Vibrato Poems

When My Life Changed

In the diaphanous domain 
of the sapphire serene night,
the drizzle of moon’s silver sequins,
defining the existential epithet 
of the dulcet melodic cadence, 
adorned the pearl-laced waves 
of the rolling sensuous sea, 
spread seamlessly before me, 
beyond the baroque shore, 
where I sauntered only with me
in the corridor of the musical mind, 
followed the tune of soulful symphony. 

The rain-washed sparkling sky, 
spreading the suffusing spectrum 
of my kaleidoscopic opulent dreams, 
weaved the tapestry of fantasy
with the lattice of chromatic imagery. 
The surreal strings designed the splendor 
of the charismatic rainbow motif, 
arching over the halcyon horizon 
that beckoned me to the concert of being, 
let me feel fascinated the vibrato of life.

In the whirlpool of turbulent times, 
swirling with the miasma of despair,
I turned the dented emotive impulse
into the lyrical crescendo of concerto. 
On its sonorous serenading wings  
I flew in the rhapsodic sky of sonata 
to the harmonic realm of afflatus, 
realized the essence of the nascent notion 
that life is a song.
That’s when my life changed.

The Gate Sprung, Shut

I turned to look back, feeling anxious as I stood
"by the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find."
Was there someone there watching me?
The gate creaked shut, echoing the taint of guilt
That I hoped no one heard.
Earlier I came through this gate to meet you in the woods.

It was rusty, stuck shut, and needed a heavy shove to open.
It reeked a somber reluctant groan, trying to stop me.
But, I would have nothing of its rattle, grind and snag.
I pushed it aside, and walked into the woods along the winding path.

The gate hung its head, trying not to see what it knew I'd do.
It looked up and sighed and rusty hinges creaked,
as the victim died and cried out, ambushed in the woods.
I turned back to retrace my steps, afraid of being watched.
I could feel it in my bones, though nothing was there to see.

As I approached the open gate it seemed that it had moved
every so slightly, impeding my escape through it.
It groaned, rattled, creaked with a clang of defiance
embellishing a subtle vibrato in the concordance of guilt.
The deed was done, the dirge was sung, the gate sprung, shut.

song of a tide

Fingertips 
fall—
not like 
stones,
but like rain,
plucked silver
threading the air.
Each string
holds a hush,
a breath not yet
forgotten.

The musician builds—
not a score,
but the curve
of a heron’s wing
skimming dusk
softly vanishing
in a single glissando.


The guzheng does not speak.
It spills:
vibrato,
a tide rising
then breaking
against memory.

Sound leans back—
not toward silence
——but toward a
distant shore
we once
heard.



________________
Note: Guzheng is a traditional Chinese musical instrument.

The Painter

Lure of mirage
in deranged dunes,
dances in
dandelion rhythm 
with oasis dream,
illusion inscribed
in sane sands of time,
sliding continuum
with desiccated travail, 
thirst unquenched,
stimulus sensuous,
perpetual.

Dormant despair
usurps harps of hope,
vibrato dissipates
unperceived,
wisdom shroud  
unfurls crafty chimera
in life of actuality,
awareness avid, 
imbibed.

Stifling shadow 
anguished onyx cloud
creeps remorseless, 
dissension darkness drips 
opaque desolateness 
on listless landscape,
mangled in 
strife maelstrom,
mind sucked within 
hope vortex, 
umbrage pervades,
unushered. 

Silver spectrum
of lines transient 
in acumen cloud,
splits into colors 
of radiant reverie
in optimistic prism,
sculpted.

Convoluted canvas,
carapace conjured
for contorted hideous faces,
turning in a trance 
into baroque frescos,
flicker of beauty
sparkles sneaky 
in conceived smile, 
beholder, 
                    the painter.

A Song Of Home

Inamorata you’re beguiling,
I greet hurkle-durkle so often;
That sweet vibrato is enthralling,
I have to capture it with my pen.

Lost myself to the affinity  
to stay beside you every second,
let’s seduce this fine proclivity; 

How is it you simply entice?
Your voice in the background will suffice. 

How you move the rhythm as you sing!
Temperamental bells ease and soften,  
it mellows out reality’s sting.
I indulge, taking no precaution.

Is it a stage personality
that has shaken my core and beckoned?
Sound has stolen my lucidity;

In flux over how I pay the price 
to experience this paradise.

With a presence that is so winsome,
I have a penchant for keeping time;
My sweetheart your song resembles home.

Moonstone Melodies

The vibes emulate the soft blue light,
that soft-shoe dances in a moonstone.
Mellow and resonant, is the vibraphone.
The heart and soul of ethereal percussion blues.
The gentle sound reverberates vibrato,
floating and wafting its mesmerizing melodies
under the hard surface of the moonstone.
Shimmering spells that echo dreams,
and deja vu resonant fantastic fantasies.

A Book Of Shadows

In between a wand and a warded space 
lies an old Book Of Shadows to embrace;

Fee fried foe thumbs, 
throw them in as the guitar strums;

Picked over hair follicles and toenails,
A few fast words followed by quick inhales;

Freeze dried pho crumbs,
throw them in as the harp hums;

Now toss in the vibrato of a ghost,
that sound is the recipe’s binding host; 

Free fly fall mums! 
Fester rich color to smack drums;

Add to that something so easily missed,
subtle allows magic to come undressed;

Fae, fire cauldrons! 
manifest the desired outcomes;

In between a wand and the hand it takes,
lies an old Book Of Shadows to embrace.

Once Upon a Time

"Once Upon a Time"

“Once upon a time” we lived in silence.
No one cared to listen, anyhow.
The quiet overwhelming was a stillness,
imprisonment imposed upon "slave style."

“Once upon a time” was not forever.
The voices persevered above the din.
With vibrato they demanded human freedom.
Despite a sanctioned silence, they got in.

“Once upon a time” for now is never,
cessation of the days of forced control.
All things possess a date of termination.
So, history, is a story to be told.

Sad Violin Tunes

Sad violin tunes stir my heart.
When played in the G minor key
with vibrato, they can impart
wistful memories that haunt me.

The violinist bows his notes.
Sad violin tunes stir my heart.
When he plays this way, he emotes
the ache I feel; this is his art.

My dearest and I – now apart -
still are waltzing inside my mind.
Sad violin tunes stir my heart,
but solace in them I can’t find.

I wonder when I’ll meet again
my true love, who had to depart.
Our time will come, but until then
sad violin tunes stir my heart.

SOSTENUTO

SOSTENUTO

When I hear that pure note on a violin string
It’s a needle and thread pushed into my chest
Like a long thin nerve with a message to carry
Such that hope and anticipation might marry
A picture painted in soft hues, unlike the rest
As it connects me with the sadness it can bring
The vibrato clutches firmly at a sensitive heart
One that has already now been well prepared
As it begins to soar high into the stratosphere
Causing a distant smile and maybe even a tear
An image between lips pursed and teeth bared
An effect of the sound felt from the very start
The tone one can identify with rosin and bow
Even more so, when it plays a melody I know

Adaptation

Minds in a Fugue
rambling
over my words
never
say what I really
wanna say
stop asking me questions

Pause cause of the reality
cause and effect
or is it truth or dare
really could you
care
tell me you care

Disreguarded my feelings
to settle down
Love you
don't that sound strange
somethings rearranged
somethings rearranged

Figured you say
hand you what
adaptation
adaptation
adaptation

Don't embarass me in public
don't act like you forgot my name
ah kiss aint to much
to ask for
ah kiss aint to much
to ask for
Smoochie: Smoochi

I need some more
don't leave me like this
smile were together

Don't ihnore my feelings
to prove something that aint worth fussin ovr
I know you love me
I'm still your man

Figured you say
hand me what
adaptation
adaptation
adaptation

I wouldn't be alone if you were here
get here
get here
Your companionship aint that nad
get here
get here

Without Handlebars

Come out, come out, taste the bouquet!
Flowers smell better tossed with stars;
Tonight the fairies will come out to play;

Riding the sky without handlebars 
the Fey’s toadstools delicately ring;
Their vibrato hanging within bell jars;

As you gaze within wings are fluttering,
throwing a wimpering whirring glow;
Your reality is left all but stuttering;

Vim and vigor pollinate with gusto,
tender loving care allows wishes to grow.

The Beholder

Lure of mirage
in deranged dunes,
dances in
dandelion rhythm 
with oasis dream,
illusion inscribed
in sane sands of time,
sliding continuum
with desiccated travail, 
thirst unquenched,
stimulus perpetual.

Dormant despair
usurps harps of hope,
vibrato dissipates
unperceived,
wisdom shroud  
unfurls crafty chimera
in life of actuality,
awareness imbibed.

Stifling shadow 
of ebony anguish cloud
creeps remorseless, 
dissension darkness drips 
opaque desolateness 
on listless landscape,
mangled in 
strife maelstrom,
mind sucked within 
hope vortex, 
umbrage unushered. 

Silver spectrum
of lines transient 
in acumen cloud,
splits into colors 
of radiant reverie
in optimistic prism.

Convoluted canvas,
carapace conjured
for contorted hideous faces,
turning in a trance 
into baroque frescos,
flicker of beauty
sparkles sneaky 
in conceived smile. 
…beholder, the painter.

Life Is A Song

In diaphanous sapphire night,
the drizzle of argentine moon dust,
the existential epithet of 
dulcet melodic descencion, 
adorns the pearl-laced waves 
of the rolling sensuous sea, 
spread seamlessly before me, 
beyond the baroque shore, 
where I saunter with me
in the corridor of the musical mind, 
and follow the tune of soulful symphony. 

The rain-washed sparkling sky 
spreads the seamless spectrum 
of my opulent dreams, 
weaved as the tapestry of fantasy
with the lattice of chromatic imagery, 
the surreal strings design the splendor 
of the charismatic rainbow motif, 
arching over the halcyon horizon 
that beckons me to the concert of being, 
and feel fascinated the vibrato of life.

In the stalled turbid times, 
defused in the miasma of despair,
I turn the dented emotive impulse
into lyrical crescendo of concerto. 
On its sonorous whistling wings  
I fly in the rhapsodic sky of sonata, 
to the harmonic realm of afflatus, 
and realize the nascent notion 
that life is a song.

I Hear He's a Winner

As thirty-eighth Brazilian president Messias served,
As a far-sighted and populist his name he preserved; 
A vocal opponent of same-sex marriage, abortion,
He stood for family worth and affirmative action...!

Don't the passerines for protection of chicks their lives spend?
Isn't shielding people's rights the task of a president?
Crises of the economy nationwide he confronted,
Unity in diversity of the globe he wanted...!

"The truth will set you free" - was his own personal motto,
Betwixt the voice of liberty, has been a vibrato;
Assaulted, stabbed, and attempted to be killed he ever stood firm,
He fulfilled his love for his citizens throughout his term...! 

Could the wisdom of the world fathom, yet, his true being?
Have his works been done, as showpieces just for their seeing?
His life is for his living, and not for others to judge,
Neither their praises he must fudge; nor their hate he must grudge...!!!


16 May 2023 
I hear he's a winner Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick

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