Best Violin Poems
Her trembling twilight
dims with streaking purple tears
bruised by youthful years of bleeding pain
hurting but never hugged—
locked in arms of atmosphere’s apathy
that smeared with fiendish fingers
a contusing plum palette
across any hope in her godforsaken horizon—
this sorrowful songbird
who sings with the shattered purity
of violin strains falling from Heaven
finds her bemoaning musical notes adrift—
lost on breezy deaf days
as she is once again thrown down
from the self-serving skyscape
by the hateful hands of wildcat winds.
In the deep inkwell
of lullaby-less lonely nights
where never a tender nursery rhyme
has ever set her free
are memories scribed of storm-battered days
and weighing heavily on Libra’s scales
are the injustices
of dreams she will never live
nor flights of fancy she will never take
as her sire of solar scorch and temper flare
—a warpath warrior against her springtime
sleeps soundly on a bloated bed
over-stuffed with betrayal and broken promises
while her merciless maternal moon—
distant and cloud covered
does not bother to wander the coal haze
with a lantern’s sharp beam
to cut through stranglehold-folds of darkness
to cast a light upon; to rescue her fractured form—
an angel beckons as breath and beat fade
her guardian as she passes through Earth's shadow
beyond the coldness of mother-moon's umbra
following to where warm sugar-stars soprano sing.
Tonight— a stricken sparrow
folds her fledgling wings never to fly again…
will land or air ever miss her?
If I could play the violin
I'd write a melody
euphonious to draw you in
and play my rhapsody
to bring a smile to your dear face
and calm the storm within
if I could play the violin
If I could play the saxophone
with timbre silvery
I'd paint a poem of pure tone
to laud your alchemy
for you turn iron into gold
and granite to gemstone
if I could play the saxophone
If I could coax an oboe's tone
a dulcet sound divine
to craft a raft for you to own -
a musical lifeline
when waves have knocked you off your course
when winter winds have blown
I'd play a soothing oboe tone
If I could sing a heaven-sent
anthem or hymn profound
I wouldn't need an instrument
when you feel nearly drowned
I'd whisper arias of hope
my mouthpiece, bow, and strings
are prayers for God to heal your wings
and soar beside as heaven sings.
From far I hear the strains of a mournful melody
It flows from a violin whose strings are about to break
As the violin sings, the night carries the music along.
The notes tremble, the strings vibrate as under grief
It makes such deep tremors in my heart.
Its mournful cry is repeated in sad refrains
My mind turns emotional, yes, I cry.
Once from it flowed happy notes of love
It whispered secrets of lovers, their hopes and dreams
It sang of tales of courage that build the soul,
Of standing tall and shouldering on in the midst of trials.
But now its harmony fades away like dying breath
The violin knows, its end is drawing near,
It can no more produce heart stirring music again.
The bittersweet melody that falls in my ears,
With its notes breaking again and again,
Creates ripples of pain in my heart.
As the loose strings are about to break,
It will soon lie still in a deserted space,
Cracked and splintered like a tree tossed by the wind.
Yet the broken violin will remain,
As a momentous testament of its glorious past.
She sleeps in her rose wood bed,
under a blanket of velvet red;
old and alone and forgotten,
she dreams of the love she once had.
Once again she recalls his caress
on the curve of her hips
and her breast
as he moved his bow
on the strings of her soul,
playing her sound
'til his passion was spent.
~~~
They traveled the whole world over,
to every city and town;
the maestro, his bow and violin,
bringing each curtain down.
~~~
He died in a cry of sweet refrain,
clutching her strings to his heart;
as he fell to the floor in a final encore,
tearing her world apart.
~~~
So she sleeps in her rose wood bed,
under a blanket of velvet red;
her strings still filled
with the song of her soul,
etched by the maestro
that loved her
so long ago!
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
When he played his violin magic took place!
A sense of serenity shown on his face.
A lover of music so gifted in art...
A teacher to many, known for his sweet heart.
Poetry would become his passion, his need...
A master of poetry in the words that he freed.
The strings are now quiet with music no more.
Still students recall the teacher they adore.
His words we can cherish with fond memories...
A legacy of gems for new reveries.
9-5-17
© Connie Marcum Wong
Bittersweet Contest - 6th placement out of 6
Sponsor Kevin Shaw
*Dedicated to my dear friend and late poet, David Austin
The strings shriek out sad,
it could not be glad.
Just one more note it had,
nothing more to add.
Now over the strings of glory,
the violin had played its last story.
Everything must come to an end,
even with my very best friend.
The strings will no longer bend,
no more music will we attend.
Quiet, pensive, waiting, from out of nothing, a flash, dancing!
Back and fourth, faster, bolder, more beautiful, more radiant…
The sound envelops, and the beauty firmly wraps its hands around my ears…
Relevance and resounding, growing, pulsing, whipped into a fever!
And then easing back just a bit, like a rest to enjoy some perfect nectar of echoes.
Then back again to churn, not with blades, but with brushstrokes.
The pulsing art grabs my soul and I sway to the rhythm, the life, the light…
All around me, so necessary is this, something so pure and powerful.
Flex and twirl in the rays of sunshine, on coming the clouds and thunder!
Pounding out the feeling, the pace is relentless, but in my arms, pushing, harder!
Squeezing ever ounce of love from the air, the earth, the fire and then easing again.
Dripping with sweat, a deep breath, another, still moving but slower now.
More deliberate, but still full and open, slowly, gently, slightly and then quiet.
"Violinist : Diana Yukawa Vocals : Jemma Lyrics : The Poet"
If you start Dianna's video on the 26th second and Jemma's voice recording on the 13th second simultaneously, my words fit exactly to the music.
Where do we go to?
Feelings so blue now,
When we think of you.
So many souls are gone now.
Gone forever into the blue.
Lost not forgotten.
Thinking of you.
Thinking of you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Where do we go to now?
Where do we go?
Something familiar and new.
Dear one I need you.
I am no where near you .
Feeling this song is for you.
See I long for you now .
All on my own now.
My body longs to know you.
I light a candle loving you now .
longing too.
Longing for you.
You are my savior.
I am needing you.
Happy as I am,
Missing you too.
I do need you close now.
Needing you so.
Where dear are you now?
Seeing you now.
Longing for you I am too.
Longing for you.
You are my savior.
I am needing you.
Happy as I am,
Missing you too.
I do need you close now.
Needing you so.
Where dear are you now?
Seeing you now.
The glamorous, tuxedo look
of the hollow wooden body
tuned perfectly with its four
strings manages to embody
a heavenly favor of sad energy
as a bow is drawn across its strings.
Its notes waltz upon my soul
and awaken and pull against
my attuned heartstring imagery.
Its soothing chords being played
captivate, while joyful warm tears
swell and slowly flow.
Priceless, merry thoughts of my children
growing up long ago, playing ball
in the summers or on a wooden
sled in the snow.
The absence of my husband I dearly miss.
Coming home exhausted from work,
I'd wrap my arms around him,
then lean back and smile
at the love we had for each other.
The sad sounds the violinist awoke
from the violin as they played;
memories never to be forgotten.
8/8/2024
Vivaldi’s Violin
The sound begins vague as a thought from perhaps
a misted remembrance made more distant more soft
in the surrounding sunset not trusting eyes only ears.
I sit up and listen indeed stretch all hearing as music
surely music more than the wind’s whistling moves
ever closer alerting me to a whole physical smiling
through the opened backdoor I cast my sight past
the silhouetted trees of early December past
yellow-glowing windows of neighboring homes and on
past the twinkling white low-altitude warning lights set
like many a Venus on the horizon I notice I am
not frozen from weather but rather awaiting a sign as
a startling soloist continues Vivaldi’s allegro non motto
violin in a love affair with nature a secret in splendor
a flying to heights just beyond human
ears or prayers in this courting of my soul and its
further reaching in Winter III Allegro that could lift
the twilight ever more than experienced in dreams.
***********. ***********. ***********
(c) sally Young eslinger 12/3/2020
Thanks be to God
Those sad violin tunes play for me, from the depths of heart
The moment when love failed me
The moment I became a toy, the moment I became a sick doll
Set to be used at will and discarded without being given a second glance
Those sad violin tunes bid my tears to flow
Even if the night air is smooth and the stars twinkle ecstatically
Happy to be existing, even if they are the only ones to be aware of their aim
Love is a strong word, heavy, fragranced and carries with it double meanings
It can lift me up
As it can break me
It can gift me wings
As it can bury me deep in its own pit
It can have me dance even if I don't know how to
As it can have me fall from the highest summits if it so wishes to
Lost in my own wavy and messy wave
I craft a poem to share with the tunes of the sad violin tunes
So that my heart finds enough will to breathe, easy and steady
Love, being such a powerful word,
Is something I wish not to know
Especially not on this fallen Earth,
An abode which remains too harsh for my frail heart!
Those sad violin tunes, so like rogue waves
Trample upon the blooms of my heart
As I get transported back to a time
When love, which I wished to glorify
Turned me into a nocturnal monster, capable of
Functioning only during the day time whilst
Having to hide my true self at the fall of the night!
She was a lonely violin,
in a case all by herself,
looking forward to the evenings,
when he’d take her off the shelf-
After reaching his destination,
he would gently set her down,
and ever oh so tenderly,
remove her velvet gown-
With chin held high, he’d hold her close,
she made him feel so proud,
and then a song she would sing ,
which always drew a crowd-
Together they were magical,
making music quite refined,
he knew that she was special,
of an extraordinary kind-
Late one night the maestro sighed,
a tear rolled down his eye,
this cannot forever last, he said,
for soon I’m going to die-
The violin now knew,
that soon would be their end,
he had filled her life with loving care,
and been so true a friend-
Now on any given night,
walking down this unpaved street ,
some hear a violin’s lonely cry,
so sad , but yet so sweet-
No one can see it,
but it is there
Dark and cold ... as wet thick fog
The thoughts go crazy
A sad melody replay
Fight with a sword, vision failed
Drowning in mournful tears
Kills the inside of the chest
With fear of death lullaby
Always fighting, demon of the deadly sins
Give the crying heart something to live for
19.03.2017
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
As I read the words my heart started to sing
For you had gave emotion to a non living thing
I can't ever remember feeling quite that way
I could hear the music that she used to play
I could feel her heart through the tears I cried
As I read the part where her Maestro had died
I imagined her there in her Rosewood Bed
Reading the most beautiful poem I’ve read
Velvet to her back with her bow at her side
Remembering the joy before Maestro died
She loved how his bow manipulated her strings
Together they were the most beautiful of things
What’s the only poem to ever hang in my den?
Elaine’s beautiful masterpiece titled, "Violin"
Inspired by Tracy's wonderful idea for
a contest and Elaine's beautiful Poem.
.-G-.
.-R-.
.-O-.
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.-V-.
.-E-.
.-S-.
pierce my ears,
caressing notes to rake
tears on such moonlit aches,
strings groan through passages
on breaths as scrapes of violin
lurch; veiled weeping dives
low like fine spear falling
on my riddled head,
as if to crack reeds
just there,
enthralled
by heaves of waved air
swelling along melodies
tragic in liquid gothic drones,
my old innocence plucked raw
beyond deep allegro of time;
tunes' long drags hard to bear
peeling my burnt flesh slow
the fine bow screeches,
I cry on slain notes