and talented rainbow fish is on the sax of course
This was pointed out by my cousin the lop-sided horse
Not that we could miss it, his tunes were melodically sound.
he was the best musician in this club underground.
the trombone had never been more appreciated or loved
frog dressed up in his best striped pants, his hands well gloved
took the instrument to the bog and began to play a merry tune
the evening was lightened by the brilliant light of the harvest moon
kinfolk had no idea how talented he was, their relative, Chay
his own mother was stunned at his ability; she met a new son that day
He did not stop at the trombone, he learned to play drums and the strings.
Then he ran off to Arkansas to play with an orchestra, in Hot Springs.
I was sitting alone and silent,
while trees swayed back and forth.
Without warning,
untouchable,
unseen,
a musician began to play.
The melody rose, then fell
as breathy tones I heard.
Soon the shriek of a crescendo
shattered the midnight air.
I shivered at the passion
and sat in awe and wonder,
listening to the song
of the untouchable,
unseen
musician.
Silent strings, once vibrant song,
Melodies hushed, where echoes belong.
A master's touch, forever stilled,
Rajeev Taranath's legacy is forever chilled.
Dancing fingers, now lie at rest,
Ragas unplayed, a silent test.
The wisdom passed, a lineage strong,
Yet music's heart now grieves the song.
Traditions held, a fading light,
The past is preserved, yet shrouded in night.
Improvisation's flame, a flickering spark,
Leaving a void, a lonely mark.
No more the sound, painting stories untold,
Emotions were silenced, and a heart turned cold.
The human canvas, draped in gray,
Taranath's artistry is forever at bay.
Challenges faced, a victor's crown,
His passion's fire, forever unbound.
Souls untransformed, a melody unheard,
The sarod's silence, a weighty word.
No loving caress on the waiting string,
A maestro's life, a broken wing.
The past honoured, a future unclear,
Taranath's memory was a precious tear.
Though death may claim the maestro's hand,
His music lives on, in every land.
A final note, a whispered sigh,
Rajeev Taranath, forever nigh.
Oliver is a one-man band.
Has every instrument,
Can he play them all?
Yes, on clay, earth and in sand.
Can he play the tuba?
Maybe? Of course, I don’t really know.
Does he have a following?
Yes, in the valley way down below.
Do the mountain folk know him?
I would be surprised if they do not.
Oliver is eclectic and fun.
Best of all, he’s a musician self-taught.
The Street Musician
‘I am blind,’ says the minstrel,
‘but I can see the notes in my mind
as my fingers strum and pluck the strings
so as for my ears to hear them sing.’
I feel the rush as the vibrations resonate
from the wooden instrument to fill the gap
between me and the guitarist on the sidewalk.
I feel alone in the gathered crowd
but find comfort in their company
as we listen to the musician buskering.
“How much,” I ponder as I look into the case
containing worn coins and crumpled bills,
“Is this entertainment worth?”
An ancient voice upon the air
echoes "Clair De Lune" in whispered flats.
Debussy's spirit enchants the vines;
masters echo is never silent.
I married a musician.
At first the song was lovely.
I cried at the end.
I should have just bought a guitar.
Lyrics from the heart
Captured at the start
From the first word,
You do what you do
And I cannot take
My ears off of you
An extraordinary voice
My heart had no choice
From the first note,
You do what you do
And I cannot take
My ears off of you
The wink of the eye
The charm of the guy
From the first word,
You do what you do
And I cannot take
My ears off of you
The shy, boyish smile
The clean, cool style
From the first note,
You do what you do
And I cannot take
My ears off of you
Still none greater than
That true gentle man
From the first word,
You do what you do
And I cannot take
My ears off of you.
(October 16th, 2022)
Sweet notes, promising joy and quiet peace
Melodies dancing lights that will never cease
Promises golden like the reflections of the sun
Calming hearts with hope that won’t be outdone
Songs of the soul, harmony beyond our dreams
Tunes with lyrics, bold and warm, music streams
Bite Size Poem no.46 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
June 9, 2022
An old man who looked somewhat young
But after he had a song sung
Held tightly to his right lung
And to a nearby chair clung …
An Old Man who now truly looked it:
Blotches on a weak skin poorly lit;
He had many times dared a twitter
And in his lungs they proved a hitter …
Then, why wouldn’t he look much bitter
And accept that he did away an hour fritter
“Christ! The Goodwill Cigarettes at me flung”!
He’d henceforth be dodging them like dung;
In the spirit of a cigarette-smoking musician
Not wishing an early visit to a physician.
I often go there
And not elsewhere,
Because of a winsome musician
And a handsome magician:
The Former crazy about Breathless Prance
The latter in love with Suicidal Lance
Each in shows able to skills enhance …
I understand it all started in France!
Also go there I for A Splendid Asian
Seeking a grand chance
To beat The Smartest Russian
In a Caribbean Dance
While a capacity crowd glance …
Powerful two reasons to be often there
And in other circles rare.
When Orpheus sang on his flute
All Nature listened falling mute
But when Samson sang
It sounded like a bang
That sleeping babies woke up with a jolt
diamond studded dress
twenty million in the bank
frantic road show pace
band collects their pay
there is no time to spend it
on the road all year
Christmas on the road
they constantly entertain
no place to wear dress
For might and majestic influence
This at your finger-tips
What impart summer winds, angel wings
Caressingly outstrips.
Related Poems