Long Wagner Poems
Long Wagner Poems. Below are the most popular long Wagner by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wagner poems by poem length and keyword.
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.
I have attempted to capture my favorite major league baseball players in this little shape poem of home plate. Included are (in no particular order):
Say Hey Willie Mays Walter Johnson (Big Train)
Randy Johnson (The Big Unit) Babe Ruth (The Sultan Of Swat)
Tony Gwynn Jimmie Foxx
Ted Williams Maury Wills
Stan “The Man” Musial Johnny Bench
Ken Griffey Jr Greg Maddox
Henry Aaron Lou Gehrig
Roberto Clemente Ty Cobb
Satchell Paige Ernie Banks
Rickey Henderson Carl Yastrzemski (Yaz)
Trevor Hoffman Albert Pujols
Gibson (Bob and Josh) Honus Wagner
Rogers Hornsby Cal Ripken
Robinson (Jackie, Frank and Brooks)
Some favorites I had to leave out…
Christy Mathewson Warren Spahn
Sandy Koufax Tom Seaver
Mickey Mantle Rod Carew
Joe Morgan Ozzie Smith
Mariano Rivera Miguel Cabrera
Pedro Martinez Ichiro Suzuki
David Ortiz Jose Altuve
I’d love to see your faves mentioned in the comments section!
written 24 Aug 2020
Round and round and round we all go
Musical notes defining destiny
Who shall we love?
Who lives and who shall die
Whimsical chords linger softly
As we sing our way along in life
The notes of the universe sing true
The music lives through out all time
Tears fall from my face
Onto musical notes in black
The ink becomes smeared and blurry
Emotions kill the waltz of life
Dance of the Knights, bring me to somber moods
Love and death I know shall embrace
The conductor for this is assured
As round and round we all go
On and on, we dance and twirl
Infinity entwined within our musical scores
Musical sheets, explain lust filled nights
Yet the notes fall flat, upon the floor
The serenade has come to an end
The theorist is laid to rest
Love has died, and thus the musical silence
Wagner told you so
WAGNER PHRASIS
Enchained by fancy petty wants
and necessity,undisguished
sensuousness burning with
fiery passion kindles the most
consuming flame,my peace of
mind was over.Driven to despair,
idle & disorderly,levity wounded me
deeply,tortured,no semblance of
reality,puritanical hypocrisy
ordinary & mediocre ,savagery
of taste,adverse outward circumstance,
all shadows on the scene.Confused I
remained silent ,my error was plain.
Through this trouble, hope a sense
of beauty,a new earnestness to really
know love, natural & unforced.Beginning
anew,my last reliance,vivacious & exciting
a state of fermentation, oh what bliss,my
goal was reached.Ah what a delight
it was.I stood amazed,its place in my heart,
the secret of art,free & unconcealed.
From Wagner autobio of 1840
Listen to me recite my phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
Everette E. Hill
1899-1915
Tyrus Cobb of the Tigers.
Honus Wagner of the Pirates.
To simply see those two hit a baseball,
Well, that would have made my last day alive, worth living.
To watch those two run the bases, like crazed jackrabbits,
Well, that would have made my death, worth dying.
To see those two heaving a baseball ninety feet,
Like General Washington pitching that silver dollar like he did,
Well, that would have made my entire life, worth repeating.
“Oh Tyrus and Hons! American deities indeed!
I call forth your honored spirits in respectful homage!
I summon you both to this invocation of the baseball gods!
Come forth ye warriors of the American Diamond!
Show us please your grip and your glove. Each!
Show us please your stance and your swing. Each!
Kindly know sirs, that we shall relish with fervor,
Your tales of the great games, and the long-ago seasons.
We shall nod in agreement to every word you say! Each!”
Indeed! I remember those two the most, while alive.
Tyrus Cobb of the Tigers,
Honus Wagner of the Pirates.
She talks incessantly of Opera,
my nervous systems not listening,
it’s desperately trying
to connect to her voluptuous body,
neural cells hum like eclectic cars.
I cannot think at all of Mozart or Wagner
I am mesmerized by her sexuality,
even more so
as we are alone in a rushing crowd.
Incurious commuters hurrying
to catch impatiently waiting trains.
She knows, of course she knows,
women always can sense
that moment
when the drama and tension
gets musically explicit.
I am wondering
if we will get to the third act,
or will we run out of erotic steam,
jump the shark right here and now,
leave with a weak wave and
a promise?
Like this, the music crescendo's,
or indecisively dies
with a much truncated ‘goodbye’ aria.
Beauty and the Evil Ones
A poet weaves such wondrous words
flowing of milk and honey
of enchanting places
soothing moments
filled with love invoked memories
Majestic symphonies of wonder
cadenza's weaving the imagination
Wagner, a musical genius sayeth so
softly painting beauty in musical tones
Overtures of compassion permeate away
such artistic brilliance buries the mind
of those whose insides are maliciously dark
pure evil pervades their bone
The painter of valleys
rivers and mountains in pastels
simple yet provocative in their tranquility
Hitler of the rose gardens
evil through and through
“Go west young man”, the neighbors said; but they wisely stayed at home.
From pianoforte to pianoforte, saloon to saloon, town to town I roam.
Surrounded by Phillistines, “soiled doves”, cowpokes, and dullards,
Gamblers, dealers, dance hall girls, and other assorted drunkards.
If a fellow’s feeling generous, he might leave something in my jar,
Or even offer me a drink of the “good stuff” behind the bar.
I guess my fortune can be made where folks are hot, dry, and thirsty,
Playing sad songs on old pianofortes that are musty, dusty, and rusty.
I grew up playing Beethoven, Chopin, Bach and Wagner.
The only songs these cretins know are all by Stephen Foster.
A gambler in a pink silk shirt once asked for a Franz Lizt tune.
I was so surprised, I fell off my chair, to the amusement of the room.
The “faded rose” smells like a horse, and looks the worse for wear.
But if a few more drovers buy me beers, I probably will not care.
If I should wake up next to her, I won’t know what to say.
But she’ll just pretend to be asleep as I quietly slip away.
Through hazes I might recognize a face; or maybe they all look the same.
But in town’s like Rotgut, last night’s best friend won’t remember your name.
I hope someday, somewhere I’ll find a good pianoforte in tune--
But that’s something I’ll probably never find in a one-street town saloon.
If they don’t happen to catch my name, “Eighty-Eight Fingers” will usually do;
That’s all any of them remembers anyway, after they’ve had a few.
We really rather love our Mr Wag.
A bag of music, music in a bag.
Such masterpieces did he once produce.
We listen every day to Mr Wag.
Oh such a man, a wit was Mr Wag.
Oh what a dish of gifts, oh what a bag.
A Ring he made for us to hear, not wear.
The Nibelungen sent by Mr Wag.
So Rheingold was the first from Mr Wag.
And then we had Walküre in the bag.
The Ring then brought us Siegfried as the third.
The fourth one's hard to say, dear Mr Wag.
Could cause some difficulty, Mr Wag,
for Götterdämmerung is in this bag
and can be hard, this Götterdämmerung.
You see that “o” and “a” there, Mr Wag?
There's also that name here, oh Mr Wag.
We say as Vahgner, and it's in the bag.
So “Wag”, you see, is “Wagner”, that OK?
For that word's in the bag now, Mr Wag.
(16 Jul 2023)
Yesterday, I soared with the wind
Today, death and I dance entwined in a slow waltz
Somber mood as bright lights shine above
Wagner in the background of semi-consciousness
Looking up at tubes, needles, wires and the reaper
Faces staring down, heads shaking in doubtful sadness
Onwards we roll, battle of the bacterium
Ensuring, I, wake only in hazy delirium
I reach out into emptiness
Grasping for the significance of it all
Falling into an existential black hole
Loveless, alone, is this to be my last stroll
Illusions and dreams creeping back into my soul
Hearing songbirds, will life have another go?
The winds roar once more inside my head
I stand up, with a smile, I am alive! Not dead!
Life has infected me with a fresh kiss