Mandolins Poems | Examples

The Circle

The spring blooms
The naked trees dress in their beautiful greens
The thirsty rivers are now overflowing with joy
The ice melts, the sun shines

Amidst the nature transforming
My life is also turning around
I tend to smile more, I am happy after a long time
Life is different, Life is habitable to be lived now

I am happy, for the lonely walk in the desert is over
I could see the green forest welcoming me
I could feel the soothing hugs of wind
I could hear the birds playing the mandolins.

But I fear, I fear that I soon will forget the pain
I soon will no longer remember the burning sun and me going insane
I fear that the fruits of joy will heal my wounds
And make me ready for yet another lonely walk again

I fear that this moment of joy will fleet away
And the tears in my eyes is all that I will be left with
I fear the wind of time will rip my clothes apart
As it rips the spring off the trees

And I will have to start again
The long gruesome journey for a moment of bliss……

The Reality of My Poetry

My verse is romantic realistic
in it gypsy flutes and mandolins play
an outside air of bohemian intellectuality
my poetry misses life, era of activist

Beauty Celebrates Dawn

Beauty Celebrates Dawn

Beauty Celebrates Dawn's Exquisite Flush
Mauve melding into magenta’s fuchsia blush
Pink cherry blossoms hide the sleeping thrush
Crimson cardinals dream in amaranth hush.

Like Misty Nascent Opulent Pruce
Daybreak dances in orchid shades on boughs of spruce
Soft silvery pinks serenade with amethyst flutes
Bright razzamatazz of morning matins played on ruby lutes

Aurora Bears Cerise Dawning Energy
Sunup razzle dazzle watchman – copper rooster rises
Signals first light hues in shades of coral surprises
Daystar fills lilac light with synergy

Starshine Teases Unruly Violet Winds
Raspberry colored roses sing in sunrise runes
First watch fandango coaxes daylight with morn's mandolins
Day’s glory smiles upon vanishing vanilla amber moons 

7-29-21
Contest: Alpha Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May

Pruce – a commercial shade of pink

Festive Bohemian Heart

Delusional scimitars
festive daggers
soft balalaika
captive sword ...
Mandolins,
hot nights
harps, wine
poison,...
dangers
daggers
Banjo and
boldness,
gypsy waltz,
ruby joy ...
I desire
of life,
The beauty,
arpeggios
Utopia...
the art
for art to fight ...
be craftsman
of delights
live life in
complete
Bohemia......

Looking Out My Back Door

In the evening looking out my back door
The magic begins
Can you feel the adrenaline?
Spider woman is weaving dream catchers to lore.
Fairies are dancing like their ancestors did before.
The elves are sweetly playing their mandolins.
In the evening looking out my back door
The magic begins
It's not on some distant shore
It's within
My neighbors field called paladin
Under the sycamore.
In the evening looking out my back door
The magic begins.

Little Beaks

"Little Beaks"



A voice in the tumble clouds
deep silver crackles like thunder threads

Clouds of starlings 
Blacken the eggshell blue sky
drowns many
A little beak

Heartbeats morph
together murmurate
vacillate their minds to unify
wings that hum like bees

A dance of seduction 
envelops Blue Sky

The unseen
Superlunary 
shatters the reversing 
unrehearsed reverie

The Hidden One
in a forgotten 
prophecy
speaks

Come little beaks 
and night creatures
Daylight dares 
the darkness one last taste

Like true romantics
and dead poets 
mandolins their hearts 
strummed eternally in seasons

Like words written on the sky
dance to make love of fun
Come starlings 
little beaks

come taste 
The Golden Sun


(LadyLabyrinth/ 2019)
gvlm

Gypsy Heart

Gypsy heart
Delusional Scimitars
festive daggers
soft balalaika
captive sword ...
Mandolins,
hot nights
harps and wine
venom of passion, ...
dangers
daggers
Banjo and
boldness,
gypsy waltz,
jubilant joy ...
wish of
of life,
The beauty,
arpeggios
Utopia...
the art
for art to fight ...
be an artisan
of the delights
live life in
fully
Bohemia......

Romantic

Reena gazed at the evening in the melting twilight
Oranges splattered in the sinking sunlight
Mandolins playing lovely diminuendo
A rustling breeze leaving messages
Night emerging from the passing evening
Toni enters with the smiling bouquet of the roses
Indian ocean accompanying him 
Cuddle calls the blue moon deep inside the hungry room



February 16, 2018
Romantic - Acrostic - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton

Inviting

Take my hand come fly with me 
Come dance on the moon and the stars
They're playing our song on mandolins
And strumming their little guitars

Come sail with me we'll take to the sea
I promise it'll be worth your while
Tap into your soul as I gaze in your eyes
To bring back that beautiful smile

Come live out your dreams your fantasies
Come meet me on top of cloud nine
There's nowhere on earth you'd rather be
There's no better feeling you'll find

We'll just lay back on a silky breeze
And let our temptations run wild
The longer you stay the better it is
You'll leave with a permanent smile

~Billy Hitz~

Not So Crippled

Cripples make music with old, worn out digits and voices tarnished with age.
only slightly crippled, generally slight due to gravity
Play guitars and mandolins in a barn turned church,
Not banging on wheelchairs or walkers.
Praise the lord in song, glossy eyes mysterious
Perhaps a deep state of meditation has washed over, by and by aware of themselves
Music heard has not come from instruments, it has come from hearts
suddenly decrepit figures blossomed with wings
Revealed from their vessels angels appeared.
Astonished I thought why does peace look so sad?

A Bluegrass Jam Revised

I think there are just two types of Jams
The performance type is for the hams
The traditional type’s not the same
Just for each other, not for the fame

 The performance Jam is my winner
Playing music to all the grinners
 Probably why I started a band
Is for the thrill of getting a hand

I’ve been the host of two Jams for years
Had a few rules, but nothing to fear
Open to all, beginner or pro
Took turns doing the songs we know

Just acoustic instruments allowed
Strictly Bluegrass we played to a crowd
The jams that I host are all outside 
If the weather’s bad, no place to hide

Banjos, guitars, fiddles, mandolins
Having several of these was no sin
The stand-up bass, you hurt without any
Got to have one, but two is too many

At jams you meet such interesting folks
Come for the music or for the jokes
Laughing and playing, have a good time
Hope to see you at a jam of mine

The Neapolitan Tarantella

The Neapolitan tarantella
is a folk dance very graceful and lively,
it was inspired by someone having been 
bitten by a poisonous Taruntula.


It's fast up-beat tempo
induces a frenzied dance in a solo,
or a couple...and as they dance they sweat out
the poison of the spider's bite.


Grandma used to sing this folklorist song,
and I danced with her while loud mandolins 
and tambourines accompanied her cheerful singing...
there wasn't an awkward note in her voice. 


The Neapolitan tarantella, with its frantic rhythms
and shrill harmonies infused passion in great composers,
and Mendelssohn wrote his symphony...
a song dance was composed by Rossini.


The Neapolitan tarantella grandiosely plays   
and everyone stops and listens to its low and high-pitched melody,
and with little hesitation they start to dance...
beneath my veranda, these folks put on a look of festivity.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Troubadour-Tribute

I love the songs of working people played 
In cabins and at dances, and along 
Highways where the vagabonds wander by,
Unchanged since days of early English song.
The English, Celtic minstrelsy can never die
As long as mandolins and fiddles cry
The ancient ballads of true love turned wrong—
Of God—and ghosts—and deaths and birth,
Wherever people and their folklore throng.
Out on the sea (or prairies) where the songs are made
Of people close to water, dust and earth:
Elements that give music its true worth
As folk song singers ply their timeless trade.

Renaissance Faire

A lovely day is over now
As Ren Faire comes to a close
As whimsical stories are told by all
Faire goers share the keepsakes they chose

Now there is quiet in the woods 
Wide-eyed children must now leave 
The crackling campfires start to burn fierce
As wild tales begin to weave 

Drums and lutes are heartily played 
Panpipes and mandolins sound
The village comes to life with glee
New friends and lovers are found

An earthly vibe begins to rise
Troubadours can now start to croon
Kings and Queens come ever so near
The night sky shines behind a radiant moon

As time stops for these noble artists
Their magic will live on
The wings of time will bring them back again
From morning until dawn

Baroque... Oh Music Sweet.

The sound of baroque  fills the air
the lively beats one can hear 
 as senses reel to music sweet
elves dance  upon imaginary leaves .
The orchestra reaches crescendo
shattering crystals of chandeliers on high
staccatto beats .....the doe skids across the icy field
as snow cascade down from  cypress trees.
Violins squeak ...Trombones blare
mandolins vibrate the inner ear.
The harp thrills......soft ripples along the  narrow stream,
fish jumping into sunbeams.
Cymbals clash , a metallic crash...splintered timbers caught in lightening flash
A silent throb...the  music dims... a cool beeze flows over the hills
 soothing, drawing  all into a warm embrace
calming the spirit , slowing the pace.
The music wanes...... delicate snowflakes stuck to window panes
A Grand finale......twitching nerves that  long for solace. 
Silence now as the music stops.
Peace follows music sweet.... into dreams.
 Baroque music lives on....do not weep.
Sleep now ....sleep.

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