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.
What is it like?
I don’t remember.
It has been a long time
A moment of quietly being alone
No little kids voices screaming for a hot dog
The phone doesn’t ring
Music playing on a stereo in the next room
Mozart filling the empty space
Notes and chords
Reeds, brass and percussion
Playing a symphony of relaxing tones
But not a single word to be heard
Could this moment ever really exist?
Maybe in today’s world it is merely a fantasy
There will always be a child
An annoying phone call
Something…anything
That will disrupt the quiet I am searching for
In my dreams I may finally find it
A world of total quiet, total relaxation
No screaming kids
No phone calls
The only cursed interruption
When the sun rises
That damn bell rings
The little kids yell
The phone rings
And the real world starts all over again
Form:
We are happy about the music,
a Mozart serenade that is not too dangerously deep.
Somewhere in the night
angels are falling off their nightmares,
black horse escaping on an ebbing tide.
Mozart is a skinny youth, his pink bubble gum
is happy, you can tell by the way his tongue pokes
through it, how he snicks the goo through
his front teeth.
Trick cyclists and other men in white tights
hold us spellbound, we beam happily
upturned faces shinning like full moons.
It is good to be radiantly irradiated from doubt,
cajoled by endless bouts of happiness.
The music is remembered as it plays
within the small organic organs of our love.
Good that everything fits now with no sharp edges.
Good to be smoothly functioning
in such a non-challenging way.
A harlequin struts, then bows obsequiously,
we are happy that his triangulated
three pronged hat can ring its little bells.
It is good to stand in the shallow end
and never feel the need to swim, sink or drown.
Good to rely on the orchestrated
dispensing powers that be,
good to be this happiness
measured out in prepackaged cups
for ease of use and no unsightly waste.
The devil is in the very fine print,
nobody reads it, and the Cosmos of All Other Things
snores on. Happily, we sing of he and thee,
run to the television screens for reassurance,
choose only the finest upholstery
to keep us from sagging for another year.
Let the soothing play on
our world is not perfect, but its serenades
are largely happy, and do not hound us out of our joy
like other darker compositions do.
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.
The morning with its silent music creeps slowly up the hill bathing in the scorching sun bursting out of the sky, dancing on hill tops and singing sweet lullabies; as if a baby was sitting in the cradle smiling at me before the morning sun rise with a touch of hope parachuting around the galaxy before it opens its eyes, and destiny suddenly caught my attention. It is the compound melody that you hear when the spirits draw near, it evokes the lyrics of the past whose words are too strong to be told and the forgotten melody that stands between the lines opens a new symphony that Mozart could not sing and Beethoven could play. We wander through the music sheet and penetrate the melody in the deep, listening carefully to the rhythmic pattern and the historical track that climb to the top of the musical ladder. Everything came back and I was still sitting on top listening to the silent music play. There is divine hope in the clouds let me hear it again before I grow old, I have passed the threshold of time, watching the universe teasing man’s mind and conscience and hope began to swell. Close your eyes and you will hear it, open your heart and you will feel it, men of valor who roam the earth thousands of years ago whose spirit is wrapped up into the deity has given prudence to the lyrics’ of time as they search for rhythm to lead them back to the path of clarity. Come and join me beyond the sea I have something significant to show thee, our world is so small yet one small mistake will make the whole world fall, it is the layers that lies between and the inward journey that you cannot see; it is a busy route for the sheep and goat and when you get there the heavens will make you shout. Come listen to the silent music with me that lies beyond the bewildering sea.
I keep a notebook on the nightstand,
pencil at hand – life-rafts for thoughts.
A flock of dream-crows take off all at once,
the clatter of their wings
a whole symphony played in just one moment.
Grandmother would speak in her Highland tongue;
sounds lyrical and melodic. As a child
I just listened not deciphering or even thinking,
absorbing only the sounds of her rhythmic brogue,
her Celtic chimes.
Mozart leaps up from a nocturnal reverie
stumbles around lighting candles,
lays his sleepy forehead on a keyboard
endeavors to recall a certain harmonic
overheard as the trills of Pipistrelle bats.
When my head swings from the pillow
I cannot find the pencil.
Mind mutely watches a cappella words
wander away from their musical roots,
silence falls out of nowhere into nowhere.
My closed eyes have crashed
against an image;
I am a boat moored to a storm.
I keep a notebook on the nightstand,
pencil at hand – life-rafts for thoughts.
A flock of crows
take off at once – they clatter – it’s musical,
it is an hour-long symphony
played in a single moment,
you hear it all but can’t separate the wing-beats.
My Scots grandmother (a natural born Celt),
would talk to me in her Highland tongue;
sounds so beautiful that my brain
would stop deciphering or even thinking.
I can’t now remember her wry wisdom,
not a thing,
I just recall the chanting-chimes.
Mozart must have leapt from his bed often.
I wonder did he stumble around lighting candles,
cursing the dark until he found his keyboard?
Did he lay his sleepy forehead on that forte-piano
willing himself to recall the bitsy songs
of Pipistrelle bats?
My head swings from the pillow.
If I could only reach that pencil,
but it has moved-on,
to a place where Gaelic grannies,
and jet-black crows wait
to enter some other dream.
I walked with Mozart,
and he whispered,
“The Magic Flute will be my final prayer.”
Its light pierced the tender chamber of my heart,
and I wept.
I stood beside Beethoven,
his hand trembling in mine,
and he placed upon my soul
a chorus that rose beyond time itself—
each note a cry of eternity,
each harmony a tear reborn.
In the dreamland I found Bach,
the eternal architect of sound.
I said to him:
“You are the cathedral-builder of music,
stone by stone of melody and fire.
Your spirit still kneels within us,
woven into every prayer of sound.”
Chopin’s nocturnes touched the air,
fragile as moonlight on broken glass,
and I was lifted from the weight of sorrow,
healed by beauty too delicate to name.
Vivaldi unfurled his seasons before me,
a circle without end.
I was bound forever—
a prisoner of strings
who rejoiced in the chains of music.
When my mother played Tchaikovsky,
I whispered,
“What visions stormed your soul,
what fire burned through your pen,
to bring such wonder into the world?”
I spoke with Schumann:
“Your concerto will breathe
into countless souls
long after silence has devoured us.
You have made sorrow eternal—
and thus, divine.”
And in twilight, Wagner asked me:
“Do you love my work?”
I bowed and answered:
“I love all composers,
for in their voices lives the world.
Yet your fire burns like a secret sun,
a flame that no silence can quench.”
And so it was—
when silence wept,
music became our prayer,
our confession,
our everlasting breath.
SENSE PLEASURE
Red honeyed apples
autumn leaves dewed
****** merge with sun streams
whilst children sleep dear dreams
Bobbing bubble baths
yogurt on hot chilli pie laughs
smell the sour dough
nourishment oh oh oh !
Blue moon paints front stoep
knobbly hand whispers stories
of heritages and future glories
skin ripples aptly rapt
Prancing clean laundry dance
mother’s milk in melting mouth
puppy grovels dirt digging south
sound frequencies simmer smoothly
Von Gogh sunflowers float in
mental notes skipping
Mozart phantom pianos airwaves
come dine alive then to jive
Pleasure finding the lost gazed
glance glimmer with God at no cost
Earth to Heaven find
THE JOYOUS JOURNEYED CONNECTION !
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song
2000
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
When I was a girl we had a house near railroad tracks,
And at night I loved the sound of the train whistle blowing;
It was such a haunting sound,
I wondered where it was going.
Mother told me the first words I said were choo choo choo,
I would sit by the window and imagine I was on that train;
The huge diesel locomotive pulling me to far off places,
I would have dreams of Paris.
It was whimsical and fanciful,
The Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame and The Louvre;
And a quick stop in Vienna, home of Mozart and Beethovan,
Oh all the magical places I could go on a whistling train.
And then we would go to Rome,
I wanted to say hello to the Pope.
Then with a clung and a whistle we would go to England,
And I would introduce myself to the Queen and have tea;
In my reverie I was not alone,
My companion was little Odele.
She was just a tiny kitten that I tucked in my pocket,
Then off we would go on our fantastical dreamy train ride.
_________________________
July 29, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Fantastical Dreamy Train Ride
Copyright Protected, ID 15-695-692-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym
For the contest, Trains and Fantasy,
sponsor, Mystic Rose
First Place