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a throng
connect a
noise abut
frowns of
disbelief that
may rejoice
here and
swing to
the beat
with their
sunny dispositions
in the
rain today
that found
these roots
of yore
notably sound
A town of 10000
Terry Collett Jul 14
Lloyd packed
away his viola.

George was sitting
holding his violin.

"What does your mother
make of you playing
in the string quartet?"
George said.

"Mother thinks
I should get a real job,"
Lloyd replied.

"Doesn't she
like music?
I thought you
brought her along
when we played
Beethoven's last
string quartets?"
George said.

"She likes Welsh stuff
and a bit of Elgar,
and when I told her
Beethoven wrote them
when he was deaf,
she said,
it sounded like it,'
Lloyd said.

"So she didn't think
much of it, then?'
George said smiling.

"No, and she said
that woman on that
big violin thing(cello),
had her ******* showing
when she leaned forward,"
Lloyd said.

"Best not tell
Margaret that,"
George said.

Lloyd picked up
his viola case
and he George
left the recital hall.

He was seeing Margaret
that evening
while her husband
was away,
and they
another sort
of tune to play.
Grace May 13
You are the drunk father at a ballet recital,

Who falls off the stage after shaking everyone's hands.

You are the body that brightens my life.
I wrote this in a challenge to "Write a three-line poem about lemons without using the following words: lemon, yellow, round, fruit, citrus, ****, juicy, peel, and sour."
NRIKO Dec 2017
(Alt title: Colors That Will Mean Nothing)

I am a Fauve
My love of colors
exist not in reality; a fraud
but in a recital
of never-ending silence

Home and school,
the grays of the abusive enigma,
Outside under rule,
the blacks of the abusive enigma,
but the river- Oh, the river-

Blue is not its only love,
a reflection of the human emotions,
place of a seeking Fauve,
And in those waves- a peaclful notion,
a boy with eyes closed.

Escaping, escaping,
reaching the bottom,
a living manifesto,
one that speaks from
how blue the skin has gone,
then purple,
and finally,
declining from the
mindset of a Fauve,
the boy has become
colorless.
And in this case,
lifeless.

- enriko eozyoh
Nemsey Oct 2017
RETo exist, I shape my gloom, like...
Cubes and Circles, forms of time
A Frail stand, staunch fortress reflect
I seek lone! steps take me further
Stop...
But, an ironic approach upon despair
Replace my tears with shapes and fear
Yet, life circulates inside my veins...
My heart still beats...
I blink, an image at a time...
I blink, two shapes two deaths...
.
Whimpers
"Surrender... It's over, reject your all"
Stake, sanity, scratcHES! KeFUfFlES!
ECHO, ECho, Echo, NUMB.
Silence
Darker hour, feel nothing
Freed by slumber, from cumber
Silence
All plain and pacific, haven!
No shapes, deaths nor hearts to ache
Just life, staunch, replenishing from my tears
Attained repose, as beneath He rot!
Terry Collett Sep 2016
We're back from dinner,
and that piano recital
she wanted to go see
some pianist
at some hall
in the City
playing Chopin
and Ravel.

She's unwrapping herself
from the small coat
she was wearing
and puts it on a chair
in our hotel room
and stands there
swaying some.

Fingers, that pianist's fingers
how they moved
over the black
and white keys,
Abela says,
she gestures
with her fingers
in mid air,
didn't he play well?

Yes he did,
I say,
watching her movement,
best get you
ready for bed.

What bed already?
why the night is young,
she replies,
get to bed yourself,
I'm not ready for sleepy byes.

She wanders drunkenly
over to the window
and stares out:
what a fine night it is,
she says.

I walk over to her
and stand nearby:
bed is best for you,
I say.

What?
O I see
you want your ***
don't you
want your ***
before I pass out.

She turns and gazes at me:
no I want you into bed
so you don't fall down
or sleep on the floor
as you did
the other night,
I say.

I didn't sleep
on the floor,
I slept in the bed,
she says.

She walks swaying
to the bed and sits down:
there you are, I’m on the bed,
happy now
Mr **** Man?
She says,
looking at me
or past me.

Sure, but into bed
is best,
I say.

O Benny, you're such
a worrier,
here give me a kiss
and then turn
on that radio,
I want music,
she says.

I kiss her,
then go to the radio
and switch it on,
and Mahler come on
his 5th symphony.

O Mahler,
she says,
depressing ****,
here get me
out of these clothes.

I go to her
and begin to unzip
her dress
and she sits there
swaying.

Haven't you
unzipped me yet?
*** I never felt
so useless.

I take off the dress
by lying her down
and pulling the dress
down over her feet,
and she lies there
******* the air
in a conductor pose,
then I sit her up
and put on her nightdress,
a thin thing of blue
and over her head
and get her arms in
and pull down.

She just sits there
and stares:
what about
my underclothes?
Going to leave
those on ?
Don't you want
them off?
She says.

If you want them off,
I can,
I say.

She lies on the bed
and gazes at the light shade
a white thing
gathering dust.

I take off her underwear
and get her into bed
and her head on the pillow.

There go to sleep,
I say,
I’ll sleep on the sofa,
best that way,
I say.

Sleep alone then,
lover boy,
forget the ***,
she says.

Her eyes close
and I go to the sofa,
trying to sleep,
but only doze.
A MAN AND WOMAN IN CROATIA ON HOLIDAY IN 1972

— The End —