"brio" poems
A term of endearment
A pure bread
Pedigree
Imbecile
The firing squad on parade on the thoroughfare
The death squads are on patrol for run on sentences and chemical runoff
The peer mediators tell us all to calm down
The rapscallions try to push us into their get-rich-quick schemes
And the shut-ins settle down with their mail ordered brides
The wallflowers tell everyone to go to hell with great brio
I guess I'll see them there
It won't be much of an endeavor
It'll be like a dog finding its way home
The blood brothers perturb everyone else
Telling them their open blood pact is BYOB
Then starting a be-in singing Come all ye faithful and Kumbaya
It all comes full circle, monkey see monkey do
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
Well hello, all, I’m your maestro ceremonious
they call me Lokonious, purveyor of the odious
so sit back, relax, and celebrate the… atonalness?
A: Andante con fuoco
We’re goin’ a cappella so let me say first
your style’s ba-roke, now let’s get on with the verse
you’re all up in the scale with a falsetto pitch
hittin’ soprano like a castrato *****
my mind is sharp, while you’re stuck outta key
my rhythm’s all natural, you can’t find a beat
you need some help ’cause you’re out on your own
find that ****** on a subway, the metro-nome
B: Allegro con brio
throw down the fermata and hold up a minute
your ***** a cacophony, no way to spin it
and son, i ain’t broke, my style’s all classical
you just can’t register that my words are magical
I spit rhymes in fantasy, can’t you see that you’re beat?
And they thought an allegro was unfit for elegy
A: Moderato col legno
well as for your girl, it may sound corny
the ***** loves my brass ’cause she’s: oh so *****
dispel your illusion, i got one more
your girl’s like a crime show… easy to score
B: Allegretto grazioso
your intellect is minor and your insults are bassless
your composition’s hardly a harmony: graceless
your cymbalism’s trite, and your motif’s unknown
an unfocused opus full of dissonant drones
A: Affrettando agitato
get out my face with your unnatural rap
you spit cold air and your lyrics are flat
you’ve got no harm while my canon’s a gat
so work on your refrain, ‘fore I bust da cap-OOOHHHHH
B: Coda
pull your weak crap, ’cause you’re outta your mode
such imperfect rhymes that we’re calling a cod-a
no time for the fanfare, you’re trying my patience
an end to your requiem, bring out the cadence
So that’s their story, best not get involved
their fight’s an augmented fourth: difficult to resolve
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
See my spiral for how she rendered it
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXVI)
Ya. Lean upon the porch rail as night's dense
Black--does it twinkle with ah, stars? nor hail
The mirk none pass through, just my brother. Pale
As Au Revoir where all else sleep from hence,
Lo, how--what ist? Hark! For the train calls thence,
Its whistle breaking this cold silence' tale,
And think now, of how I'll lose all ist? frail
Against the metal lacework, sans defense.
Turn back indoors to clean the mess we'd stir
In babysitting. Wooden tracks a crew
Of Brio traincars clattered oer in tour
Half like what deeply rumbles past, aye to
A fault, my brother saying "a real train--" Were
I numb too long oer Mum? Or swear I knew?
01Apr17b
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:43 AM UTC
perched,
on a tendril whisp,
of a synaptic vine.
the half formed
thought,
chirped and chirked,
as it chipped away
at the ovipidal embrace of
sleepy, slothfulness....
sublime.
it wanted freedom,
to fly and sing....
no longer,
sleeping or,
being held within...
no longer,
hiding away
from the sun.
no longer,
fearful of becoming...
undone.
influencing,
nada and no-one.
just happy to be,
a small, but clear...
clarion call.
now, standing strong
singing out it's
life embracing, life renewing
song.....
this thought, now has,
substance ....
bright coloured wings
and pride....
in the joy, it brings.
it has grace and grattitude.
a name so wonderful....
to go with,
this bright and energetic
attitude...
meet my new, paridigm...
all bursting with love.
his name..... brio
and he is the bringer
of my new zest, zing
and vivacity......
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
his breath washed against me
like the sea into a pier
in the brown gloom of his basement apartment-
the greenness of our unemployed summer days
halted by Arsenault's phone call
those deep azure ripples in the mohawk river
tinged with creamy moonlight
brought this life to the shore
here we go lie down, lie down-
a conjectural pernicious crimson tide
we wore black as midnight
like still, ominous birds
shrouded, our eyes a profligate deluge,
the cemetery inundated with pink brio
and the ****** yellows of inexpedient sunshine
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
i.
Mine being
Mine breath;
Mine brio
Mine best.
ii.
Mine esprit
Mine verve;
Mine sentience
Mine healing herb.
iii.
Mine impulse
Mine vivacity;
Mine vitality
Mine Filipino pure goddess recipe.
iv.
Mine tower
Of hope;
Mine Cosmos
Telescope.
v.
Mine earl
Mine Jane;
Mine Mrs nagley
With thee I am one, with thee we art twain.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication/mine life dedication
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
my maestro, how do you -
with your baton - keep the
pulse of my heart aching
for the broad gestures your
open arms insinuate?
tell me wholly, how you -
with your hands - conjure
in me an anthem con brio,
then throw me subito doloroso
and even so, never losing
your scherzando.
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
Since you have already plucked my heart strings,
let us make music together.
Whisper to me at night,
in syllable serenades that I
will only half remember on waking.
Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,
until my tongue can stand it no more
and I must speak in symphonies.
Touch me delicately,
tickle my ribs until they become piano keys,
and play them until they cry out
chords that spell your name.
Let your laughter be trills in our cadenzas.
Let the pop of your knee drive a march to my bed.
Let me run my fingers up your spine,
jumping vertebrae like octaves,
from your tip to your toes.
Let my every shuddered breath be but syncopation
to the bass drum of your heart.
Be quiet with me,
let us play in piano,
soft as silence or sleep.
Stay there, linger for as long as the fermata holds.
And then, let us raise our voices together,
glorious crescendos upon crescendos,
until at last we can build no longer, and
return together to the tonic.
Run your hands across my hips,
play my longing in liquid legato strokes,
effortless in your endeavors.
Touch me again.
Let our gasps play counterpoint
to the melodies of our moans.
Take what you will of me,
fill me with song,
write sheet music in my lungs,
so that every breath I draw
sings on its way out.
Purse your lips and kiss me like embouchure.
Give me every quaver, every semitone, every holy harmony.
Leave me buzzing vibrato,
kiss me con brio.
Let me caress your delicate curves,
as though you were a violin made flesh.
If my temperament be just, then play on.
And let us be of one form, sonata-allegro,
until we must be jazz.
And then we shall burn the world with passion,
with chords no one knows but us.
So, for the sake of recapitulation,
I must ask again:
let us make music together.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 5:06 PM UTC
(Theme, Variations, and Coda)
Theme – Andante sognante
I dreamed last night...
It was a dream
Like one I've had before
Variations on a theme
My colleagues standing at my door
Guitarists all, I bid them in
And soon it's time to play
My teacher first, each one in turn
They play the night away
Var. 1- Agitato
But as they play I look around
For my guitar is gone
I look and look but cannot find
Then comes my time... “I can't go on!”
This is absurd. How can I play?
(What? Did I hide it by design?
Is this my “out” as light breaks day,
An ironclad alibi?)
“I can't perform, no, not today.
I'll have to play another time.”
Var. 2 – Appassionato
My time has come, and there I sit
With my guitar in hand
And wonder what the hell to play
My mind a porous shifting sand
Completely unprepared I sit
And pray for intervention
I make up some simplistic ****
And play it with “emotion”
Var. 3 – Allegro con brio e subito calamitoso
This time round, it's different
I really want to play.
I'm ready, I'm inspired!
I'll play till break of day
I'll show them what I'm made of
They'll marvel and they'll cry
But my guitar just falls apart
“What? Why now? Why? WHY?”
The neck breaks off, the body splits,
the strings are hanging limply
I'm foiled again, I cannot play
I'm ******* (to put it simply)
Coda - Andantino Contemplativo
What does it mean, this silly dream
This wild subconscious spectre?
What nourishment for soul to glean
From such netherworldly nectar?
Hmmm...
I think that I should spend more time
With hands on wood and string
To reconnect with touch and sound
To let my veiled heart sing
To feel, and set those feelings free
Catharsis, true release
My sheepish nature put to bed
My denigration now to cease
For I have something bold to say
Now my true voice is ready
I'll sing again through wood and string
Rich and full and steady
Alive with truths that transcend words
Ego now at bay
Connecting with the universe
It's time for me to play
Fine
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
Hypnagogic amour
Reached high between cumulus pixie dust
No throw aways of letters
Cheribum
Seraphim
Musk!!!
Shuttle like emotions
Pouring as tangerine rain
I'll be here for mine amour
Tis amare shalt never change
No pains nor leaving
A wedding
Tis
I seek,
Without her I'd loose mine brains
These muscles would grow weak
Her smile giveth me oomph
Her laughter giveth brio
Herself I just want all
A nuptial agreement
True and real!!!
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
I shalt for her walk on hot coal
I shalt for her embark to her home
I shalt for her drieth her misery
I shalt to her make love and her me
I shalt for her die or live, whatever she chooseth
I shalt for Her giveth all
For her I can't looseth
I shalt for her warble ourn own hymn
As for her mine amare, Spanish amour', love, best friend!!!
I shalt for her dandle all her ways
I shalt for her go to war, come home in her embrace
I shalt for her wait
I shalt for her marry, date
Haveth babies as mixed matched creates!!!
I shalt for her
Layeth down mine life
I shalt for her giveth all
No wrong all right
I shalt for her endow to her mine brio
Mine Spanish inclinating zest
Mine liaison tis so real!!!
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
seminal squirt didst sanctify
an anonymous boulder
when mercury dipped below
hashtag mark registering colder
than usual temperatures circa
winter of year 2000 in proximity
to the sacred chapel
at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania
(house zing carillon player)
rifling thru manilla folder
first inn search of apropos
mailer daemon ***** muse sic,
thence finely pitted secretly riddled with holes
encoded sheet threaded thru bell jar contrivance
sans, handy dandy mechanical holder
to accompany prurient powerful ******* pang
bubbling (like the **** kens), and didst smolder
especially, cuz a free ranging
NON GMO, **** in boots
hello kitty sauntered
(emanating pheromone heat
hand dill lee pronouncing feral passe faux foots),
dripping, seething with hormonal secretion
uttered via vow welled roots
gluten and monosodiumglutinate free *****
hapt tabby on the prowl ready
for par laid view ****** piqued Saint Peter
to enter heavenly labial shoots
rather than suffer frost bite
the above mew wing tigress attempted
to keep toasty warm
('thru minuscule tunnel
lacked add **** quit light)
prickly endowment fired
raging testosterone
with braggadocio, brio, bravura and might
owing pretentiously pusillanimous feline
fur reed black as night
hood hit attempt to cap cha moxie ********
thus ensuing a mutually satisfactory plight
until a park ranger back his utility truck
than gregarious, felicitous, erogenous
then quick as greased lightening
***** creatures disappeared out ta sight.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
Who decides what historical events adorn
textbooks students read,
hence a starry notion born
grew up while
this lumpenproletariat day dreaming,
Asian aw shucks husky
husbandry furrowed brow gritty farmer
barnstorming across
expansive fields of baby
(barely) barley corn
crib bed crop 'pon harvest time,
(an maize zing genre), especially
when enriched with humus
laden loamy muck cob bra,
then aye delightfully
trumpet from dehorn
of good 'n plenti kernel Sanders gave me
saluting rank and file fool's capped
fecund fashioned earthborn
dunce sing tassels,
versus growing seasons gone by,
when draught of ideas forlorn
despite futilely blowing on my flugelhorn
high and dry reap peat head paltry yield,
asper when this strapping chap
a sweaty backed greenhorn
pondering why agrarian laborious life of toil
omitted as part and parcel of "newsworthy"
posterity sagas deeming
shenanigans of highborn
and/or "FAKE" headlines crowd inborn
noble folks,
who grease palms of industrialists,
whose quaking self importance
thwarts aside rural cosseted
krummhorn grounded bumpkin mor'n
how kapellmeister coaches bourgeoisie
helping determine
zero absolute value of newborn
fated to slave away
till body electric outworn,
yet paradigm shift of
(butter late then ever)
jiffy popcorn version
sown by seeds of Jethro Tull,
whose bonhomie with brio didst reborn
agricultural revolution took root,
whence before long some did scorn
and lamented machinations
ordered simple existence ripped and torn,
where antithetical views suppressed
and unto revolutionaries
became legion and well-worn.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
Lightning strikes in the distance. The winds
Howl, moons echo in faraway orbits, the wolves
Throw up their heads and scream into the night.
A gust of moonlight rushes through your focus,
Cursing your vision with faint outlines, phantoms
Of your window-sill. You think you hear the sea
But you have no blue. None but your curtains,
Flapping in the gale, raising like a crescendo
Up to the coldest stars, spread out across the sky,
Brush-stroke on canvas. Violins, the taste of coffee.
The wolves howl. Moons echo with your paintwork.
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
I sat with another clip board, another list
welcoming those whose once small faces,
mad dashes, hot tears
and cold contempts
rattled these walls for five years
Some had beards, some hips, brio,
some adult eyes
that took two or three glances to recognise
the child still in
Almost all had smiles
Behind them, trooping colour to the tennis courts,
their summer school scions
began their own gangly rise
ad infinitum
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 12:32 PM UTC
Just one iota
of that teenaged brio,
utterly fearless in the way
slim life allows,
would power our souls for
whole years
fears, as they come,
are whispered on sharp minutes,
on slow hour memories,
on broken days, lost
in an oubliette
desperate for a single glimmer
youth can be reckless
self-sabotaged and trite
but by god,
there are lessons in the might of it
in spite of it
if we stop,
look
and listen
#emmaraducanu #youth #joy #riskreward #thrills #liveloud #rageagainstthedyingofthelight
Sep 12, 2021
Sep 12, 2021 at 7:24 AM UTC
We share sweet memories of the good times
When we were young
And free
Full of brio and confidence
Daring and delighted to be alive
Memories of love and laughter
Of our belief in each other
Of being close and trusting and hopeful
But we broke up leaving these memories
Such treasures that bring warmth and joy
They are ours alone to share forever
Dec 25, 2023
Dec 25, 2023 at 8:33 AM UTC