping their corners in displays of gratitude
to the angels smiling upon you … from
up, up, up so high, so very high … in stadium seating!
E. V. Wyler
A summer storm has struck upon the stage.
Like clouds, faces in the crowd change to black.
As lightning triggers sudden disengage,
tonight’s entertainment can stay on track.
The wit he’s stored within his mind’s spice rack
can use this summer rain in which to mull.
Dry humor, soaking wet, delivers smack
and thunderous applause says he’s not dull.
This stand-up comic entertains without a lull.
June 20, 2018
a Spencerian stanza
I went timid to the street fair last night
And hoped intensely for an adventure,
A destiny. But destiny is not
A right, but a privilege with a flat rate;
I found my fate too costly. I doubted, then,
Whether my choice was right, but deemed it so,
For, as I left, the pulsing sky met me
With thunderous applause. Or, maybe, it
Was waving, pleading, shouting out a low,
Desperate warning, begging I return.