Her madrone is like an orchestra;
Hottie wood: a natural measure –
Limericks not rude
Can I write a limerick not rude
Deep down I'm really a prude
limerick is done
compiling was fun
Oops! Been writing whilst I am nude
I Can
A gentle young Austrian fellow
Played both piano and cello
both instruments antique
his talent unique
Produced tones so calming and mellow
Soothing smooth introductory
Mello tender rhythm
Accompaniment with the cello
Suddenly a Dramatic ivory rose in tempo sensory
Portraying days becoming harder to live
Nights offering promise and purpose
Hope rose to cope
Stars twinkle for tomorrow
Embrace and live for today
Struggles can be hard to bear
The Piano and cello captivated together in their own message of life with care
It was beyond compare
Today became a new day
Yesterday being a preparation
Lessons learned through the Piano and Cello
Have no more tears and fears
Step out among the skies
Understanding being wise
Finale with an honor
Upbeat appreciation
Every footstep easy to walk on
Horizon that seemed far was now close
Piano and Cell bringing compelling courage to stand fulfilling the remainder
Formation of Heaven’s watch.
This is a poem, for the wind
Not for you to read, dear reader.
Be gone - and allow only the breeze in.
Go on, hop it - I welcome the draft.
You are eccentric; I like that
Back door gales and wrecked heel tabs
Slammed hatches; a gateway to gusts
Yo-Yo Ma on the ocean; in shorts.
Trying out - Haydn and seeking
We are energy and so are you
You are old enough now dear wind
To host your own podcast.
I'll set up a mic and table for you
If I can be your first and only guest.
Five year olds in the sandbox,
Scaffolding into the next century.
Babble, taradiddle. Bunkum.
Howling at full moons
behind empty branches
in full view of empty tombs
of ancestors in full bloom
Slide your elflocks to the side
while I feed eldritch butterflies
the honey wine that made man divine,
lei guardato il gattopardo’s disguise
*
Rapt cranberry wrapping callipygian peaches,
entrancing crenellations, pergola features
I couldn’t leave you, my favorite weakness
When magenta sunsets broke
across your cello silhouette,
you signed your life to me
delirious and incoherent
or deceived and undermined
often the woman in his life
caused such.
His wealth allowed him to
afford the company of
beautiful women some of which
were neither friendly or kind
his current beau was rumored
to be involved with several men
through the area
One said she like a cat
impulsiveness, and agreeableness
allowed her to seem kind yet to know her
and those that did often keep a certain distance
keeping a level of distance to obtain
a friendship the optimal level of intimacy
where she'd seemed busier than she actually was.
inconsistencies were often laughed off
a smile and kiss a romp now and then
she thought it would satisfy him, leaving her to appear
unapproachable and real opposed to eagerness
or over eagerness, loving and kind.
A friend of her.
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 song.
The fireplace has no roaring embers.
But the mantel carries dimly lit flames.
The islands of plants takes the Sun thru the southwest window.
Trading in CO2 for a few sounds from the Cello.
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.
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 then is near
to reassure you of my sincerity
I kiss you as you are near
__________________________________
Pseudonyms
I changed the tone
completely distorting my sound
that he may never mock me again
Yet which he expected a Tenors tone
I bellowed a full bassy ensemble
of rhythmic jives
and quirks
Might he find me then
I shall be a Baritone
to counter act such intrugence
a countertenor perhaps
than he should
strain to be listened to!
__________________________________
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 waits
to be noticed.
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 or light.
Stay with the thrumming
of feral strings on echoing wood,
plant that music
beyond any heaven or hell,
for like that First Tree in Eden,
it is innocent,
and speaks no sin.
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 is broken.
I’m not a trained musician
But I do know how
To breathe love into my hands
And wake her gently.
With patience and care
Can show her again
How to lean on me.
I see the stars
Shining deep in the depths of her heart
And pearls nested, protected in the oyster
Of her soul.
I know fear, doubt and pain
And know how to tenderly unlock
And free her dark secrets
And over time
I know,
I can bring back the sparkle
in her shrouded eyes
And we will create unique
and beautiful melodies
And sing and dance together.
Sangeet Portals 2023
candle
mantle
red wine
divine
deserves
hors d'oeuvres
mellow
cello
firelight
love site
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.
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 the lowest place on earth.
I am bound to the music in her,
by the sweep of her arm,
the weeping intensity
of her shoulders,
the cantabile purse
of her parted lips.
There is no place to be
other than inside
the voice
but whose voice?
My bare skull drums
to a spiccato cadence,
as her bow taps
on the strung spine
of a bruised sorrow,
one that for a long moment
we both share.
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