Cello Poems - Poems about Cello

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...

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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. ...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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candle mantle red wine divine deserves hors d'oeuvres mellow cello firelight love site...

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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...

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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....

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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...

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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...

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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 Nicholsen catholic war veterans...

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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...

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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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Sorrow climbs its roofless tower Descends to be thigh 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 drowning wrist above a whirring hand. Pressure rubs saturated sounds from probing fingers. The belly of a curving drum thrums, moves us to a place where nothing matters but the next note....

Continue reading...