Instrument Poems - Poems about Instrument

Fingertips fall— not like stones, but like rain, plucked silver threading the air. Each string holds a hush, a breath not yet forgotten. The musician builds— not a score, but the curve of a heron’s wing skimming dusk softly vanishing in a single glissando. The guzheng does not speak. It spills: vibrato, a tide rising then breaking against memory. Sound leans back— not toward silence ——but toward a distant shore we once heard. ________________ Note: Guzheng is a traditional Chinese musical instrument....

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sound of blues ripples on-- smokey tunes blowing hot sizzling flamed mood...it's jazz! sax notes intoxicate swirling like coltraine's grind, soulful trance whips my breath... spice of night, weekend jives! ...

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The quill this evening is not a mere instrument, but a primordial beast, A lacquered leviathan with a tip sharp as obsidian fangs, Its body coiled like an ouroboros, devouring its own ink in vengeance, It struggles under my grip, a relic of extinct empires, growling glyphs older than rivers. When I dare to drip her name on parchment,...

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jaw harp listen to my voice it is your voice that I breath through, though your secrets are whispered but by my arouse speak my thought o sing me ...

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no, the instrument not the president jews harp, jaw harp plucked from thy heart by the shaman heals meditation steals its rhythms across realms eventualities and through centuries tricked by its old name lure tricked by its sound, nature jewes trump for a king heck why not, a politician ...

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In the silence, I feel it stir, a spark within my fingertips a gentle nudging, a whispered promise, to bring forth the unseen the hand, a vessel, a sacred tool, a bridge between the heart and mind a God-given gift, to shape and mold, the whispers of the divine With every stroke, a world unfolds, a tapestry of emotions,...

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We're all instrument In many ways, fit, we can Other's amusement....

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they streaked past us so fast I was not sure who was in the lead that's my granddaughter and her puppy explained my neighbor, Mrs. Sneed. They never stopped running throughout the house, even on the couch. The little girl fell off a couple of times But she was tough, we never heard an ouch they sure are having fun, I said, not...

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harp to the mouth at the mic on one side the awe-maker on the other side the awestruck harp to the ear at the air invisibly gained bleed the crowd...

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there is something about the simplistic shape of a conundrum an ancient voice in modern mouth in cartloads for the few to quell where ice finding comfort in flames many a throat bending breath singing like electric birds of paradise fully charged and chirping hum and twang and cooing purr songbirds, my blackened raven thaw from towers, steel beauty, caw across tropics, canopies and...

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beyond the cartoon spring in Scooby Doo like a stag on a mountain’s rippled rove a dimensional wormhole letting feelings through bringing words of secrets, a couple’s love an instrument whose song comes from within a pluck, the kiss upon the lips my meditation, a distant lawn mowing bring me syllables served in porcelain cups and the shaman knew its cosmic worth a healing...

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What happens to this poetry embroidered within the walls of my heart, When the joy of my words are shattered underneath your feet, Can the torture of your empty moon paint a slithering promise, Far across into my deep colorless dreamscape of dahlias, Your dry eyed apologies took me to a mortal with no reflection,...

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Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace, That I too may have it, For how else can I share Your peace, Unless I first may have it. Give me Your light and let it shine, Through My every word and deed; For how else can I light the dark, Unless You first light mine. Be a guide unto my feet, That I may...

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La la la, tink tink tink! Well now, what do you think, Of my pretty li'l song? I sing it all day long. La la la, tink tink tink! Well now, what do you think?, Tap a piano key And sing along with me. La la la, tink tink tink! Well now, what do you think, When you play each li'l note And sing...

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I envy the precision of the engineer, the grounded exactitude of a trade, to be able to hold phenomenon within the spell of an equation, have the power to make something from a sum. I make things from shadows, the pulled threads of a mirage and echoes bubbling up from the bottom chambers of a void. I work with the vagaries of whim, waiting for something...

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