Cello Poems

Playing the Cello in my NYC apartment

Play the Cello my fellow.
The music floats into a mellow.
The light glistens on the chandelier.
Twinkle twinkle here and near.
The blue sofa perched close to the window.
Looking inward at the doggy below.
The books float on a tableau.
Giving enlightenment to whoever seeks them solo.
The records lay flat on the hardwood floor.
Scratched and scarred to never play a

ONE CELLO AND THREE VIOLINS

We attended a candle-lit concert…with joy and wonder already built in.
It was the music of Adele…performed by 1 cello and 3 violins.

For a little while that evening…if was our aim…our intention…our goal
to allow the candles to light up our hearts…while the music soothed our souls.

Because we needed to be mesmerize, to be enchanted and enthralled…
to

A Cello Melody

A cello played
 somewhere in the background,
 some somber, durable tones and color,
 invoking prayer, calm, contemplation, remembrance;
a string effigy
 solemn, melancholic dreams
 calling to mind
 the search for more than what is seen;
a play on notes
 of time and memory
 of hope and promises
 of what may yet be.

Current price of a Cello by Istesso Netto

Once she was Pauroso now
she's Rinforzando.
Bisbigliando
:brusco, scordato
she must rehearse and study
to be an image of
perfection

Senza Spianato
and
Graevole Tratto
______________________________
It causes me to wish you near
to make promises
to seek the responsibility of
our togetherness
Then until some half witted
meddler to try to pry us apart
One who wishes to Love like me
and expel you from my heart
trodden the browning grass
that autumn

Cello

Skirt hiked up
legs ungracefully spread,
sexually inviting.

The cello drums her,
blind angels
gyrate in a deep darkness.

The cellos voice is her own,
her body sings through
one hollowing mouth.

I am mesmerized by her closed eyes,
her moon drenched emotions.

The bow is low
it nudges me somewhere,
there is no name for that place,

it is somewhere inside a sadness,
a cavern of fading echoes
where joy

Cello Speaks

You know it needs to be a drum -
sometimes.
Slap the bow
ride its low sonorous growl.
then pass a long sliding caress
across its hollow tongue.

Let the music tremble out from silence.
Reality can only mimic
that emerging wave of sound,
as if a hand were stroking a very dark cat.

The cello speaks for you
when lips refuse to speak of dark

Cello

Cello? 

I found a discarded cello,
Wood faded and full of scratches
And there are even cracks
close to the bridge.
I think, that the last person who had her
Didn’t seem to know 
what a treasure she was,
So that her neck is bent
Strings too tight and body so deformed 
That she can’t stay in tune anymore.
And anyway, her bow

Twilight Delight

	candle
	mantle

	red wine
	divine

	deserves
	hors d'oeuvres

	mellow
	cello

	firelight
	love site

Marguerite

Tall red and pink-tipped spears reach for the nothing-at-all blue sky, all washed out with sunshine. The tight wrapped buds of the hollyhocks are too high for us to reach, but Imogen can. You and I wait for her to bring them down. Here behind the flowers, no one can see us. It’s hot. Your

Cello

Sorrow climbs
its roofless tower.
Descends to be gut deep,
genitalia deep.

Now it has the weight 
of rain clouds.
A smoked umber
moves through 
an invisible throat.
Fine hairs
are stroked to arousal.
A somnambulant wrist
pushing a whirring hand.

Pressure rubs saturated sounds
though probing fingers.
The belly of a curving drum
thrums, moves us to a place
where nothing matters
but the next note.

Woman and Cello

Skirt hiked up
legs ungracefully spread
inviting.
Between those limbs, chords darken.
Do I lean into the cello
or her?
A deep ewer of sound
pours from deft palpating fingers,
while her other hand
strokes the pulse of a
sonorant beast
carved from blood and lava.
Her body croons
wrists cuffed to the music,
closed eyes
bathe naked in dark pools.
A depth climbs to a tree top
yet the music
is still

Woman and Cello

Skirt hiked up
legs ungracefully spread
inviting. 
Between those limbs, chords darken
where pale angels go blind.

A deep ewer of sound
pours from palpating fingers.
While her other hand
strokes the pulse of a
sonorant beast
carved from lava.

Her body croons
wrists cuffed to the music,
closed eyes
bathe naked in dark pools.

A depth climbs to a tree top
yet the music 
is still the lowest place

Bach's Cello

your melody sang in me 
the mystic timing arose
 
night time air sending chills 
beneath me the nightingales
 
danced a mild manner ballot 
as the cranes bowed their heads
 
moving me despite the quiet rain
the daunting task the calming pain


Anthony and Yolanda Joy Nicholsen catholic war veterans

The Aging Cello

The Aging Cello

This aging Cello’s beauty starts to fade,
and once taut strings now sadly stretched and frayed,
but still her luscious curves remaining staid,
yet silent are the mournful notes she played.

The rigid Bow that once caressed her strings, 
and brought soft sighs that lifted up on wings
and drifted with the gentle breeze of spring,
no longer there

The Cat and Her Cello

The cat with her cello sat on the street
To meet and greet folk with music so sweet
It was no surprise 
She brought tears to eyes
With her ‘Elgar's Cello Concerto’ treat.

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