Music Tritina Poems | Examples
These Music Tritina poems are examples of Tritina poems about Music. These are the best examples of Tritina Music poems written by international poets.
Floating across the ridges, gentle leaf
Soaring to new heights, despite the grief
Still, soft joy providing soul’s relief
Music in all its grace, autumn’s relief
Song as bright as sunshine in each leaf
This is the moment, pouring out its grief
Across the ridges, soundless edge of grief
Quiet prayers, in His presence is relief
Trees and hills, bound by each vibrant leaf
Every leaf, despite its grief, finds relief in Fall
Hanging out on stage a gentle ghost,
I hear you as rookie hands play guitar.
There’s a hint of devil in an angel’s solo.
Wrapped up in someone else’s solo,
he was too lost to jam without your ghost.
The fish was caught as he held the guitar.
Animated by the strings on your guitar
maybe he knew it was never his solo.
Hard rain blew in and woke that ghost
I’m haunted by the ghost of a guitar solo.
My smile matches the old laces worn,
dirty and on fire from this last concert.
A new spot stained my favorite shoes.
It’s scarred the soles of these shoes,
all these pits and the devil horns worn.
Through every set, at every concert.
Feenin’ for just one more concert,
these steel toed built so tough shoes.
Soul’s thrown down, beaten, and worn.
I’ve walked a mile in worn concert shoes.
Summer's end once again is almost here
But I welcome the disappearance of high heat with cheer
Even though I will miss my whip-poor-will's song
He sings at twilight a most rapturous song
His symphonic melody adds a special savor here
And creates anticipation for each evening's cheer
When he visits, heart filled, then releases his music's cheer
It makes me want to learn his undulating song
Then day after day all winter long there'd be music here
Evenings here then would end with cheer, and morns would begin with song
The flame dances;
A charmed serpent weaves;
Back and forth to the music.
Air waves alive with music,
Make me want to dance;
As I sit here, poetry weaving.
I don’t rise, the room is weaving;
I lose the sound of the music;
I’m dizzy, nauseated; forget the dance.
I’m feeling faint again;
I have that darn flu.
Magical winter and truly prodigious place of grace.
Pleasant poetic pleasure with a trace of lace.
Youthful eidetic memories chasing snow-white flakes.
Children engage in its white undisturbed lace.
Tats lace patterns on windows, charismatic in its grace.
Frost, ice, and snow stir to life in rhythmic music decorative flakes.
Winters kiss, a bitter frigid wind, and occasional flakes.
Obliging artistic talent, pride, and grace.
Seductive, picturesque heaven, sculpted pristine lace.
Absent from winters white lace flakes, to crackling warm fires grace.
2/22/2019
Poetry Contest: A Tritina For Messina
Sponsored by: Charles Messina
Listen to the tap…tap…tapping; the music of falling rain.
Sky rinses out it’s watering cans; It’s sprinklers are the clouds.
Gaia’s children are thirsty; roots stretch and heartily drink.
Gardeners collect water for the drier days; the children drink.
Rain barrels freshly filled; gardens will flourish; grateful for the rain.
When it’s all over; plant bellies full; time to move on, to the clouds.
All life needs water to replenish itself; happy to oblige, are clouds.
Nothing survives without such refreshment; life needs a drink.
When heavens display a temper; be glad that there’s rain.
Celebrate the rain, when the clouds of life roll in; your spirit needs a drink.
Strolling down memory lane as a saxophone plays
a haunting melody, notes floating like ghostly dreams
as time meanders like a river through eternity
Love etches its way into the heart of eternity
With melodies of a violin, so bittersweet it plays
For sometimes it ends in broken hearts and dreams
Musical refrains take me farther into surreal dreams
As I try to decipher metaphors flowing into eternity
But the tune still echoes through my memory as it plays
Melodic memories plays into the rhythmic dreams of eternity
2-13-19
A Tritina For Messina Contest
Sponsor: Charles Messina
Through the highlands, you can hear the pipes drone.
Every note, riding on a crisp, morning breeze.
In-between, the piped notes; you hear the drum beats.
I go to bed each night, completely beat.
But, I’m often kept awake by the cricket songs and bullfrog drones.
Though the stream’s not close; their music’s carried on a breeze.
I do wish falling asleep, despite their music, were a breeze.
Old bullfrog won’t stop his throaty beats.
His voice, like the pipes, a loud, baritone drone.
Droning notes on a summer breeze,
need good timing like drum beats.