Long Violin Poems
Long Violin Poems. Below are the most popular long Violin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Violin poems by poem length and keyword.
The professor opened the precarious black violin case
Knowing he was going to show us an animal full of grace.
I watched him with interest, for he is a musical maestro.
And, he told me, this is why in this home, mice do not grow.
Princess Ebony is an unusually perfect pitch melodic cat.
She hunkers down, and pretends she is a piece of a doormat.
This darling cat with enormous pretty yellow eyes,
Gave me a knowing smile, such a wonderful surprise.
She is my secret weapon, my hidden mouse-catching treasure.
Watching her hunt down and catch rodents is my absolute pleasure.
I have no idea where he has hidden away his Stradivarius,
But I walk gingerly past Princess Ebony, my fate precarious.
In the dwindling day at the edge of twilight
the halcyon horizon blushes in delicate delight,
as the sunset colors spin the astral strands thin
in the formless fleet of cloud turning to violin.
After the sky-scan it’s time for the birds to return
to their nest riding the radiant rays they yearn.
They glide graciously on the outspread wide wings
over the cadenced clouds of the sonorous strings.
The mystique melody seeps slow within me deep,
as the sunset song puts me into serenading sleep.
At the edge of tinged dusk after the flight of the day,
the crimson sun sips the sea before slipping away,
and dissolves its colors in the water tossing free,
hues from horizon to the satin shore the tides carry.
With sparkling streaks the waves rise and fall gaily,
on the beach after they break the pearls roll calmly.
The dancing chromatic arms of embrace they fling,
amorous music of sunset colors in the air I hear ring.
The mystique melody seeps slow within me deep,
as the sunset song puts me into serenading sleep.
In the valley
of violin vines,
when the saffron sun ascends,
and crooning clouds
drift in mulberry cadence,
I let my quivering quill harmonize
mystical moonbeams
splattered across
hushed horizons~
with sparkling strings
of stardust,
as ink paints a
panorama of primrose promises,
from spring scented
sonatas scattered
in symphonic hues
of sangria syllables,
thawing
frost-clutched fauna,
while butterflies flutter
amongst floating florals,
depicting whispers
of my hyacinth heartbeat.
But something about
the way sakura
blossoms fall like rain,
traces picturesque
lines of my
lyrical confessions,
composed like
a chromatic chorus,
that savors
kismet kisses,
of a love woven
with
twinkling
tendrils in
tangerine twilight,
and when you
return like
pirouetting jasmines,
I feel the
ambrosial aura
of Persephone
emerge from
the darkest
caves of Hades,
bringing back
empyrean euphoria,
and here I let
nature unfurl
a choir of
singing sunflowers
and waltzing wisterias,
performing
classical serenades,
amidst trumpet trees
sprouting ivory petals,
in dulcet idioms,
veiling toxic tales.
But today,
as rays of gold
adorn my skyline,
I think of tender truth
transcribed in
theatrical tunes,
like
zenith of zealous zephyr
eternally rippling
blue rose breeze
across Monet’s
balmy meadow.
I know that's how death will come,
Suddenly flying into another orbit
when you are photographing flowers.
It's not a gentle transition.
No-one will know where you've gone.
One step wrong and you're.
off the high wire
And plunging into the no safety net.
Flying for a while;
Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons
Startle your grey eyes.
Transiting the new black sun
You're on a double gold helix,
Spider on your web,
Knitting furiously
Into the future heaven on gossamer wings.
Butterfly goodbye,I'm off to see the stars.
And the black holes.No one will come with me.
I'm shaking off,evaporating into mist.
I'm a flying saucer on a circus mission.
I can't say no to a new invitation.
Make it fast and break with tradition.
Time is passing smoothly till that break
In the music,I've been transmuted into a different key
someone else will play me on their violin
I'm a tune,
I'm a thought,
I'm a whisper in your vision.
Goodbye,darling.I'm under orders
Ready to leave for my performance
On the electric carpet.
Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello,
Arpeggionne sonata
I'm playing your words upside down
In a new foreign translation,
Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking
I'm going in.It's too sudden.
I'm flying.
Spinning faster to amuse the clowns,
too many ups and no downs.
I'm going right out of orbit
I've broken the pull of gravity,
And fly with pure equanimity
Into my future life,
I'm off at some moment,
An instant ,a crack,a loud smack.
That was me passing,
Vivid contrasts emanate lively hues
from the brilliancy of colors,
to radiate skin, hair and eyes;
and these are the wishes of all lovers!
He's a handsome man in a dark suit well-pressed,
and she's a beautiful woman in a scarlet dress;
he doesn't like ladies with flashy clothes,
and she only likes guys with ripped shirts!
Amelia fascinates her partner with her adorable smile,
Riccardo's blue eyes see a woman no man can resist;
and with his sexy eyes and killer's looks makes his conquest;
how exciting she seems and how happy she is to feel alive!
Their cheeks occasionally touch as kisses of a soft wind,
passion arises, but the dance must end with a standing ovation;
they're the only perfect pair who are rehearsing and getting recognition,
other dancers are getting impatient and are dying to come in.
The violin and piano begin to play in full harmony, " Un Ballo In Maschera,"
and all the guests come out gracefully to join the masquerade ball without timidity...
wearing luxurious and colorful costumes of the legendary Venetian Era;
and they elegantly dance on the diamond-shaped floor, trying to gess each other's identity.
The chorus adapts a moderato tone as wished by the conductor's baton, as the harmonic tones
accompany the high pitched soprano, who suddenly bursts out in a hissy scene;
she shouts, "My Riccardo has betrayed me! Take his mask off, and let him see me!"
And while the melody is embellished by the harmony, in anguish, she discords her vivid notes.
Entered in Brian's Strand contest, " Colours "
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Ashes waft over the meadow
a jet stream of sorrow,
beckoning the widow to the
edge, down to the river.
Contented epoch, at the
creek where the wolves run,
he lived and laughed.
We watched the bright blue
stars foxtrot across the milky
way, a midnight indigo quilt
shivering with light.
Mountain men whose
toughened hands cradle their
violin and mouth harp. Music
soared amidst craggy
chiseled countenance.
We listened to the chaste
screech of a hawk, the forlorn
cry of a mountain cat,
soft snuffling of a bear,
watery splash of a fish.
You and I waltzed in the
meadow; no music needed
other than the love song that
pulsed in our hearts.
Can I have this dance for
the rest of my life?
Together it seemed so…
right,
wrong,
simple,
eternal,
joyful,
lonely,
sad…
...happily ever after?
No.
Time enough for us to love,
laugh, share, be silly, fight,
forgive, and cry?
To seethe and despair?
Yes.
Trisha Sugarek from
Butterflies and Bullets
Matt the librarian loved to own thousands of rare books
and displayed them on shelves keeping an eye on crooks;
one could find the music sheets of young Beethoven;
Jenna loved his classical music and played it on the violin.
He dusted every book, not leaving a speck anywhere;
even rays of sunshine filtering gave them a golden shine;
for fourteen years or more Matt read books on line,
then opened up a bookstore and spent his time there.
G
Over twenty years he ran his business with zeal,
he stood six foot four and was a fine navy seal;
folks dropped by to spent an hour reading,
or engage in a cool topic that was interesting.
One afternoon I walked in and I saw him dusting books,
he could reach the top shelf with easiness and glancing
back he greeted me kindly dropping what he was doing
he invited me in, his welcoming was as warm as his looks.
Everyone reading at the long cherry table lifted their eyelids once,
as if I was intruding in their reading and apologizing
I started scanning all those books for an interesting
title and finding it, I joined the other avid readers who smiled twice.
I visited that bookstore often, I bought an old book with a buck
and read it on the spot instead of going to the library;
winter came and kept me away, I spent time on Facebook...
April came and I was shocked to hear that Matt had passed away.
Written on 3/27/2017
No Joke, This Punster Riddled With Anxiety
Hue more, a dog send,
asper how this poe
whet tick mutt air ring
mortal doth cope with woe
principally said misery prevails
because a dearth of dough
cash, liquid legally rendered
assets, money, y'know
what I mean, and securing, and
maintaining employment efforts go
south, cuz yours truly
experiences extreme anxiety,
where perspiration doth flow
most significantly moistening
palms when this bro
fills out application,
or during interview so...
to spare myself such
grievous anguish, although
such acquiring a job, the
quickest most obvious to diminish
penuriousness whiplashing to and fro
primarily due to requisite ought toe
motive repairs (ordinary
wear and tear),
this unearned income of mine - so
shill security disability
(monthly electronic depot
zitz), the sole source of mo
knee for myself and the missus,
(who also unfortunately emo
shun null lee dogged by psycho
logical pitfalls since her grow
chee parents (both deceased) unaware
of her mental afflictions decades ago
lacks any checking, and/or
savings account, lo
she wants for disposable income hoe
ping to rely on me for spending money
on regular basis, which by Joe
siff, mother and Mary
stresses thee only means
to sustain financial status quo,
hence my lament and plea
for succor, yet just blow
wing figurative steam also
bring a modicum of alleviation, as
does talking to a therapist, crow
wing about pennilessness
day late dollar short,
hence cue thee oboe
or violin somber
(pitiful) tune - ho...ho...ho...
methinks gofundme site not apropos
cuz just a couple thousand bucks...
would allow me to get show
back on the rodeo
circuit, but I hoop
not to engender glow
warring revulsion - whoa!
Lemony pines spring from my Summer mind,
dangling their scent, like Christmas ornaments.
I close my eyes and follow the sapphic breeze.
My bronze feet bounce through the mossy sea.
Feeling giddy in this faerie paradise.
I dosado amidst lichen and bark of ancient trees.
Buzz of bees, and rustic call of feathered friends.
A cup of honey and birdsong, a virtual violin —
played by the lonesome and serendipitous wind.
A long-winding face, a leprechaun plinking gold
through his kaleidoscopic fingers — I see him, who
never procreates, but his coins multiply — he has sinned.
Daffodils dot the streams of open pasture.
Eye-popping delirium, as if I am in oz.
Butterflies in conjured-hues, plenipotentiary patterns.
Suddenly, the wholesome forest burns with unrest,
as it turns to look at me in tatterdemalion dress.
“Be gone, you witch! Eden does no dalliance with slatterns”
I fall to the crackling ground and sob with salty tears.
Beggar, I’ve become — closely matched
with my seedy occupation. “Change me into a good thing.”
Pity in the form of clouds sweeps through the handkerchief-sky.
A dusting with faerie wand — magenta and cerulean magic.
A brand new pixie feels the purity of spanking-new wings.
7/22/2019
Tri-Con Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet
24 Lines
Tri-Con (listed as verse) created by Connie Marcum Wong consisting of at least 4 three line stanzas. Each line has no set meter or syllable count. The last word in each stanza must rhyme with the following Stanza and then you need to change your rhyming word again in the third stanza and so on.
let me be a wanderlust vixen in the vortex ~
a voltage liquified to the upbeat vibrato,
versing vehemently in venom-glazed grief,
and rehearsing your criminalism
like a serial liar ~
because I am too voiceless
to command the Monarch of mercury
to vindict the sojourners
that lure me to their blind holes,
and vandalise the chromatic criticisms
that clench me in their cyanide claws,
through the cracks
branching in the demonised billboard …
Oh scorching serpent,
slithering with velvet-tongued torment,
never leave me tethered
between the lips of loneliness ~
like a leaflet tucked on
the seaglass screen,
screaming for those stygian seashells
to lock my secrets behind
the bars of misplaced passwords,
because, this pulse of paranoia
is too pure to palpitate
in the pixels of poisoned prayers ~
and there is no anecdote
that annihilates the anxious
acronyms of abandonment,
streaming through the realms
of disposed dimensions.
There are no strings attached
that hum in hexed hoaxes
through the violin vendetta
strumming an acapella ~
through the lusty noise
of monsters longing for
the loss of my sacred insanity …
perhaps, the voice in my head
is an ode to the orchestrating shadows,
too mindless to manipulate ~
scripted in secluse
replaying the ruins,
paused in the prison
a sketch of sleep in splitting senses …
as bipolar ballads
tame their schizophrenic strokes ~
when the Maestro of moon
mediates a megalomaniac
sonnet of venting slaves,
in the muted matriarchy of mantras
that keep repenting rage,
in the impulsive incandescence
of my icy azure ink ~
refusing the warmth
of vulnerable sagas
that ache to heal me
and release the
insomniac coldness ~
blanketed with the sparks
of murky mermaid stars …
I own this label ~
the name of a lunar lunatic,
and this is a war,
between the sphinx of sabotage
and the never-ending nocturns ,
as, I remain weapon-less
like a cardinal iris,
rewriting the rules
of unshakable madness
in your maniac meanderings,
ineffable ~ invisible ~ incurable
an impostrous
i n v a d e r …