Long Mozart Poems
Long Mozart Poems. Below are the most popular long Mozart by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mozart poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: March 28, 2024 For Constance La France Contest
Quote: (The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.) Marcel Proust
__________________________________
Slumber unwinds within crinkled cellophane,
Enigmatic visions come to life and sustain.
Geometrical shapes skin to pyramids, expand,
Cruising fairies sing through shimmering sand.
Hey, Captain! Ferry sails across any hurdle,
A searing streak splits the sky as a starved squirrel.
A prize is won, dock shuts, and crowds cheer,
At night, memories of you come back so near.
Delicate spiderwebs hang as stars in the sky,
Mozart hands waltz ivory piano keys sigh.
Galaxy emits a lambent, milky-white light,
Tapestry Highways sails by my a quilted sight.
A cosmic queen embarks on a cynosure journey,
Slicing over a glistening ocean during night mercy.
Colorful pathways in the sky are formed by sea swirls,
Mermaids glide fluffy waves of glistening pearls.
Behold a sturdy sail, a tough and bold ship, oh heart!
As bleak as the gnomes at dawn, it's time to depart!
On deck, the skipper is fierce and red-dripping,
Meanwhile, my soul lingers in frigid buds snipping.
Captain! Rise and hear chimes; to you, a flag raised,
You gained fights and flights, and doves amazed.
The ship has sailed safely and fulfilled its voyage,
He gulped distance, sea, time, and buoyage.
It was a time of jubilation and feelings of love,
During spell hour, they shone brightly from above.
Dived in the chaotic bliss of love, this waned,
In a misty past, the spirit soared and stained.
Rivers rush down slopes, and peaks loom tall,
Rafters ride via waterfalls as bridges never fall.
Deer graze in fields, and craftsmen, work away,
Sweets and meals sizzle on burner, made to stay.
Chili, pasta, beans, and maize are all we need,
The Alpine guy eats grits, Angus, and meat, indeed.
Riders hold on tight with flying manes and fish dives,
West Virginia alpine star twinkles and jives.
We see in many ways
as the great bard said,
“Eyes windows to the soul”
looking out and looking in
I draw the drapes back
for all to see, my own reflection
in their eyes as well – on the outside
we are mirror images, closs enough
wondering what differences live beyond the
silver backing, between the wall of each being
where dust and webs gather
where spiders war and dance
The soul a web of many journeys
I ponder the threads...of what has
been captured, the holes where
the escapes left missing links...
there are dark and light house-guests
who seem to nod but not mingle
I wonder if they have souls or
just my own we share
as Mozart his with the spirit of music
and Einstein his with the mind of crisscrossing
dimensions
and God, His Divine Essence
does He reveal all to Himself
or keep some poignant mysteries
from creation, like a woman protects
her children from predators
while guarding her lovers
to the death of rationale
The sun is a monster,
The stars are monsters,
Monsters that make us spin
In the universe,
Our planet is so small,
The sun looks at her, like a cat a mouse,
Like a bug,
The sun is a monster,
That one cannot look into the eyes,
a monster who devours his own house,
A bloodthirsty monster,
Heard millions of miles away,
If this monster wakes up,
It will destroy everything,
Our houses, our armies, our principles,
He will destroy our works of art,
Mozart and Rembrandt,
It will destroy all our ambitions,
To conquer the universe,
To move our cabinets,
To cook again lobsters,
So let’s be wise,
The monster is watching us,
But he has great appetite,
Let’s not wake him up,
His light is our life,
Where does this monster come from?
No one knows, Perhaps you know?
He comes from far away, no doubt,
From another galaxy,
One thing is for sure,
This monster is more powerful than God,
Let us take advantage of his wickedness,
Let us become gods in our turn,
Are we not monsters?
I'm in the mood for Mozart, or Strauss, perhaps Beethoven,
even Bach or Handel would sooth this soul of mine tonight;
a little Chopin with wine, peaceful and mesmerizing the sound,
majestic and serene, spiritual and sensual, magical, haunting.
Always changing, sometimes fast, chaotic and then restful,
it echoes in my head as I listen to the sweet flowing rhythms;
I just close my eyes and relax, letting the stress just dissolve,
sometimes I listen to the Gregorian Chant with it's melodic notes.
Time stands still and the music embraces me and I am away,
calming and exhilarating, mysterious and comfortable to me;
this music takes me to a mountain stream or a lush green forest,
I just flow with the instruments on a lovely journey all by myself.
_______________________________
October 7, 2015
Poetry/Verse/The Music
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1190-986-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to FTI Blog Series 7 - Music
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
The water has receded
And I can see everything
in the bottom of the stream
Big pebbles of assorted colors
covering each other
frogs scampering about
and big fish meddling around
I stared in the silent water
watching rubble floating on top
giant rocks planted in the sand
unaware of what is at hand
And openly denying that
they didn't know each other
I walked across the buried rock
to view the pebbles from all angles
With heightened curiosity
and reflective ingenuity
I dip my foot into the water
but it was as cold as ice
and something strange
was bubbling up inside
The sun shines vigorously
through the tall trees
penetrating the water in the deep
I could see the color of everything
the shape the depth and the size
The wind came to a stand still
And mad birds murmuring
precariously from within
They start a mutiny in the trees
Flying furiously in the air
waiting for the storm as it draws near
I crossed the stream
and sat on a wooden bench
Contemplating numerous events
The mysteries of nature
birds talking to each other
And everyone screaming
and shouting at one another
I could not understand the birds language
but I could sense their troubled emotions
Whistling
screeching
squealing
shirking
crying
hooting
tweeting
sounds without description arouse in the tree
Different rhythm unfamiliar tune
Making everyone confused
Mozart in all his glory
couldn't have created a better symphony
Even among the tallest tree
nature is wailing in misery
I cannot fathom it all
unparalleled music resonating in my head
and the trees standing upright
scrutinizing this terrible plight
The leaves are not moving
And the bushes can feel the strangeness
the birds are whimpering
forcing nature to set an important meeting
Everyone gathers in Eleanor's park
waiting anxiously for the meeting to start
The wood pecker hammering the wood
and the sweet John Che-wit
standing on the shaky branch
watching the cardinal reading the agenda
The cold and dry winter has returned
Hot spring sweltering in summer
Every thing is green again and the trees
waits patiently to dance again
The bird started a sudden commotion
and the meeting ended in a raucous demotion
Winter hits back with a monumental explosion.
Today I smithed a poem to the scent of spices,
Washing my beddings to allow a new sheet of habits,
I come from a broken home so I’m careless with my affection,
I am wasteful with my trust
and I smoke cigarettes like I made them,
I am Mozart on the piano but only with a pen,
Every key I strike is a confession to my wrongs,
This is how I breathe my faults through the vail of anonymity,
Today I smithed a poem to the scent of the spices on mountains,
It sounds like one I’d write hours before the sky starts crushing down,
Before my skin turns cold and I see the stairs in the constellations,
I feel like I would craft the Eiffel Tower with my palms,
I am Mozart on the piano,
But only with a pen.
every sense
stripped
of its veneer
becoming a
reverie
of pleasing
emotions
sounds
dancing
twirling
back&forth
swaying
rocking
here
& there
time
evaporates
themes
ehthereal
in memory
love
made aloud
moving
breathing
heaving
with
passion
soft
sensual
thoughts
envelope
contentment
sounds hide
then surround
encounters
develop
non-stop
begin
never to end
one
by
one
become
revelations
of
surprise
I said to Abigail Dolly, "will you have tea, dear heart?"
Of course, she always said yes, oh fond the memory;
And on my record player, I played a record of Mozart,
Some days, Kitty came and that made tea for three,
Long ago,
with cookies a la carte.
On the shaded porch of my peaceful neighborhood,
"Oh, did you say something, Abigail Dolly, pardon me!"
Father had made me a little tea table of solid wood,
Dappled the hues of my childhood.
__________________________
October 30, 2015
Narrative (Rhyme)
Written by Broken Wings
For the contest, Oil Painting 1-2-3, sponsor, Eve Roper
Note: Thank you Eve for letting me use your beautiful painting as inspiration
Second Place
If what I say I see is an image my brain forms
From stimulation by certain waves, then
When I say I see something “over there”, I do not see it
There, I see it here in my brain in three dimensions.
“There”, everywhere, is dark. Enlightenment plays only
On screens in brains where there are eyes to see.
But is what I say I see really the way something looks?
Yes, so far as I remind myself the image is but an artifact
Created within the limits of my eyes to capture and my brain interpret.
If so, how would the same something “look” in ultra violet or far-red waves,
(Is it all illusion?)
If we had such eyes to see?
Is it the same with other senses?
With hearing my dog thinks it is
Since I seem to miss so much. Ears deaf
To all but those of the waves we call audible,
Leaving so much music unheard.
I think how Mozart would have frolicked
Through notes extending to canine ranges,
If we had such ears to hear.
Surely all waves carry some possibility
For perception, some new way to find our way
But most are either denied or undetected.
I am impoverished by waves I cannot ride.
Copyright Paul Thomson 2021
----paranoid, pornographic, psychotic, pontific, politically aware, rapping, rhyming, right here, right now in River city, rock and roll up the Yazoo, sad, sadistic, sarcastic, sassy, satanic, schizoid, shitting, silly, sexy, smarmy, smelly, smooth, snarky, snarling, stupid, stinking, sweet as honey, sweat inducing, symphonic, Trump can’t handle this coffee, vengeful, Wagnerian, wicked, with nutmeg and cinnamon swirls, with a hint of stevia, with a hint of vanilla, with a hint of rum, with a hint of whisky, with a hint of cherry, with a hint of fruit overtones, with a hint of drugs spicing up the coffee, spendific, speeding, splendid, superior accept no substitutes, survived the Vietnam war, the Iraq war, the Afghan war, the first and Second Korean war, World War 11, the war on poverty, the war on drugs, the war on black people, the sexual revolution, Soulful as a summer’s night in MOTOWN- James Brown approved, TOP approved, Berkeley approved, the coffee that Jimmy Hendrix drank before he died, the coffee that Elvis drank on his last breakfast, the coffee that Barry White crooned as he drank his cup of coffee – and the coffee that made the white boy play stand up and play that funky music, the coffee that made Jonny B Goode play his guitar, and made Jonny bet the devil his soul after he drank his morning cup of righteous coffee and the coffee that make the Rolling Stones Rock and Roll, the coffee your mother warned you against drinking, the coffee that Napoleon drank when he became the Emperor of all Europe, the Coffee that Beethoven drank when he wrote the Ninth symphony, the coffee that Mozart drank as he wrote his last symphony, the coffee that Lincoln drank before he was killed, the Hemingway drank before he killed himself, the coffee that started the 60’s, and ended the 20th century, the coffee that Lenin drank as he plotted revolution, the coffee that Hitler and Stalin drank with FDR as they divided up the world after World War 11,