Long Opera Poems
Long Opera Poems. Below are the most popular long Opera by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Opera poems by poem length and keyword.
When Time sails into it's last port,
and fever for the Truth is stowed-
as an incubant reality
-that you wish had aroused sooner,
it's queried symptom with more fervored pedigree
of temperature and imminent perspire.
To be caught up in a fairer sea and a wider net
before the docks that bustle
with confusion and regret, seeps from flotsamed seed.
Leviathan emerging from Atlantean Hold
with the deep coldness of betrayal surfacing FedNow from it's keep, of secrets- curated upon
the altered tongues of Belial,
media sirens and priests.
System of nowhere has you in it's backwater
maelstrom of confusion and shiny distracting
swirls of eddific infusions,
a scantily clad WhoreRidingTheBeast,
that pairs suitors one against the other
in her gossip of intrigues.
This has been foretold,
for those who have eyes to see.
Know that ignorance is bliss as a head tucked in
the sand,
that has lost it's body.
That, has had the bounty of waves of enemies,
rush our shore,
pour the salt of the lies of unity to season
divergency to a refined palate of uni-diversities,
pepper spray to taste-
our wounds in an opera that blinds us to our face.
As cannibals eat their own,
and we bite the hand that feeds.
Feeding the hands that take us away,
from Truth.
Hell is from here to Eternity.
satin sheets slide off
the desk notes fall
softly like petals
as the Maestro
humms along
the symphony
directing
each movement
Summer shimmers
Luna glistens
through shiny panes
the puppet master
raises the silence
hands charter the poignant
sensually inked in mind
the words flutter in the throat
rising like nightingale wings
singing to the Maestro's
feathery quill is an angel falling
racing across the ecstacy
along the face of the other
like a clock watched
the hands on a body
tracing each moment
the eyes worship
the reflection
in each the other
she sings an opera
to the puppet master
like it's the end
of an old world
like something exotic taken
milky orchid datura nightshade
scent of pearl in moonlight
starlit in the morning
lips taste the kiss
to another life
underneath
the layers
time shifting
into another
she unfurls
Candide Diderot. ‘24
"And the day came
when the risk to remain
tight in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took to blossom"
Lakme. Flower.
Anais Nin. Blossom.
Strings. Puppet Master. Delibes.
It's the most famous of all musical instruments,
with shining black and white keys
that make beautiful sounds
to delight the composers' minds.
Many famous composers played it beautifully
in opera houses, schools and churches...
large audiences listened and admired their creativity
while their spirits soared to the Heavens!
Verdi and Mozart wrote from it as if they were lost in contemplation,
spending long hours, sometimes days, writing sumptuous melodies;
see a well-kept lead sheet of the times...
to get that feeling of awe and creation!
If many famous composers played it beautifully,
can I do the same and amaze others as they did?
It's always been a fantasy standing in front of a crowd,
but playing it to myself in a quite room it's pure ecstasy!
Today that musical tradition still continues
getting more popular than ever
and it's widely used in songs and symphonies;
I have tried it and learned it well.
Out of the few instruments I've played,
I prefer this one to compose as I play it...
its awesome feeling can't be matched
by any other means: it's so obsolete!
Written by Andrew crisci
for nette oncloud's contest,
" Sounds Madness "
the instrument: piano
i've composed a dream, which i would like to share with you
i am at the royal opera house in Covent Garden, and
i have front row seats for The Barber of Seville
in which i am stacked up behind the conductor
i can smell the shampoo and the warmth of the body
i wink at the oboe player, as we wait for the rapid-fire
overture that will blow our socks off, as i pop an extra strong mint into my face
and whisper to Jericho, "this will strike a chord."
and we're off. the velvet curtain looks delicious, i want to eat it,
i want to smear it on my face like jam while the baton waves around hysterically,
a frantic metronome having a seizure,
and i can’t read a single dot on the page,
but the timbre of the oboe cuts through and the trombone bellows
and the lute plucks at something deep in my gut
and i’m watching all of this on a four-inch smartphone screen
because the best time of the day is nighttime, it is the best time of the day,
pouring boiling water into rubber hot water bottles for my wife,
my bitesize opera treats before slumbering,
a stolen hit of high culture in the quiet dark.
i want a Puccinian curiosity, but i don't know what that means
interval. dissonance. consonance.
my colleague, the music teacher, he explains the basics to me
he reduces three hundred years of Italian heartbreak to four words,
his mouth shaping the syllables with the precision of
a perfectly articulated staccato, in the voice of Bugs Bunny: “crap story, good music.”
i saw Madame Butterfly, i told him i needed to sit down and talk to someone,
all these memories flood back now, i want my opera house. i want the real one.
ringing the church bell from the steeple,
screaming that the church remains closed, locked up tight, until this town,
this stupid town, gets its opera house.
the overture ends and the applause breaks out. after it dies,
i lean forward, towards the conductor's right ear and say,
"brilliant, boy."
I don't want to hear,
I don't want to know.
Your life is a Soap Opera,
like a T.V. show.
Your life is a mess.
I can read the signs
but I have trouble keeping track
of my own plot lines.
No one's life runs smooth.
We all have our issues.
I needn't hear yours
to bring out the tissues.
You have social media
to vent your frustrations,
your ups and your downs,
tragedy and elations.
I have my own stuff
to deal with your know.
I just choose not to put it
out there like a show.
So I wish you the best,
I wish you well
but those passive aggressive statuses
can just go to hell.
15/09/2015
-----------------------------------------Tharsisan Dispatch---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Week of Sunday 14 of February 2027-----------------------------------Volume VXXIIIIII-0000000001
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------==================================================================
NEWS GRABBING THE PUBLICS ATTENTION
EXTRA/EXTRA!
By: Rumbfert Hueknuckle
Seems inappropriate to put the nut ref here but in summery of of report: it is all the likeliest of likehood that a press conference detailing the ' newly invented' SOUND of the century has been purchased with all rights of ownership belonging to Production MIZZI a futuristic Media group with
Purpose. Aquisition .Syndrome.INC. (which to has been purchased) by All Means Media. The sale means more phatbeats and groovey tunes. Headlines from Maine to New Mexico: from Florida to Oregan all have confirmed the sale." It means allot to the general public" said Dingal Daz of Fyter Magazine:" from opera to rock: with gospel ,rythmn and blues to the POP charters, all included. The newly vamped GENRE WON deal has people in the industry and those external to the business buzzing!" "Revenue from last year topped 1 billion in sales with only 7 months reporting, this is big news!" Spoke an interupting Cuas Cleppertun of Bizzy Bouis Gazette: tours this year will keep millions entertained, worker in several major industries will make alot of money! Tour Forge is also into Frigat racing and Venue Rentals, They rent Big Places cheap, groups, churches, small bands and orchastras will have a house to entertain from. This is a big deal!
Varuna what your hobby?
I think a modern version of Bertolt Brecht's 'The Threepenny Opera,' would better suit today's version if it were called, 'The Three Piggy Opera.' It's a biting satire about a criminal and capitalism. Sound familiar yet? It also includes moral ambiguities, which are not so ambiguous in politicians these days. Little Red Riding Hood was on to the wolf's guile from the beginning. Clever girl!
there's a big bad wolf
who huffs and puffs his vile threats
piggies are not safe
In homes of straw, one little piggy seeks refuge, but ICE breaks down its door, Immigrant or legal, they don't care when the big bad wolf says, "Bash it in, by the hair on my orange tanned skin." Then, a house of sticks they kick in. The big bad wolf can't do it because of his swollen ankles...err I mean cankles. Brick houses don't stop him from giving the command, "To make America great again, we have to take a stand."
chump, Trump wants a crown
he's ruined what used to be great
suffering country
A stand against who, or what? He's done nothing that could be mistaken as having made the US a better place to live. And now, he's started a war that he will never feel the effects of except in his further fall in the polls. America was fine the way it was until the wolf decided he was hungry for power, drooling for more and is never sated. It's rough these days, when Democracy is threatened by a wolf who doesn't even try to disguise himself in sheep's clothing. He howls at the moon with the lunacy of his drivel. What loathing for his actions we Americans are feeling and witnessing. No one is safe behind their own closed doors. Houses of straw, sticks and bricks... our rights taken away. The cost is too much to pay.
Lil Red Riding Hood
was always misunderstood
she saw right through him
She had an almost insane love of life,
Her attitude exuded abject fairness,
She was the abominably busy butcher’s wife,
Cancer treatments turned her suddenly quite hairless.
Her love of God and Savior was her guiding light.
No matter how she suffered, optimism shone through.
The secret storm she held inside, a secret plight.
Each day, a gift, she treasured gloriously anew.
As the world turned, day by day, the same for many,
She found happiness, and determinedly ignored the sad,
Bringing joy to those who would have suffered plenty,
If they had not seen her beacon of hope, realizing she was glad.
At her services, a reoccurring theme was her love of life,
Her love for her family, and her incessant offerings of hope.
The busy butcher, now not as busy, mourning his lovely wife,
In honor of her, smiled through his tears, daring not to mope.
He could feel her love for him, beaming down from heaven.
Glad he was, she was not still suffering from her secret storm,
A storm she hid from the rest of them, especially her son, Kevin,
Who crawled into bed with his daddy that night, so toasty warm.
Written 10-09-2018 Contest: Soap Opera Titles
Sponsor: Sian St. James
These constellations appear like this here
they are completely different on
other planets.
There are four places in this galaxy
that the star Shiva appears at the top of a constellation
ironic the coordinates are the same
even though the sizes and distances from the star
are completely different it appears at the top of
the constellation.
one is a lobster shaped creature named
Usdain on Vulcanite
Posiden on the Moon of Grindolce it's a
constellation of a ram type figure
Munise Gambee a carnivous fangusaur in the
Talapian sky on Talpania 15 and on the astoid
Frillsanite
the tip of a twelve pointed star.
On this asteriod where Galiummite is mined
a myth that says the figure
was branded into the top of
a platue by the God Miersirr who
dared the worships of Brinsh to climb the plateu
it took them 122 years
to see the sight
as they feared the God Brinsh, the constructed a flying machine to see
the sight.
It is beleived that this was done
only ten years after the myth was first told.
But Brinsh punshed them with
dummbest
as the inhabidats thought the vessal was evil
and the works of pagans.
they to are foolish like the Earthlings were before
you developed Space and Aeriel Vessal Captain.
An insult Commander? No Captain
an observation.. There on this asteriod
are minerals that can power a spacecraft for decades.
All we have to do is go there and either ask or fight them for it.
Is there an atmoshere, yes the asteriod is just under the classification of moon, it has an atmoshere substanablae for all except Dr. Lopigiuse.
A missten elemnt and moniter will have to be worn
due to the Calite and lack of nitre in the atmoshere which is a benifet to all of the crew except for him.
This atmoshere will improve the athletic ablities of us all except for, interurting yeah I know the good Doctor.
From
.La'An Noonien-Singh
Triquarter Actaul Account
Arturia Analog Lab
My dream destination is Ireland,
I want to walk in the lush green.
Visit towns of cottages, pubs and music.
I want to see the rocky coasts, lakes, rivers and wetlands,
the birds, animals, and wildflowers growing,
the mountains, pasturelands, and the architecture.
I will explore Dublin, the churches, castles and museums
to inspire my poetic pen,
and instill a peace and sublime feeling within me,
as I enjoy the friendly people I will meet along my journey.
I especially want to visit, The Burren, a vast limestone plateau.
It is a unique botanical environment where alpine flowers grow
in the limestone stone crevices to create splashes of color.
I will stay at Bed and Breakfast Inns along the way.
and mingle with the people I meet.
Try some interesting food in the restaurants and festivals.
Shop till I drop and go to a symphony, ballet or opera perhaps.
Ride a horse on a woodland trail, country lane or mountain path,
and I must, must go for hikes in the glorious Irish landscapes.
Oh, it is a delightful dream . . . . to dream.