Violinist Poems - Poems about Violinist

The Violinist RSVPs

   common courtesy…
  
   mark of decency… a bow
 
   … a graceful curtsy

Violinist

Andre Rieu's a famous Dutch violinist
Started learning violin aged just five
My own personal opinion is that
He’s the greatest violinist alive!

He’s known as ‘King of the waltz’
A conductor and violinist supreme
The moment he plays the first note
Of the Blue Danube, I begin to beam

He plays music all over the world
With the Johann Strauss Orchestra
He owns ‘Ex

A Famous Violinist

Gorgeous Brady was only ten
when he grabbed an old violin,
which belonged to his wealthy grandpa
Jacob and started playing, " Lacrimosa.

Some chords sounded too awkward,
he persisted and finally got them right;
why did he play that song never heard?
Had he in mind a sweet serenade night?

Brady didn't show a sign of boredom, 
but continued playing with confidence,
the

The Violinist

There is an old man who lives all alone
inside a small house, but he used to be
a famed violinist. Now he’s unknown.
No audience or visitors has he.

It doesn’t matter to that man at all.
He sits and plays his violin all day.
He plays to the ceiling, floor and each wall
surrounding him. He simply loves to play.

Although

Rain On Tin Roof: What Are You Thinking 2

I
The first time: "magic," they say
Then taken for granted, almost alway
Music from above
Now unnoticed
Except that first time

II
So, craft every time as "the first time"
And often ... "The Last Time,"
As we live this human experiment of be-ing
LISTEN, O do listen. Rain music, too,
Without a tin roof, harder in auditing
Missing magnificence

III
Human instruments, as in tin roof drums

In This Night, the Colors of a Sad Violinist

With longing, the thought of her burns,
secret — mischievous, rather sinful touches,
curls of hair,
dissolved by white breasts
And screams scream painfully in the temples.
It's a long time before dawn.
Imagination played out,
on the edges of soft beds,
catching her trembling shadows.
This night she is not here,
she left me, still hope wrapped in a white handkerchief.
The moon sang over

The Violinist

What’s haunting is beautiful -
it’s only the depth of violins
that invade the brain
strumming slowly,
painfully
like a saw tearing away a limb.
Saline water bubbles
at the corner of the lids
like a dam ready to burst
with its thicket of splinters
splashing open toes.
red rain runs vicariously, living
the torture of a violinist.
The rise in tempo —
a brimming cascade of limbo,
years counted

Violinist

Violinist

Of all human evils
That happend in history
Bigger than Holocaust
It was not, and it will not be.

One Violinist was there
His life was violin string
He made the bloody nest there
Im telling you everything.

He had to wear the star
Because he was a Jew
That star was like a scar
For bloody nazi crew.

So he was the artist
Who reached the nazi

Late Summer - Gipsy Violinist

ate summer - gipsy violinist

In the immense mass of a green leaves
flashed the red and yellow ones
The promise of a change
  messengers of the Fall
In the air floated certain undertones
of a melancholy and decay

The melody, as a raging river
owerfloaded from a trembling strings
The Violin sobbed with a plainitive note
its voice, penetrating 
as an eye

The Violinist

A violin plays 
Softly in the breeze 
Its melody floats in the 
Air 
A lone sparrow flies 
Landing on the delicate violin 
It turns to sand on the beach 
The lone violinist 
Weeps 
He curses the sparrow 
To no longer fly 
Causing the sparrow 
To wither and die 
The violinist cries out 
As he slowly

The Violinist

The Violinist

He sits on the corner of a building
Four stories above the world below
Playing his violin day after day
No one knows his name
They just know that there is beautiful music 
They imagine that is coming from Heaven
Does it matter to this lonely man?
He doesn’t care for fame or money
God has graced him with the gift

Demon Violinist

Demon violinist:

My fingers pluck the steal wires of my red ruby violin and as the sharp notes play, blackened blood drips down the base.

I am the demon who searches for prey, beckoning for contest.
Gaze into my eyes of sultry viciousness as the sweet lullaby lures you in. If you accept my tender be for warned

Violinist ... Play

…  Violinist Play…
A Melody Today
Be My Accompaniment
And Ambient Confidant

… Violinist Play
A Tune For Me Today
You Have Skill To Squeeze …
Arrows - On Long-Bow Breeze

… Squeeze And Score Thru Symphony Halls
… Squeeze And Scale Up Bedroom Walls
… Squeeze And Scope Like Encore Calls
… Squeeze And Scald Like Tear Drops Fall

Bow – Back And Forth –

The Violinist

All the other musicians were so imprudent!
He was much wiser
He was much stronger
He was much more experienced...

They coveted him
Like the demons underground
Praying
Crying
Begging

To be the seraphs above
Living under the wings of God

He held his violin

Better than the woman who played the flute
The woman that placed her instrument
Between her divine lips

Music to the violinist was much more

The Sachsenhausen Violinist

We could smell blood everywhere.
Sitting crouched against white,
Lifeless marble,
Our violins to our chins
As crusted black blood
Stuck, pleadingly,
To our music sheets.

We were to summon beauty in hell;

To compel the murderous to tears
And the dying back to life, but,
I could smell blood everywhere.
My heart gave out in a
Lurching throb.
My bow swam against the hair
And I, in mind,

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