Walls breathe insistent hunger,
red as the inside of a split pomegranate,
richer still where the tallow has melted,
slick as the fat from a burnt offering.
Scarpia does not eat.
He savors—sounds of gristle
snapping in the next room—
—low, wet gasps—
body writhing beneath unseen hands,
a melody of muscle breaking.
Tosca stands, spine locked,
as he drinks from a goblet brimming with the color
of a mouth left too long in the sun.
He watches her throat move,
slow, careful, like a deer
scenting iron in the air.
A scream glissandos through the walls.
Scarpia wipes his lips.
His fingers, thick as butcher’s twine,
gesture toward the door—
an invitation, a demand—
a sermon delivered without breath.
Tosca does not kneel.
Not yet.
But the feast has begun,
and the host holds the fermata.
(note: this poem was inspired by a scene from the opera Tosca by Giacomo Puccini)
Categories:
puccini, anxiety, character, corruption, creation,
Form: Free verse
All followed the lore, drawn to the cultured door
Arias rushed in score with Puccini lovers galore
All to hail in glore, the cherished Master's store
Then, the ROAR! Gratitude for the first drawer
Cries, for MORE! Then, came her sweet spore
In awe to adore. How could hope seek to ignore?
Welcoming rapport. A shared hope for an ENCORE?
No one need abhor. She said YES to the dance floor
Categories:
puccini, culture, dance, hope,
Form: Rhyme
Born in New York of Italian descent-
from childhood on- lasting still all these years,
Deep in my soul live the sounds of lament-
The drama of romance, fear, death, and tears.
The power, the movements, fill up my soul
Like thunder that roars to shake up the night;
So vibrant and flowing, lost in the role,
I listen to grasp each note with delight.
Emotional voices strike at my heart,
I'm filled with a depth I cannot explain-
The beauty, the sadness in every part
Bring stories to life that stir inner pain.
Yes, opera is a big part of me;
My favorites played again and again-
Puccini, Bizet and those of Verdi;
Of Tosca, Carmen, and best, La Boheme.
With musical dramas of life and death-
The singers stir feelings with every word.
Strong voices mingle to deepen my breath;
Emotions rise with each aria heard.
Born in New York of Italian descent-
My family loved and nurtured this art;
played records at home- with happy hours spent
at the Met- where opera lifted my heart.
Categories:
puccini, appreciation, emotions, how i
Form: Rhyme
I loved her sorrows.
We shared a mask
that we spoke through -
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears sensing
a Puccini last act.
She read herself in my face;
I gave her long-range forecasts.
She endured –
desperately believing
that I would always be there
to mop up.
Categories:
puccini, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I fell in love with her sorrows.
We shared a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears, sensing
a Puccini last act approaching.
She read herself in my face.
I gave her news;
long-range forecasts
of more disappointments to come.
Lastly she phoned her mom;
she alone on that stage
she had erected for all such
one act
theatrical performances.
Categories:
puccini, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Composer Giacomo Puccini
a master of musical repartee five
From a lineage of five
best to hear his operas live
Categories:
puccini, music, people,
Form: Clerihew
La Boheme Series Haiku — Mimi Dies
songs call love ~
bread with wine beg warmth ~
too late come some chances granted
——————————————————————
————
(c)sally young eslinger 6/2022
Thanks be to God
With hugs, dear Puccini
Categories:
puccini, desire, fate, life, lost
Form: Haiku
Dark brier grow thick in Cleveland,
thorny tendrils thrive.
Clapperboard homes slack and linger,
neglected yards grow thin grey bones.
A vaporous wave passed over Lake Erie.
None noticed the lightless seeds in the sunlight,
but little girls went missing.
Whole neighborhoods searched other places
no one thought the monster hid among them.
Detective Puccini grinds his jaw behind the wheel
of an old Cadillac.
Red cracked leather creaks as he reaches
for a brown-bagged vodka bottle.
He knows the girls are near;
at night as he sleeps, he hears them,
they cry for help under their breath
least their captor overhear.
Today Puccini takes out
a sledgehammer from the trunk of his car
he's intends to tear down any dark-eyed house
until one fine day
he hears the girls again.
~~~~~~~~
https://abcnews.go.com/US/cleveland...-berry-gina-dejesus-journey/story?id=67858538
Categories:
puccini, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I loved her sorrows.
We shared a mask that we spoke through -
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears sensing
a Puccini last act.
She read herself in my face.
I gave her long-range forecasts.
She insisted, persisted –
a desperate belief
that I would always be around
to mop up.
Categories:
puccini, poetry,
Form: Free verse
That evening it rained.
He was glad the diva was dry up there on the warmly lit stage.
The cold rain found every opening in his casual attire,
rivulets ran in runnels seeking out soft parts.
He decided he disliked Puccini outdoors.
He imagines that the dark haired beauty,
the one now singing, chest heaving,
offers him shelter beneath those ample bosoms
she looked the kind of lady that would.
An hour later he swooned away,
wheezing in Tosca's arms.
Categories:
puccini, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I have begun a short haiku series based on my favorite opera La boheme. This haiku may begin the series,not sure. Hoping for feedback. Thanks for reading.
le bon homme Puccini smiles
white magnolias
by concert halls bloom
—————————-
(c)sally Young eslinger 1/14/2021
Categories:
puccini, flower, imagery, imagination, music,
Form: Haiku
A damp and dank November morn
A mist hangs over the sea
Another bad night of tossing and turning
Feeling emotional and lonely you see
Then right on cue as if to say
Sit back
Relax
Let your tension float away
Heartfelt notes encompass me
His song gently stroking my soul
A Puccini opera
Emotions run high
Just like in Madam Butterfly
I am in a trance
My soul wants to dance
As my heart he carries along
With the melodic notes of his song
The finale reached a crescendo
Oh no ~ please stay ~ please sing on
But then at the end the softest of sounds
As he turned he flew right down to the ground
My blackbird serenade
My day he has made
My tears he has dried
As this new day arrives
11th November 2020
Contest Name Podium placing promise(6)
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
Categories:
puccini, bird, how i feel,
Form: Rhyme
I fell in love with her sorrows.
We shared a mask that we spoke through,
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears, sensing
a Puccini last act approaching.
She read herself in my face.
I gave her news, long-range forecasts,
but she insisted in her desperate belief
that I would always be around
to mop her up.
Categories:
puccini, poetry,
Form: Free verse
A radio aired an awful auld aria,
Astounding all my aged aural edifices
In eerie aura of araucaria trees
Aching angrily in a loud typhonic breeze.
My brain wanted to burrow to escape the pain
Of sounds as a warren of rabid jackrabbits
Digging to escape mangy slobbering coyotes
Howling hungrily in panting pursuit of prey.
Such a scratchy song, if played in the briny deep,
Would chase crazy-eyed kraken to the mountain tops.
Callas, Verdi and Puccini would flee their graves
For a screechy symphony of barbed wire sitars.
Praise be! The off button my shaking hands did find;
I woke up, pressing on my belly button hard.
Categories:
puccini, angst, emotions, music, storm,
Form: Free verse
I fell in love with her sorrows.
We shared a mask that we spoke through,
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears, sensing
a Puccini last act approaching.
She read herself in my face.
I gave her news;
long-range forecasts
of more disappointments to come.
She phoned her mom.
Categories:
puccini, poetry,
Form: Free verse
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