I freely admit I love classical music,
And please don't think me a snob
If I keep my composure
When I mention composers
As Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, and Schumann,
And not Ludie, or Wolfie,
Or Petie, or Bob.
And a symphony simply cannot be enjoyed
At just any old time of the day.
I can't listen to them
Prior to seven p.m.,
And I don't mean to brag, but I couldn't be dragged
To a Wednesday or Saturday matinee
Of a ballet by Bizet or Massenet.
My taste in classical music, you see,
Is eclectic, but not meant to shock.
I choose Strauss for the schmaltz
Of a polka or waltz,
And Chopin is my dude when I crave an etude,
But I do tend to doze in my seat in the loge
Through an opera by Wagner…
Or more Offenbach.
Savouring Solitude
So savouring solitude soothes one’s soul
Subjectively silencing self-control
Supplantingly supplement’s skewed etude
Encompassing—entire—every tableau
Replenishing revalue rue’s the day
In wilderness winnowing’s watered way
Such savouring...solitude soothes one’s soul.
04.08.2021©deborah burch
Alliteration
The soul is here for its own joy.
It floats somewhere behind my eyes.
Existing in breath and relationships
It responds to and is created by
A Chopin Etude, Round Midnight, a fralich,
Starry Night, Girl with a Pearl Earring, Guernica,
A pas de deux, a tap dance, Tango,
War, HaShoah, Covid,
The look in a dog's eyes,
Ruby Bridges, Nelson Mendela, grandchildren,
A partner’s embrace,
Love, hate, acceptance,
Old age, infirmity, and the end.
~~~~T H E W I T C H ' S H E A D N E B U L A E~~~~~
The Canadien Seal Hunt by The Humane Society
Warmingly, a seal
pup, heedlessly, greets strangers
who clubbed it to death.
Date: 08/30/2019
howmanysyllables
575
***Entitled suggested background music for reading
“The number 34 is the magic constant of the 4 by 4 magic square shown on the engraving “Melencolia I“ by Albrecht Dürer. Wikipedia"
Oh, my room’s square melancholy!
Les femmes préfèr les hommes au Lee*.
My bed is empty, my ripped jeans
alas, are still on me. It means
you did not come. I’m thirty four.
I've never been so crushed before.
A dusk, a stillness, an alone
shade on the wall, a sleeping phone,
a melancholical etude
of poet’s square solitude.
(fr.) Women prefer men in Lee jeans. A pun: it sounds in French like “Women prefer men in bed” (au lit).
18.07.2019
Writing Challenge 2, July 2019- Melancholy- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
just composing
thoughts Berlioz
my favorite but
since my wife
is sleeping i can't
bang away an etude
on our piano
so i will
turn up
the volumn
of my finger
tips that tap
morse code
supposing
that you
caught that
as if a coon
dog barking
that i've
treed you but
won't let you
down
Soaking up sunshine on sandy warm shores;
sipping sangria while sampling smores.
Under umbrellas we’re putting to use;
utterly euphoric as the day comes unloose.
Mid-morning mildness is making me muse;
mild mannered time I must never misuse.
Madness of midnight is making mandates;
making fond memories while mingling with mates.
Eating cold eskimo pies by sea’s edge;
enjoying the easy life nothing can enhedge.
Resting by the river with rod and reel;
ready for catfish their tails to reveal.
Tracking the bull toads and catching tadpoles;
Taking it easy as heat takes its toll.
Ice cold sangria will surely incite;
into the icer, our friends we’ll invite.
Mid-summer party and merry we’ll make
memories to make us forget our mistakes.
Ending this etude I hope you enjoyed
every small ethos that I just employed.
June 9, 2018
Contest: Alliteration Old or New
Sponsor: Joseph May
Life in Indigo Mood
The gray cat’s a drowsy pet,
during days of blue violet.
Noon sun rays fill beige rooms,
hastening A-bomb dooms.
Patent leather rules on Sundays.
Clothes are crucified on Mondays.
Soap operas, ice water and fans
Lux for lovely, soft, clean hands
Golden era times etude
Song of life in indigo mood.
10/25/15
EtOH
EtOH, like dancing fingers in a Chopin etude,
Plays the tune of disinhibition on my frontal lobes.
Empty receptors laugh and smile as they are
Tickled and tantalised by alcohol’s exciting touch.
The world brightens and I blossom as some
Sweet scented lily that has but one night
To lure the unwary into Nature’s dance.
But all too soon, enough becomes too much,
And clouds gather at the edges of my mind;
Sparkling dreams give way to sober thoughts,
Darkness sends its scouts into my happy estate.
The deceptive friend slips off his mantle of
Freedom, revealing the jailer of my thoughts,
My scourge, bringer of doubts and misery.
quatrain
Clearly put - the star was up to no good.
Musicians have an innate sense of time.
The guests, notwithstanding, all understood
their host - a conductor well-past his prime.
Novice performers, the host chose just three
for the opening event of the night.
His niece, as it happened, was one invitee;
he could still orchestrate who’s in the limelight.
While each one of the fledgling young trio
aced their solo in the gateway prelude,
the simply grand - violin virtuoso
excelled in his mellifluous etude.
Not wanting to move on his host and niece,
the star asked for an encore from her flute.
Would she segue into his final piece?
(in the vernacular of music’s astute).
The auspiciousness of the occasion
would exalt any young lady to conceit.
With tempo way fast for the transition;
it was clear she had been swept off her feet.
Artist: Lowercase Noises - Title: The Things Your Eyes Have Seen
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnU0aOA788U&list=RDGnU0aOA788U
written 5 Feb. 2016.
She is someone who has been so quiet all the time,
That ray shell is as sweet as this tastiest slime.
She has the gift of gab that truly stands out,
That ray shell is incredibly good and has strong clout.
She is someone who can’t be immediately be noticed,
She’s well reserved and proper to take all of those dissed.
Out of her shell is a young intelligent one,
That ray shell is lavishly cool and a lucky one.
Looking at her is a picture of a one ordinary girl,
That ray shell is candid and doesn’t even know how to curl.
I just discovered how excellent she is in her field,
That ray shell is a girl with dreams who is ready to build.
She is silent but talkative in some other ways,
That ray shell is sparkling in those darkest bays.
Her smile shows her very well attitude,
That ray shell is a tremendous music like a sweet etude.
Oh those pizzicato drops
Play a frantic melody
Tour the scale from high to low
Bravo! from the sleepy heads below
The maestro empties out the clouds
And then so quickly steals away
But he'll be back to play again
So lovely to have my roof of tin.....
An etude is a musical piece, usually very difficult, that is especially written
to help develop musical techniques...
My nocturne is a mighty wind
blowing across fragrant skin
the world relentless in its struggle
she is an etude, I know that now
it comes along in whispers
between strangers who share the feeling
of what it is to love the April breeze
so many of us acknowledge virtue
in the shining disc of the sun
with all its unique perfections
nothing seems too onerous
with a little sunlight dashed upon it.
Wait till you feel the strangeness
of a cold summer day, I tell myself
April is not through yet, still my heart remembers
the warm summers of laughter
and the imperfect world making its way
along with the seasons
like a romantic bride off to see the whole of Europe
on her exciting honeymoon.
Haiku 2 Do About U
Should I tell U how
Love 4 U within me sings?
Swinging scatted tune
Haiku About U
Sound brought me 2 U
Feelings for U clear and pure
Dulcet notes on glass
Haiku II About U
Time always 4 U
Time 4 Me? When U want 2.
Metronome off cue
Tru Blu Haiku
Customer Service
Counter for unwanted things
Symphonies in blue
Haiku What U Do
U caused me true pain
My heart a minor etude
Composed in lieu of rain
Blue Haiku N Rue
Silence with me now
Heart pacing on shards of glass
Strewn beneath its feet
Thirty years on, across our globe, my daily ritual.
Alone, surrounded, marching silently forward,
the vast weight of humanity moving back and forth,
in an awkward dance, street theater for the masses.
A piano and a flute, emoting to this interlude,
the analog broadcast, my chosen soundtrack, together
with the metronomic pulse of my worn out wipers,
as they collaborate with the falling snow. Half asleep,
I contemplate the sweetness of this etude, on the radio.
Two instruments, a man and his car, a piano and a flute
building a theme and gathering speed, captivate me
as I am drawn in, the audience applauding in gratitude.
In this exalted state of grace, the light changed a little too fast,
and I was caught by the flash that soon will be a demand for cash.
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