Cellos Poems

Bow Rider

Boron fusion, specifically proton-boron-11 (p-B11) fusion, the path to clean and sustainable energy> Advantages is that fusion is safer because it produces no neutrons, only alpha particles, and uses abundant, non-radioactive fuel. 
The same Sub-atomic reactions that power the sun and sssssstars.Monitering dust accumulation, using techniques called glow discharge cleaning.


The natural of the beast
in it's creation
one looks toward
its significance
to understand it's value
looking to the future
one would wish to
        hasten and rushing
         through the frivolous ends
         to get to the
         main event
          the day they
           we have achieved
           our goals
           and maintains  then
           is the only
           obstacle
           we are facing


                   represent the concept of fusion energy


synthesizers, strings (like violins and cellos), and percussion (especially gongs and timpani, a drumroll in introduction.

Until Then

An orison to hope
Shattered into smithereens
Its keened tongues and teeth gnash and lament
A despairful cry of a cutthroat womb.

Cacophonies cry out
Cellos and violins bow, inexorable and unforgiving
Until then, of their finale the southern bells will ring;
A testimony that God has returned.

Savior of humanity,
Entwine us with arms that bleed 
For those arms' warmth and nurture
Extricates us from a demise with a lamenting dissonance.

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 waits
to be noticed.

Divineless

Those New Gods 
evacuate the violence
simulating patience 
they were once created 
to guide us, they overtook us 
snapped our heads off 
every time we thought of violence

Those New Gods 
came to reconcile us
with the act of servile silence
we lay down let them take us
like we were beacons 
hearts captitulated in black boxes 
without god heads or sirens

Those New Gods 
with voices like cured codex 
placed us like cellos 
between steel tight legs
we were smaller violins 
our bows vaccuous and vain
crushed on Love

from the Tree
we were plucked 
divineless 



Candide Diderot. ‘24

An Abecedarian

Audience is abuzz.
Boldly,
Conductor emerges – black tux.
Draw
Ethereal patterns with baton– marv.
Flutes, trumpets, cellos, drums dance for me, for you.
Gentle, light…
Heavy and dark…the music evolves
Into something more meaningful, deeper.
Joyous – a tranq
Killing, temporarily, stresses – they stop,
Lost to the rhythms and harmonies.  And so
Melodies salve our inner woes – a balm, a boon.
Notes are born, they mix, they fade.  And I’m
Overawed by power wielded.  I am making a musical 
Peregrination.  My task –
Quixotic hajj –
Round go I,
Seeking solace in this temple of sound (sigh).
Tonic for soul grieving,
Unable from pain to calm itself –
Veritably impossible –
Without help from song and chord.
Xing over…with music,
Yes, I climb…
Zenith bound, toward nirvana.

Resolving To the Tonic

Come cover me with taffeta blue
let the shine rub onto you
when joined with cotton the feel becomes joy
in its pure state

I love the touch of man-made materials 
when I speak with my cello silence prevails
when cloth unites with the subtle texture of painted wood
the touch is overwhelming my heart becomes raucous

But then I play my cello silently
it groans in soft delights
the audience wriggles in their seats
heaven itself can’t contain the beauty of the subtle pianissimo

“Hush,” I said to the multitudes, they became quiet
I played a blue cello; a golden muted trumpet accompanied me
we began with a melodic mezzo piano playing with restrained bird calls
softly the bird songs sat above lilting melodious notes

Notes carry one toward into soulful ecstasies
long panoplies of chords flow like water into a placid lake
cellos then come to the fore filling out the symmetry of music
the full composition is luscious manna to the ears and soul

Chaotic chords flow to their beginning 
returning to resolve to the tonic
to peaceful respite like humans require
to final rest

A Melancholy Note

Such a melancholy note plays in my head
I could swear I’d awakened the dead.
Bass fiddles and cellos and skies made of lead
And a melancholy note plays in my head.

What strange muted colors dance up ahead
Am I dreaming?
Do I sleep in my bed
While a melancholy note plays in my head?

Don’t go yet!, Don’t leave!
Then I pled,
You promised you’d come back to my bed
As a melancholly note plays in my head.

You’ve gone now,
Is that what I’ve read?
No wonder I’m chilled, filled with dread.
A melancholy note forever plays in my head.

Adlibb and Phade

Guitar
Violence
Chelo
Chello
Did we say
Cellos!
Ah ooh vhee
Tah; ah ooh
Vhee tah!
Brasses
The night
The saxophone
Call the women
Of need
Speak her yours
That she refuses
Your affections
To make myth of
You as we laugh
Evily,!

Grand Piano

 
Grand Piano 
Exquisite
For my soul 
a true delight 
Anticipation rising
for the pianist
to arrive
Upon his stool
so comfortable
flexed fingers
and closed eyes
No music sheet
knows every note
and plays complete 
Concerto
Looking up
A baton raised
Fingers are alive
I’m in another place
Transported to Utopia
Conductress 
asks of violins
A gentle
calm refrain
Then cellos add 
a depth of sound
music playing all around
Crescendo 
takes on hidden depths
Pulls me in 
My tears doth flow
Rachmaninoff 
reaches deep
into my heart
into my soul
A magical spell
'tis played 
upon
Exquisite
Grand Piano


Written 13th March 2022 after seeing the London Philharmonic Orchestra playing live... 


Contest A BRIAN STRAND INFORMEL
Sponsor Brian Strand 
FIRST PLACE 

Contest   Magical Spell 
Sponsor  Robert James Liquori
n/a

Shrouded Mental Haze

Heaven is both above and below our feet, so vividly recall that ground likes feeling your knees and breeze likes spinning your hair. By Poet


cogitates on rousing heaves my treasure
glorious sunrise becomes murky to pink
as the sun sets the sky turns gold
my brooding nearness to daisies and cellos
a rainbow arched across far wing amid rain and sun
overcast gloomy and sluggish
the gist of the nature mesmerism
detected illusions covered quietly
blooms of the wilderness in the woods
cognitive murkiness that dims fanciful notion my treasure. 

Written: March 6, 2022

1st Place contest winner

Form I - Imagism - New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France

Another Kind of Virus

There's another virus going around.

Flustered by everything COVID-19;
I am grateful I still have a job,
but grumpy I have to drive there in the rain -
I need to get to the fast lane or I'll be late...

What's this? 
A driver slowing down to let me in their lane
with a smile and a friendly wave.

A news report of  teenagers with cellos and violins
playing a quartet on the porch of their 
"self-isolating" elderly neighbor.

A good Samaritan 
giving away toilet paper
to whomever has need.

The new guy in our coffee co-op
making a pot of decaf while
grinding beans for the high-octane pot AND
cleaning out the sink.

A friend sending out an email
asking How is everybody?
Knowing we're all hanging on by a thread

Please infect me with this kindnessvirus
I want to pass it around

In February

Illnesses besetting
Parents aging
Chilled waves of anxiety
     buffet the shore
Thunderclouds dampening
     soil and spirits
Cellos, subdued in minor sonority
     play Eleanor Rigby in my mind
Painted ponies gnashing
     at their metallic captivity
In February

Health returning
Sandpipers scatter as we approach
Collecting shells 
     with smiling mother
Children's laughter rains down
     on half-filled sand pails
Thundering gales of glee
     as they test the frigid ocean
Trumpets dance to the melodic riff
     of Good Day, Sunshine
The painted ponies go up and down,
     'round and 'round
     the brass ring again in sight
In February

Fourth Movement: Twalette

it has been a few
hours since walking
away but there will

never be a completion
like Wagner's ring
cycle but he 

and i share
oh no do i
compare my

pittance
against
his HIS

i'm a Berlioz
fellow who
always gladly

doubles the
cellos in fact
may i apply

doubling to
every section
if the orchestra

now i
feel com
fortable

and can
breath
then

suggest that
i return to the
melody of this
SYMPHONY

so at twilight
i know not 
hesitate to
complete

this performance
and so back i go
and lift the seat
as if the sheets

to reveal what
Freud would
say but i don't
agree is like

going back to 
the warmth of
the womb but
truly i just have

more
poetry
to re
lease

Fantasies

Somewhere,
Music is eternal and dance is the soul unleashed.
Emanating from bird nests,
Melodies rise with the sun and stars.
Cellos call from sand dunes and seas.

Somewhere,
Sparkling-haired children in yellow silk,
Sprinkled with sun rays,
Dance with no audience on a hill
Amidst the scent of lilacs, earth, and sun.

Somewhere,
Blue, green, and purple mist mingle at evening,
When roses grow without thorns,
And women in glowing robes walk near streams
Of snow landing as natural lace.

Of the Spheres

rubbing our legs
together we
can make 
fire or at
least
we

can try hard enough 
to get a spark but
musically we 
are two 
cellos 
in 

the throes of a score
with a difficulty 
that can only
be matched
by crickets
chirping

in harmony with the dark
of a new moon soon
to sound in tune
to climax and
at that exact
moment

in this symphonic
movement we
light and lift
ourselves
to jump
into 
the
air
as

fireflies

• Short Cellos Poems
• Famous Cellos Poems
• Best Cellos Poems
• Read Cellos Poems
• Long Cellos Poems
• Cellos Quotes