Short Ivories Poems

A child stretches to reach the keys
laughing and tickling the ivories






* for contest "The Piano" a single crystalline
sponsored by Rick Parise...

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fingers skimming the ivories as if playing my heart



Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~SUNLIT RIPPLES~ 2019

AP: 3rd place 2020

Posted March 18, 2018...

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I’ve a serious inkling to thinking
Which I do in the morning whilst tinkling
Oh no!  What is this?
Is he talking of piss?
“No, just playing the piano,” said winking...

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magical ivories, lyrical keys,

        sing of my soul's fondest memories,

                       my heart shall dance

                           in blissful trance,

                vibrant rhythm in my reveries !...

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Four roses in a whiskey bottle 
Its top lain at its base 
Upon the grand trimmed in gold 
Beside the fireplace 
The dancing flames, tickled ivories 
Laughter on her face 
A poor reflection through his glass 
Four roses, an antique vase...

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Magical ivories, 

     lyrical keys

          sing my soul's 

               fondest memories,

                    dance in blissful trance

                         vibrant rhythm 

                              in my reveries!...

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Repetition is the father of learning,
an endless corridor of
narrow stairs;
anger blossoms self-discovery.
Tickling ivories and black keys,
tickles the soul into musical 
paramount--
retrograded toward amnesia,
feels no more;
striking chords on a harp
in an angelic paradise....

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Melody of promise
Rhythm of desire
Keyboard ivories transcending
Music coming out
Musical notes at a time
Upper and Lower Bass
Embrace In the tone
One’s heart full blown
Become enchanted
Piano keys in their free spirit
The talent behind in merit
Sensation through creation
Marvelous applause 
The Black Piano being the cause.

...

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    A stray lock of hair
       in the corner right there

    In the parlor, a faint whiff of perfume

    The couch messy and wrinkled
       piano’s ivories uncovered and tinkled
    I know what you’re thinking, dear
       but please don’t assume

    For these are just clues, all part of a poem  
       ~ detective-style, ala Watson and Holmes
...

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Wladziu Valentino Liberace (May 16, 1919 – February 4, 1987), better known by only 
his last name Liberace was a famous American entertainer and pianist. ...
 
Wladziu Valentino Liberace
Famous American pianist and entertainer
He was quite the character they say.
Made those ivories talk and he was also quite gay.

*For Catie Lindsey's "You who....Yo, Clerihew" contest...

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I laughed so hard, I would almost gag
while I listened to your ditty “The Vatican Rag”.
Why was a Harvard PhD mathematician
performing on stage as a musician?
You tickled the ivories on your piano
while you let your humorous lyrics flow.
With your witty comments, you put on a show.
You were a master at sociological satire
until the day you would retire.
...

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Video kitties are all the rage
Kittens tinkling the ivories
  on a hand-held stage

I glance at the screen
can't believe what I see
Cutest kitten ever
  decorating a X-mas tree

I know that kittens favor
  brains over brawn
But have you ever viewed
  fifteen kitties yawn?

Three more lines, and this'd be a sonnet ~
  So, I'll 'bow-wowt' early, with a kitty in a bonnet...

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They are not ivories 
they are canines
Between them is a venom 
stand in the right column

They are not friends 
They are fans 
Sucking your blood
They won't leave, until they paint you mud

They are not after your wealth
They worry about your health
Very few, but means a lot 
They stand with you, firm as a knot 

They don't wait to wipe your tears
They hold you, and fight your fears...

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Chaim Tickles the Ivories on our 14th 

Blooma Yehudis's Cure for Tickle Cell Anemia:
The Bilecks, Chaim's Piano & Poor Puns,
Bananagram Moshe, Laundry & Sleep-o-mania,
Shalom Bais, Cookin', & Walkin' at Ann's,
Savoring, Chaim sings "Hail Fredonia!!!",
Don't be Hasty! The Tasty Final Crumb Stuns,
Bottom Line: Wondrous Wife, Cozy Compania,
When Blooma is Home, Chaim Runs!

Note: Ivory for the 14th...

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Full moon watching
 as the ivories dance
 through minds 
 lonely streets.
 A pirouette of keys
 sharpening the night
 allowing memories
 to promenade
 with fluent steps.

 Strides made today
 slip away as shadows
 of the past beckon 
 remembrance;
 tiptoeing quietly
 into the forefront
 with musical ease
 an opera of notes
 meant to appease
 finding this ballet
 is still written 
 for one.

© Debra Squyres
 02-01-15...

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So much time has I spent,
Reading to others for enjoyment,
Rather looking up for my present,
To summarize my past that He had lent.

Ridiculous!Ridiculous!Ridiculous!

How I wish to step up my game,
Give it up and raise my plane,
Like those ivories that were made,
Alas! I choose to be late.

Forevermore, I'm still late,
Glued to bobtube, caxtons and be laid,
Now I'm concerned more on these baits,
Please God! Give me a chance to repent.

edited-1/6/2020...

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there is power herein the roots and vines
soil and grass and trees entwines
cathedrals of silence hewn of bone
stripped of flesh to rest alone
within a place where human eyes
may never see nor improvise
their preconceptions of the dead
where death shifts with relentless tread
and stamps his everlasting seal
on all that once was corporeal
and in the peel of windchime keys
sings ribs and legs and ivories
and skulls with empty sockets bare
no longer see...no longer care...

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Glissandos
with a twist of tangy lime
arpeggios
in starched cuffs and gleaming buttons
sparkle from the ivories
of a Baldwin baby grand
leaving the root notes
for the double bass to play

It's honey
in be-bop
pure rich amber honey
with a cinnamon stick
and a drop of syncopation
blending in soft beats
of a hi-hat
gentle brushes on a tom

A second round
of drinks arrives
as conversations hush
and candles flicker

Our new favorite diner
with smooth live jazz
on Wednesdays...

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