Drink the water of mountain brook
Sweet and clear, it fills you with joy
Try it once, very soon you’re hooked
Much like ale, in thirst, to enjoy
Ancient music, from ages gone by
Is like stream, crystal clear ’n light
Stays as friend of my soul and ally
Simple sounds are total delight
Flute and oboe, old fiddle and harp
Horns and pipes, much forgotten today
Notes of centuries past ringing sharp
Viol and lyre shall take you away
Timeworn ballads of baroque guitar
Songs by lute so unlike of this age
Did forefathers, their times afar
Stood in awe, so enthralled and engaged?
Lucid tones, those of Handel and Bach
Strings Vivaldi bequests to eons
Their gifts outliving the clock
Olden music is still marching on
Plain sounds that go to the heart
Cleanse and soothe in perpetual stream
It survives the time, what an art
Shall live on, by not being extreme
© 2022
Categories:
viol, music, time,
Form: Rhyme
Written: December 02, 2024
____________________________
At dawn cradle,
Dew blankets the earth,
whispered secrets swirl among stately elms,
a chorus of cheerful waxwings
sings beneath the blush of lavender skies.
Willows sway, swirls of grace,
twilight traces with ruby tones.
The iris dances,
emerging from lush shadows,
each petal a whisper of dreams.
Aureolin moments linger,
gold glistening in the mist,
as rustles paint the air,
the viol of night lilts softly,
celestial orbs clad cosmic clashes.
We walk through opal pathways,
where the heart shares its stories,
and neon memories cling,
as lilacs in a gentle breeze—
O, the beauty in being lost.
Categories:
viol, analogy, fate, nature,
Form: Free verse
A STUDY IN VIOLET
This treasure house of objets d’art
Littered with plots and storylines
A room encrusted with jewels of history
Inviolate – and undisturbed.
Over there, a military tunic
Blue – and in such fine condition.
Pale lapels perhaps too remote or innocent
Of its vile ‘let them have it’ past.
Here, an abandoned symphony
Black notes pebbledash the page.
Written for that ancient violin, no…
Viol. Late Belle Epoch I think.
That leather book I recognise
An ancient asset register.
And with such work of reference
Identify - a little more.
A philtre or monk’s cure perhaps.
Or poison, used to sway an empire.
Something forensic science may analyse
This phial – let it keep its secret.
Here, a scroll. Homeric tragedy?
Greek, according to the words.
Those old strange symbols, faded now
A ‘Phi’ or letter ‘P’ – I’m sure.
I cannot touch nor be considered
A robber, loose in a dusty tomb.
Caught in the torchlight, gold in hand
Say ‘Fie!’ – or let him go.
This treasure is too much for anyone
To really own. To hide away.
Bequeathed to me but never really mine.
Something Auntie Violet always knew.
Categories:
viol, analogy, character, missing you,
Form: Free verse
Silver streaks of zingy songbirds
and choral trills.
Orioles in Scarlet -
gorgeous carolers of
dawn canzonet with a sapphire score.
Rich viol spells of melodic melody
they engulf my twisted skysill
featuring lavender gold and
honeyed agate spring odes
silky lilac skylight accents.
Categories:
viol, analogy, appreciation, bird,
Form: Free verse
When I think about the definition of beauty
When I think about beauty that's true
All thoughts lead me down the same boulevard
And that boulevard then leads me to you
Place a kiss on your cheek, brush your lips with my own
Whisper [your name here] at the moment they touch
Breathing in synchrony, composing a symphony
In concert, we tune by the touch
A bow on the strings of a viol
A pluck on the strings of guitars
Savor the sweet sounds of rapture
Ascend to the most distant stars
Floating in weightless existence
The earth a good distance away
I'll come back when this dream is over
Although I wouldn't if I had my say
Categories:
viol, desire, for her, i
Form: Rhyme
...As the years went by Nick’s playing
came less often, as he wandered,
he just became a vagabond,
going to almshouses in winter.
That’s how he came to Watertown
in the sad last year of his life,
they say he didn’t play at all,
many felt pity at his plight.
There even was a well-dressed man,
white-haired, and getting on in years,
who came looking for Nick Goodall,
and in that sad poorhouse appeared.
They say he took Nick’s violin,
and played it so the notes were heard,
said, “Nick, don’t you remember this?
And how we played it together?”
Nick then took up the violin,
and ones more played beautiful airs,
some say the man was his father,
he was never seen again there.
Why Goodall died, nobody knows,
he was given a pauper’s grave,
some folk looked at his violin
to understand how well he played.
But they found nothing special there,
the viol was a common kind,
the beauty that he’d drawn from it
was born out of his troubled mind.
After he died they raised money,
for a grave, he had been broke, of course,
in local folklore Nick remains:
The Mad Fiddler of the North.
Categories:
viol, appreciation, beauty, character, crazy,
Form: Epic
mound
vacation leap sadness viol frame pit
castle
ground elevator hold testament
kitchen
situate
aluminium
oculate
octopus talk biblical stories
Categories:
viol, write, writing,
Form: Rengay
Farcical characters of ill gestures,
they be no friends of mime
Mute clown suits
wearing viol marionette smiles
all of the puppet string time
I tell you, of a silent truth,
those pretzel-tongue jester troupes
are theatrical buffoons
spoofing on a global would trivial comedy stage
These ol' pantomime hucksters,
dipstick lip syncing on babble timer delay rage —
Crying out loud,
them cold quip cheeky blusters
never were any spoken for friends of mine
Just some dumb glow, dim enemies ...
who always pearly grinned a dumber shine
Categories:
viol, allusion, how i feel,
Form: Free verse
Black faces of wooly lost voices,
do you hear the siren call
of Little Miss Bo Peep?
Can you see her waving
a dollar ensign,
Grand Opening mall flag?
Does this retail muzak rhapsody
securely lull you to sleep?
You got so much Egyptian trust
in Lady Cleopatra libidinous liberty
Has material comfort
become your grazing, green pastures ...
open range captivity?
Shear vote opportunity
is a naked obsession bleat
Cast another empty pocketbook bawl ballot,
and watch your precious
idolatry covering
get blanket poll tax fleeced
Angry bleating of the sheep,
another empty promise
that you hoped
the wolf shepherds would keep
So truly, light-minded naive ...
how falsely deep you believe
Did you think a vote
would set your anxieties free?
The chronic weep of color barrier pain,
be dead end tears
mixed with golden shower purple reign
Oh, woe woe ... woe
to the bleating of the lost sheep
Eat the viol worms of your vanity
Categories:
viol, cry, perspective, prejudice, wisdom,
Form: Dramatic Verse
Digging up buried bones of the past,
formaldehyde memories ... crypt debris
Re-examining works long dead,
suspicions placed once again
under the microscope
Detect an exhumed lie,
skeletal remains
of a premature buried alibi
Neurotic twisted logic
Myelin tears fill the missing synapse link
of a soil carpet double helix
DNA nightshade tragic ...
(do not answer) the doorbell!
Just as life reassurances don’t always
double indemnity policy sell
Sometimes shovel singularity focus
can ne’er black hole end well
Emotional tug on the viol heartstring rug,
wipe the sin dirty guilt feet
No current, criminal behavior to speak of —
the mental ill-will tombstone sealed
any regrets soul bittersweet
Categories:
viol, allusion, longing, truth, wisdom,
Form: Free verse