Long Pianissimo Poems
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In heat
the pulse of your streets.
I've heard the crack
of hard political whips
that pinch the air.
Cores of human topography,
your aging neighborhoods.
Your people kick cans
counting gravel like jewels,
while chiselers roast dogs
in the courthouse.
Swine flu kills
the papers.
And already the sky is
feverish.
In your train tunnels
a violinist plays pianissimo.
I've seen
railroad men search for him
along your tracks.*
But you are always
the sweltering sore
of the Atlantic.
A rusty mouth
for dark ships.
A blind brick town
of boarded storefronts
and ***** flicks,
you are buried.
Brown bag your way
to the last alley.
The tenants throw
rocks at your windows.
The rain has stopped
washing your sewers.
*From an old legend of
railroad workers on the east coast of the United States.
Published Black Buzzard Press - 1982
I.
In the hush of the first movement,
Silent snowfall plays a soft overture.
Each flake a note, descending gently,
A white serenade to quiet streets.
Nature's breath slows, like a pianissimo,
And the world finds refuge in the stillness.
II.
The allegro of frostnip,
A brisk dance of biting winds.
Trees, skeletal and stark, bow in unison,
Their frozen limbs, a winter waltz.
Here, shadows wrap around the day,
A protective shroud from the harsh glare.
III.
Andante, the pace of chilled introspection,
As daylight wanes, and darkness ascends.
Winter's cloak, a shield from the revealing sun,
A sanctuary for those who seek solace.
A silent sonata of solitudinal echoes,
Footprints muffled in the snow's embrace.
IV.
Adagio, the languid drift of snowflakes,
A delicate descent, like feathers from the sky.
Time stretches, as if caught in a frozen dream,
And the world slips into a quiet reverie.
In winter's arms, a clandestine asylum,
Hidden from the stark exposure of summer.
V.
Rallentando, the gradual deceleration,
As winter's sonata reaches its conclusion.
The landscape, a canvas of muted hues,
Soft whispers of a fading symphony.
Yet, in the cold, a warmth is found,
A paradoxical embrace of winter's serenade.
Written: February 07, 2024
___________________________________
It appears as if
the world has been
coated by a wave of
deceitful dictums,
where faked reality
appears to be popular,
an appeal of mimicry shines
even most brilliantly.
Anathema to blisters
induced by prickly nettle;
an artwork mustered
quivering feathers
that cascade over
the ivory cuticles
nestled in molten
mascarpone.
Pearlescent opal stone,
a glimpse of the
azure sky,
a shattered spirit,
hollering.
Deeper within her
skeletal corpulence
an artist grumbles
vehemently,
leaping into the air
while emitting a strained
sonorous tone,
primal image vanishes
and equestrian adulation
is insufficient,
an ersatz nest of swans
brimming with an
ethereal dawn.
Soprano with a
whimsical quality
slightly etched in
matte black tone
diploid remnants are
a flawless fleck of
fascinating fear,
Hollow echoes chant
hymns hail cherubs, and
croon carcass lullabies
Rakish Requiem for
an unreciprocated
magnificent opus
swiftly spanning
pinewood spots, on the
cusp of giving way.
As the impresario
sags on the ladder,
the opera curtains
are drawn closer,
a soothing melody
numbs her fingers
in the process.
Mozart pianissimo is
playing as Requiem strolls
across the stage,
yet, he pulls it off
and fulfills the
task precisely.
Etchings of sequence
on my flesh, conduct
an extraordinary
ballet of life,
raving smooth calm
with melodic verses
that breathe vitality.
Life’s Mysteries :?
Lively grinning moments -crafted coincidence
Insert themselves into stark reality
Formed from God appointments - incident precedence
Ever lifts opaque dullness of banality,
Synchronizing heartbeats get the memo
Mirrored thoughts join images through misted channels -
Yearning spoken in tones of pianissimo -
Suddenly a-ha’s arrive - pure love impaneled
Telepathic themes -wonder like new pennies found
Ever flow from heaven's heart collaboration
Reveal eternal revelry -delight abounding
In discovery- happy accidents creation
Explanations for the amazing unexplained
Spinning world understanding lost on logic’s plains. :?
Contest: Life's Mysteries
Sponsor: John Hamilton
12-6-20
,
Song of the Heart
Quietly,
pianissimo,
the melody begins
softly,
smoothly,
as the wooing takes center stage
wrapped in gossamer strands of moonlight
her eyes twinkling with the stars
glisten as tears of unbridled emotion slip down her cheeks.
He caresses her heart, gently tempting to her to wing
the song intensifies, crescendos,
and her heart bursts forth into the starry night
pounding with the timpani,
resounding with the woodwinds
and as the song quiets once more,
gently alighting
back into the hands
of the man who set her free.
They nestle together in contentment
as their hearts pound,
echoing the song in their souls,
anticipating their journey into the unknown symphony.
A Pleasurable Life
The things that bring you pleasure
May be experienced one at a time
Or they may be combined
Into one fantastic time frame
To double the pleasure
And double the sheer bliss
The decadence of eating
With the satisfaction of making love
A combination bursting with pleasure
Warm melted chocolate
To be taken in from pleasure spots
Savored while the tongue swirls the chocolate before taking it in
Giving and receiving pleasure
And tasting….richness
Whipped cream or a touch of honey
Foamed up or drizzled will heighten the pleasure
Just a bit…….not too much
Makes the sweet….sweeter
Feeding body AND soul
Double the Delight
Double the Pleasure
The love of music
Blended in with the love
Of love making
Exhileration carried on notes
Moving fast and slow
Swelling and receding
Pianissimo….to make her melt
Slow slow….
Andante...Andante
The way to go...
Then subito
A sudden change of tempo
The element of surprise
Frozando….no escape...no turning back…
Demands of surrender
Fronzando giving way to Rinforzando
Thundering….again and again
A swelling crescendo
Burst of sound and rhythm and light
Reverberations reaching the inner soul
Suspended in time
The symphony of two bodies
In the throes of surreal delight
Forte…forte…forte
An then…..
Then diminuendo….calmando
The labored breathing of love
Receding with the waves
Al niente
Al...Niente
Fading to nothing
Peace….after Pleasure
Double your pleasures
For tomorrow comes with no guarantees
That your eyes will feast
On the celestial stars
Making love to the night
To the symphony of the universe...
So while you can...
Double your Pleasure
Double your Delight
In a double dose of LIFE
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Symphony No 9
enter sounds of pianissimo allure
Elysium with piano keyboard pure
floating along Schiller’s poem “ode to joy”
faint piano fingers find her bashful coy
leading emotion along a subtle score
three trombones follow the soft violin strings
choral symphony opus in love with wings
the allegro meter picking up slightly
the master deftly lifts the music gently
leading the way for music to fly and soar
two horns drop to an adagio slowing pace
brass horns bring the B flat for the extra bass
tempo slow leading to a prime horn solo
his genius growing the perfect audio
audience gravely silent waiting for more
bass drums bring in the fourth a big ovation
brass trumpets rejoice the crescendo occasion
its percussion and contrabass swooning artistry
this symphony is art breathing life into poetry
symphony number nine; Beethoven’s life crescendo furore
Tribute to Beethoven’s final symphony when he was deaf
hugely influenced by Friedrich Schiller’s poem” ode to joy”
Reflecting his work in 4 movements building to the final vocal
Crescendo in the 4th movement (increased syllable count per line in final stanza)
Sostenuto
Treble and Bass strings were Replaced
pianissimo she loved a soft soothing sound
We rathered it more forte and mezzo-piano
Less genre oriented yet moving towards
a rhythmic feel with popular appeal.
She didn't like the soulful sounds and didn't
like soulful rock or country soul. She prefers
Bassy classic ethnic crisp trembled sounds
centered around a groovey bassy backdrop
in the creation of songs she wished none to
use emotion in the music what she likes was
made unappealling by saying it was gloom or
saddening many conversations made her to appear
foolish or unfamilar with what others thought
the great need of many over the want and desires
of someones want.Yet I desire perfection a wish
a more perfect collaberate effort through use of
orcstarted sounds soothing and rhythmic let
the lyric writer find fault in my perfection to
breath life into a text of poetic jesturing to
thrust and grind his way to a climax of stressless
completion.Or a stressful incompletion where his need
to express a universal understanding of love or to
express a desire to make love or whatever
Pleasure of completion ahaall tell me when he's
finished. Yet I'm to struggle with the creation of
the perfect sound. The gift's of contracted
see me smile in satisfaction!
Written by:
Comment OffdeMark
and
Muzzic De Plesaure
Ah! Yes! Yes! You say my poetry
reminds you of a great musician;
the ear to feel and a heart
to impart—so the conductor
motions his vessels to sail:
a pianissimo or great crescendo!
I think that breeze, that wind
that went into us all
should always blow out,
a journey full, an ocean roar
as we are commissioned to assimilate,
translate, define and refine
the creator into something
even more loftily created:
Each cell with its own vibratory sound;
independent while attractive--
repelled by others
be-spelled by sirens,
as the snake its victims
and the saint
its helpless devotees
entwined;
whether toward or away
one flees the entombment--
breaking the shell of fear
we blossom while unfold--
we write a new reality;
The discord!
The harmony!
Volumes that chase
then surround—the ever
splintering light we pursue
a multitude of wands--reconstitute
and tune,--Ah! Such exaltations
can be violent, can be harmony;
Yet they are all divine--beauty
and pain fall and rise
as smoke dissipates leaving
a beaming new sky.
Should we be less
than a symphony of all sorts?
And those players of Shakespeare,
should we not be
players off the stage as well as on?—anything less
would be true hell, transcending those fictitious demons,
powerless were it not for our complicity;
and so possessed the stage itself...and the theater
pillars, and the sky translucent,
a cathedral dome for our blessed cradle,
heaven peering in on its young,
adoring man's perfect, soulful evacuation,
each poem a religious icon of sorts--
No, we should not think ourselves merely children
of the sun and moon—nor those
limited by music of enchanted spheres,
for we are
at our shores
and depths
the effulgence of
all blessed
composing tears.
Written: February 13, 2023
____________________________________________
An anathema for,
pilose nettle burns,
an art form of unstable feathers,
tropes across the ivory cuticles.
Melted mascarpone in a figurine,
pearlescent obsidian,
hooping sapped spirit,
sight of the blue sky.
within her boneless flesh,
the artist grumbles severely,
in a strained, velvety voice,
jumping into the air.
Prima picture goes away,
with feeble equine acclaim,
the nest of the forlorn swan,
embracing an ethereal dawn.
Whimsical soprano,
barely etched in matte black,
diploid remains,
a flawless fleck of fascinating fright.
Rakish Requiem for an,
unrequited magnum opus,
rushing on pinewood stains,
on the cusp of collapse.
As she droops on the ladder,
the impresario draws the
opera curtains closer,
while soothing music,
numbs her toes.
When Requiem strolls,
across the stage to the tune of
Mozart pianissimo,
he manages to pull off,
fulfills a task with accuracy.
2nd place contest winner