Tremolo Poems

My Mind Place

My Mind Place

stand with me    here
i wish to take you to my 
mind place
it is my secret friend 
since 1953
together 
we scanned the harvest skies 
heard distant harmonica melodies 
far away 
seeking white teeth exhalations 
and perfumed eyes
together 
we peered in wonder to the waxing west
to the east and to the north 
the tremolo places grinning ascendant 
above jealous flowers swaying naked
inside the mad sweet swirl 
of luscious winds we did see 
pastel visions of the dead 
inside green ghost rooms 
electrified 
my shadow 
aglow 
and bobbing

Guitar Sorcerer

He steps into moonlight, strings ablaze,  
A spell-bound master in a midnight haze.  
Notes crack like lightning, dark flames rise,  
Echoes twisting through spectral skies.  

From covens deep and forests old,  
He forged a sound both fierce and bold.  
A serpent’s hiss, a banshee’s wail,  
His fingers dance—an eerie tale.  

The runes he carved upon the fret,  
Summon storms not soon forget.  
A single chord—a whispered curse,  
Reality bends, the heavens burst.  

Shadows coil around his hands,  
Summoned forth from haunted lands.  
Specters hum, the witches chant,  
A melody none dare recant.  

Blackened sparks upon the strings,  
Woven spells in trembling things.  
A tremolo dark, a sorcery wild,  
A lullaby sung by the moon’s lost child.  

Thunder answers every shred,  
Winds obey the notes he bled.  
A final wail—a spectral end,  
And silence bows to music’s bend.

contagion

the song bird’s tremolo sent a shiver down her spine
through a crack in melancholy and exasperation
with a sigh she vowed to notice the voice in her head

transparent epiphanies struck a chord with quaint joy
that she was alive despite sorrow and cascading despair
what had seemed a lullaby was merely a new beginning

The Killing Field

Ariana nodded, tremolo fingers,
and they ran across the killing field,
watching the steel-toed kite ascend—
a fleeting instant of triumph in the vacuum.
Josh scoffed as it dipped,
both caught in the pull of the abyss,
falling but not landing.

They took turns gliding it,
Bald headed eagles filling the air,
until it sank into the seabeds,
the depth charge igniting underground.
“Let’s see who can jump the highest,”
Ariana said, voice light but steady,
aiming to beat his rebound.
Josh clapped, mocking her.
“Ready to launch?” he asked,
handing her the Molotov cocktail.

Vox Sforzando

I murmur like a rivulet through the 
hitch of your hands, where the canyons 
carve their parched longing into your fingers—
where silences sublimate like cera,
pooling beneath your glissando touch.

Your tremolo breath convulses rough and low
like sibilant submersion in water—
spilling, sinking, staining everything it meets.
I watch the estuary of your gaze split my horizon—
watch you hush abysmal eyes into 
celestially arched surrender.

There is no stillness between starlight, 
only the pull of mighty magnitudes,
fuses lit beneath the ribs,
pulses and throbs teaching the air 
how to cleave—how to… 
sforzando!

Love, here, is neither reserved nor reticent—
it is lightning bottled in glass—
hellfire burning beneath the tide—
language that deconstructs 
even as it is uttered.

I step forward—some faltering cadence,
some submitting ascension—placing my hands into your fire,
not to be consumed, but to remember 
how stars revel and rain.

Tinsel

A tremolo of quivering,
movement of light 
She shimmies she shimmers 
like yesterday's gold ...
Like a gentle soft wind 
on the fresh fallin' snow. 
Lamettas of old

If I Listened

If I listened would I hear the trill of peace
Sense the presence of its calm
Become the hum of gently tuned violin strings
Quavering in erotic fulfillment
Would the song of dancing thistles hold me captive
Allow its swaying tremolo to consume me

And clouds, oh distant clouds,
What mysteries would you share
Shaped within your wind-blown pantomime

Perhaps the eyes forever questions
Must be shielded
To allow the music of a raven’s wings
To share their black-silk feathered tune
Or ripples strum their fingers
Gently on a distant shore

Or is it in this listening
That I become
What I have heard

Tremolo

The mark of a triumphal concert printed
On a glossy long-playing record sleeve.
The concertmaster's smiling face hinted
The acclaim she was entitled to receive.

She liked her drawing with her lock of hair
Falling on the strings of her violin
Like the violinist of the disk where 
She held her instrument under her chin.

As always, her last stroke of a pen fell
With the last crackling of the old vinyl.
One day, she would be applauded as well
Louder than the winners of a final.

Her hope endured until the dazzling daydreams
Shattered into pallid scars of moonbeams.

Opposing Tremelo Torrents

I May or May Not Be Opposed 1-3-24  Original Poem Tremolo Torrents
I could not get the bold function to work so I put the original lines in parenthesis.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Opposing Tremolo Torrents

“Thundering fat raindrops fall
Driven deluge in wild squalls
As torrents pelt the thirsty ground
Sheer rain staccatos resound
Tempests fury rides the storm
Wind-swept raindrops leap free form.”

Whispering mists kiss the air
Float on sheer quiet prayers
Murmurs of a zephyr’s sigh
Tiptoe through a misty sky
In rhythms of hazy veils
Gentle brumes rest on cattails.

Tremolo Torrents - Anacreontic

Tremolo Torrents – 12-20-23 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tremolo Torrents

Thundering fat raindrops fall,
Driven deluge in wild squalls,
Gossamer drops stream in waves
Quivering mists pour like raves,
Frenzies of clear crystal pearls
Hang from boughs in flawless swirls
Downpours shiver in rain flows
Swallow remnants of rainbows,
Tremolo thunder prepares
Hot ripples through static air
As torrents pelt thirsty ground
Sheer rain staccatos resound
Each drop reflects lightning’s fire,
Pivots wildly with desire,
Tempest’s fury rides the storm
Wind-swept raindrops leap free form.

Hearing

HEARING

Don’t come near me with that tune
You know it will make me cry again
With its sixths, elevenths, thirteenths
All conspiring to take over my brain
Expanding in my head like a balloon

Melody goes wherever it wants to go
That long held note, it does it for me
Leaving those complex chords behind
Holding on with pride to that top C
Together with that touch of tremolo

I also hear the bass line slowly move
An anchor for the notes all in flight
Like a susurration in the open skies
Where every single one does it right
As each has a point they must prove

My heart is lifted as the music swells
And images pervade my open mind
It is a sensation that I cannot control
As if special roles have been assigned
Across new worlds without parallels

Lullaby

Lullaby 

Moonbow cradle songs
Sing through sheer corona mists
In grace notes of acapella hues
While golden lunar lentos
Of twilight lunar rainbows,
Crowning Luna’s full face,
Arch with andante’s touch
Like a wrinkle in reality
In haunting flutters on the wind song
Drifting into enchantment and out of time.

A tone poem surrendered in a perfumed arbor
Settles chaos conjured in the cosmos
With gentle rhymes of barcarolles 
That rock with moonlight’s tremolo touch
A drowsy art song paints the tuberose perfume 
To soothe earth, sky and penitent soul 
In beauty revealed by moonlit rhapsody
Where lyrics of sleepy harmonies
Doze to the cadence of blazing stars
Wrapped in astral quilts, nodding in serenity.

3-14-23
Contest: L Poems
Sponsor: Constance La France

A "moonbow" is a lunar rainbow created by water droplets and the light of the moon.
Blazing stars are night blooming flowers.

The Pounding of My Heart

"The wind is the pounding of my heart.”
                       --Constance La France

Sound of the wind drifting through the trees
Softly, I hear it; it is the pounding of my heart
Keeping steady rhythm, while I am remembering
The times we made pulsing love ‘neath the elms,
Branches hovering over us like guardian angels
Waving goldish green banners, whispering low
Like the purring of your sighs after a long kiss,
Your sweet breath on my neck, the elms knew,
Trembling like wind in a slow-moving tremolo,
Its leaves gently playing nature’s marimba slow
Steadily matching my heart’s rhythmic cadence
Ah, how I remember well those fond embraces. 

FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written August 1, 2022
Submitted to "Let Your Muse Be Inspired - R Form" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France

The Nuclear Option

She rubbed him up the right way,
made him moo like an oboe,
piped him up high like a piccolo.
She was finger food for his body.

Post the passion dance
his heart began to tick like a time-bomb.
His blood tangoed in the dark,
looped the loop like a bi-plane.
Then he went off
in the middle of the night, alone.

Called her in the morning, hands shaking
from after-tremors:
Begged her to do that thing
that she did to him, that move
that made his libido tremolo like a fat lady.

Her voice was cool, distant,
she complained that her bed had collapsed,
that her cat was clinging to the ceiling
and would not come down,
so he could just keep
his 'big bang' to himself.

Later he went nuclear.

Wind Whistling Through the Trees

Wind whistling through the trees
Reminds me of the tiny piccolo,
High-pitched obbligatos, ranging free
Wind whistling through the trees, blow
The subtle sounds of spring’s arrival.
Wavering tremolo, shimmering limbs
Marked by winter storms for survival,
Voices of ten-thousand sacred hymns
Humming like soft Gregorian chants,
Lingering briefly in the crown’s apse
To gather all its sacred sycophants,
Trembling in rapt reverence, perhaps,
Until the breathy calm reverberates
And moves beyond the sycamore
While I pause alone to contemplate
The crystalline tones, wanting more.

Written March 8, 2022

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