"cellos" poems
Pocket watch, I tick well.
The streets are lizardly crevices
Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide.
It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac,
A palace of velvet
With windows of mirrors.
There one is safe,
There are no family photographs,
No rings through the nose, no cries.
Bright fish hooks, the smiles of women
Gulp at my bulk
And I, in my snazzy blacks,
Mill a litter of ******* like jellyfish.
To nourish
The cellos of moans I eat eggs --
Eggs and fish, the essentials,
The aphrodisiac squid.
My mouth sags,
The mouth of Christ
When my engine reaches the end of it.
The tattle of my
Gold joints, my way of turning
******* to ripples of silver
Rolls out a carpet, a hush.
And there is no end, no end of it.
I shall never grow old. New oysters
Shriek in the sea and I
Glitter like Fontainebleu
Gratified,
All the fall of water an eye
Over whose pool I tenderly
Lean and see me.
3.7k
*Cheer up, my sweetest Sis
Even though we are miles away we are so near
The bonds of love that we give each other
Make us seem so near
Please, my dearest you are my inspiration
So please, I beg you not to cry
And if I could play the harp for you and make
It's songs all sunshine and joy dedicated to YOU I would!
I'm happy now, my sis for
My Dad has been thinking a lot of your Cello
And how it's songs sound so pretty
And I've been thinking of the same
We spoke about your Cello just last night
And how all Cellos sound so pretty
And about Harps and Bassos we spoke
We talked about Trumpets and all kinds of instruments
Spoke about their beauty
And I still wondered how your Cello would sound
But I know it would sound very pretty and sad
Because I've heard Cellos before but none played as beautifully as yours!
That I know! And all I've said about you is true, SWEETEST Sis
And I understand your passion for all animals and can't
Stand when they get hit on the road
I can't stand it either so I can relate
If I could walk with you through fields of flowers,
Walk with you by the sea, pick some hibiscus blooms,
And listen to your Cello songs I would do so
But I feel so sad. . . and I am sickened at what I've done
Just look! I've made my sweetest Sis sad!
Oh, my Sis if only I could dry your tears
So let this poem comfort you, my Love
Please, feel happy
And know this if I could play Harps,
Cellos, Trumpets, Flutes, Violins,
Celestas, Chimes, Bassos, and the rest
I would, to make you happy and smile
What can I do, sweet Sis to make you smile?
If I were to play the Piano would your tears turn to smiles?
If I were to make an Hibicus Crown to grace your head,
Would your tears turn to dew?
If I were to walk with you by the sea would your tears turn to laughter?
What can I do to make you happy, my dearest sweetest Sis?
If I were to take you to Fairyland would you be glad
Instead of sad?*
~Marian~
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Hey man, what's good?
Good;
Is good.
It is good.
I am good.
Gin is good.
Air is good.
Art is good.
Tea is good.
*** is good.
Tao is good.
Zin is good.
Yin is good.
Life is good.
Zen is good.
Beer is good.
LSD is good.
We are good.
*** is good.
Love is good.
Cake is good.
Time is good.
Yang is good.
Wine is good.
Black is good.
Sleep is good.
You are good.
To be is good.
Syrah is good.
Logic is good.
Metal is good.
Piano is good.
Feet are good.
Water is good.
White is good.
Steam is good.
***** is good.
Legs are good.
Music is good.
Coffee is good.
Guitar is good.
Honor is good.
Poetry is good.
Colour is good.
Cheese is good.
Arms are good.
Cellos are good.
Portal 2 is good.
Respect is good.
T'ai Chi is good.
Writing is good.
Context is good.
Literacy is good.
Hands are good.
The Sun is good.
The Past is good.
Wisdom is good.
Humour is good.
Fingers are good.
Whiskey is good.
Friends are good.
Teaching is good.
Learning is good.
Thinking is good.
Empathy is good.
Dreams are good.
Cannabis is good.
The Earth is good.
Digestion is good.
My pets are good.
Harmony is good.
Discretion is good.
Shrooms are good.
The Moon is good.
The Stars are good.
The Future is good.
Meditation is good.
Experience is good.
Philosophy is good.
Spirituality is good.
Dissonance is good.
Knowledge is good.
Perspective is good.
Respiration is good.
My Guitars are good.
Being myself is good.
My lovers were good.
Civilization V is good.
My Computer is good.
Self-discipline is good.
Video Games are good.
Having a Body is good.
Having a Mind is good.
Team Fortress 2 is good.
Having a House is good.
Having a Mother is good.
Being a Philosopher is good.
Being an Autodidact is good.
Kerbal Space Program is good.
Being here and now as me is good.
Being alive as a Human Being is good:
Having this opportunity to experience this holy reality is more than I was ever guaranteed.
Thus I give thanks
to all of these things
and Thus I give thanks
for all of these things.
Thus I give thanks.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
The Coronation.
Weightless stars drop silently like petals
From a distant place way up far beyond the night sky.
Winter flowers blossom and fly away
Landing like moths on the night, turning to petals, then rain.
To shower you in love over and over again on this majestic day.
Distant orchestras come together in a cyclonic, deafening crescendo
Commanded by maestros flailing wands from the peaks of the highest mountains.
Roll great drums! Make music for my Queen violins and cellos!
Ring through valleys and across deserts
Sweep up all the world’s musicians along the way!
Fireworks ignite the darkness with day.
Rainbows burst, more stars, come petals
Saturate you in light.
And shower you with my love on this,
The day of your Coronation.
Great Gods have come to celebrate
Smiling down they send their angels
To drench your glowing torso in rose petals
And kiss you gently as they settle,
While my tied hands yearn to give you a fond caress.
Every creature in the universe has attended the grandest ceremony in time.
Each gleefully holding a single rose petal
To weave into your hair.
My bound arms reach across continents carried like breath on the wind
To deliver you my heart.
Close your fist and make a wish
What would your soul like to find inside?
True loves lay sleeping snuggled together on the bed of the universe.
Calm is the Queen
With her single red rose.
……………………………………………………
Sun rises and all the petals have transformed into snow.
Still soft, still comforting.
But with an eerie emptiness of a dream that has yet to be told.
Joy is frozen in our hearts
For Love eternal was denied the throne this time.
Remember my sweet darling
You are now my Queen of Roses.
And in a palace somewhere,
As far away as near
I am your King.
(Gerry Aldridge)
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
Flower petals fall from trees
In a kaleidoscope of colours
Red, pink, blue, white, lavender,
Orange, and yellow
Different instruments
Chime out a melody sweet
Harps, violins, and oboes
Fill the air
Along with violas, cellos,
Acoustic guitars, pianos,
And many more instruments
Each one sounds beautiful in it's own way
But Fairies play and create a melody
That sounds so heavenly
Beautiful rainbows
Fill the sky with a maze of colours
And raindrops refresh the earth
Which feels so nice and warm beneath our feet
Dewdrops kiss those flowers
The same dew that sparkled
On the grass like a million jewels
Enchanted by those honeyed rays
Of earthbound sunshine
Dancing and waltzing in the morning air
We walk down those paths
That seem so large to us
And are spellbound by the shade of the forest
We sit down to rest
On those mushrooms that grow
Alongside that forest path
We love to appear
In front of your eyes
And make you look at us
In a dazzled sort of way
In Winter we love to fly
And walk upon the blanket of snow
And play a tune upon the frozen icicles
Hanging from the pine needles
Covered in white snow
We love to fly about
Those falling snowflakes
And dance with them
Through the grey sky
In Spring we love
To fly and dance
In a meadow of flowers
I could go on forever
But here I stop
~Marian~
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
I am a polar bear
I sit on my iceberg
I don't like hugs , never did never will
But hugging you , I'd ask time to stand still
I also don't like when two mouths touch
But I'd kiss every inch of you , pretty much
Honey is from the same place as bee stings
I hate to look like an idiot or forget things
But I'd happily be an idiot to your eyes
I am a polar bear under the polluted skies
pianos and cellos were my favorite sound
When you talk , my new favorite is found
The iceberg will slowly melt
And I the polar bear with what I felt
Will drown to my death
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 4:31 AM UTC
Her heart is a broken record
Constantly being scratched by knives and scissors
Lost in their quest to find a spot still intact
When put in the old phonograph
It plays a soft melody filled with piano notes
That sound like rain on a gray day
The strings of the violin echoes in the background
Along with the lower tones of the cellos
The solitary saxophone cries;
The flutes and clarinets follow its lead,
Desperately letting out their high notes of agony
Drums emerge blasting anger
Encouraging the rest of the instruments to go along
And when it is about to hit its ******
Another scratch – a deep crooked scratch.
It takes a while before the song starts over.
It’s hard to imagine
This was once a beautiful, shiny vinyl
That stood up in the wooden shelf
Now it is filled with dust
Making company – only – to the Merlot sitting by the desk
And to the ears that can hear nothing
But the harmony of the broken hearted.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
*A room full of dancing balloons
Colorful streamers floating at the walls
Flowers waltzing in their vases
A Birthday cake stands
Stately in the middle of the table
With the candied words
Written in the middle:
Happy Birthday, Sweet Cinderella!
Confetti flies through the air
And harps play for you
Loudly with their
Angelic beauty
And cellos never before
Sounded so happy
As they ring out
Across the room
And the piano
Laughs and
Is
Merry
**********
Presents are being opened
Tissue papers rustle
And wrapping paper torn
Gift bags full of merry surprises
And fun
The Birthday Girl smiles
And is surprised at each
Gift
********
*Next come the games
There are so many kinds
Brand new toys
And bubbles
That look like
Sparkling pastel
Rainbows with
Glittering rain
Then comes the sad part
Of her friends leaving
How she hates to say "goodbye"
And watch her friends wave
And drive away
Back to home*
~Marian~
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, exposure is not vulnerability---it's power:]
a choice made once upon a dusk
the crack of dawn made no return a back it rust
deniable liquor down the throat a burn
upon the disgust my stomach ached a churn
hideous is it you stupid arrogant selfish pry
or was it way too much of a pure ecstasy upon their eyes???
things the raven will never feel warmth existing
jealousy always a hunter in the thick air printing
violins or that of cellos or the whatever veins named
pianos that ought to break regret down my spine lonely hailed
-----ravenfeels
Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 4:28 PM UTC
~
Violins sing of purest flame,
alluring harmonies warm the air
Heart beat crescendos keep time
as ember’d flutes whisper beauty
and misty cellos lull wondrous dreams
on the aria of our love
Treble clef desires
curve softly upon your tender heart
while clarinets breathe amorous
melodies of soothing affection,
enchanting serenades
caress our every silent sigh
Forever playing an eternal
symphony of fire,
burning euphonious,
heated temptations
in ever lasting
orchestral bliss
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
I saw the rain fall sideways,
striking the cello case cruelly.
The case was white and beaten,
weathered and worn.
It was sad to be alone in the rain.
I could almost hear the cello sing
from inside its case,
like a trapped songbird
forced to play the saddest
of songs
for no other reason but
to make others feel as sad as
itself.
I hold my breath and the rain
taps on the case,
tap
tap
tapping noisily
for the cellos attention,
but he does not come out
and play,
and I dont blame him.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
I sit at a piano
and at the right hand side of the orchestra
or maybe the left
I'm not sure
You sit there too
you sit on your high horse
Mr. 2nd chair
oh i beckon in the good days when
When you play your violin
Like a Stradivarius
And fill the practice room
Like a concert hall.
And i sit and listen
like a desperate girl
mourning the moaning
of cellos
and the loss of a good friend
maybe more.
I still sit on the right side
of the orchestra
with a hollow piece of wood
raised to my neck
where i want you to kiss me
and i drag bow across string
and make noise
and make music.
i refuse to believe
that this was a coincidence
but we are musicians
it's an occupational hazard.
maybe...
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
Do you hear the sounds of music playing?
The tone and feel that keeps you swaying.
The recurring beat, the tapping feet,
The strings ***** and the keys sweet.
Each style diverse in feeling and spirit,
Each sound distinct if you can hear it.
Yet they are all beautiful in unique ways
And may seem to place you in a daze.
A classical piece full of beauty and grace,
Violins, cellos, percussion, and bass,
An orchestra full of musicians and skill,
The audience moved yet sitting quite still.
The loud, and crazy, and pounding rock concert
Where all energy saved is brought to exert.
Guitar distortion and drums with power,
A crowd head-banging, hour after hour.
Rappers who speed like an antique auctioneer
Bring out the beats and rap with no fear.
Dance circles and moves are sure to form,
If hip-hop starts, the dancers swarm.
A small jazz band with smooth rhythm and time
Play the sounds of old and make us feel prime.
The trumpets, the snaps, the cool suede shoes,
All sights and sounds of the old-time blues.
Music holds joy and moves the soul,
Music is collective and is one and whole.
Though conflicting styles and motives may be,
Music was made for you and for me.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
It was an atmosphere
It was an oxygen mixed with southern fog
Southpaw gloves tied in sailor knots
Waves of golden grains in ocean wind
The rolling hills behind property lines
It was the question you asked
not with words but in the way you breathed against the window glass
as I leaned against your Corolla
And we sang under the overpass
It was graffiti
It was graffiti
It was the cavernous concrete cats with purple hair and acid wash jean jackets
melting the light of their city's street lamps into the obsidian void of moistened pavement
It was the way the reverb spread the major seventh across the sky with burnt orange cascading into the violet of the minor ninth
which reminds me of crickets and summer nights (and violins and cellos and midwestern jazz bars)
and how bar chords are a guitarists way of flipping off a crowd-
surfing the web for an answer to why I'm still single-
handedly the handsomest man in my car currently.
It's the cloth in my empty passenger seat
soaking up the air of my A/C heat
and the scent of the soil spilt from the succulent I was given at a wedding last fall
and now I don't know if my trunk will ever smell clean at all
But I'll let this night be interstellar
I'll take a bath in the Big Dipper and write you a letter about Orion's Belt
or how I miss the stars sparkling in your eyes making contact with the E.T. in me.
Phone me home, darling.
I'm lost at sea.
-W.J. Thompson
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 1:13 AM UTC
Again you ask me
But the cellos
Trill loudly so
I can pretend
Not to hear
The same old question
That passes your lips
A dismal cliché
I am forced upon
So much that I
Am used to
The silly idea
You suggest
But now I listen
Only to the cellos
And let their voices
Rest on me
I only half feel
You grab my hand
To tell me you’ll
Ask me again
Tomorrow like
You did yesterday
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 4:41 PM UTC
I went to this funeral the other day
and had a blast, the black suits
contrasting the pale faces of those shocked
by death, meshing with the warm
red of crying eyes. Hot sun flashed
through the stained glass
illuminating the carefully chosen
mahogany bed where the lucky one
slept. I cannot picture
a more beautiful scene.
And it only gets better! Family
coming together, joined with emotion,
seeing old friends and meeting new ones
The young and the old
both dressed in Sunday’s best
captures a timeless cycle.
What is there not to love?
My funeral is going to be
the best. Come one, come all –
everyone’s invited! The low hum
of the cellos creates an ominous
tone overpowering the occasional
sad sniff, thankfully.
Stop crying you pathetic things
and come laugh with me.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
Let me introduce him.
half smile and half manipulation
He will take you out to fancy dinners
and then pinch your inner thigh under the table
He will sweep you off your feet
but forget to grab you shoes
Because you see
he doesn't want you to stand on your own
Like an air traffic controller
He is dictating your landings and departures
But all you want is a departure
Warmer skies
And a healthier landing
But he keeps you
Firmly planted on the ground
And then He bribes you with affection
and later handles you with his tongue
But as his hands cover your mouth
And you feel muffled by his presence
you lose yourself
You used to be a rainbow
You used to be seen only in technicolor
Now you're wearing black
submitting to his obsession
your simple lies turn him into a monster
and you're quivering like a child
Scared to put a toe down
Because his anger lurks beneath the bed
holding the blanket close around your neck
You beg for his forgiveness
He calls you his princess
and builds you a tower
But girl it doesn't matter how long you grow your hair
He will find a way to criticize it anyway
And you're bound to pay
I can't satisfy his anger
He hides behind it
Jabbing your sides with little suggestions
That dress is to short
That's a lot of skin
Excuse me ************
Who's body am I in?
And I don't need a fairy tale
What's it to ya anyway
I'm just a bird with a broken wing
You see I used to have two
One for luck
And the other for navigation
So why is leaving him resound with hesitation
And somedays I dream of a different life
One that's filled with witty repartee
And symphonies
Cellos play sweet melodies
And I take my two wings and fly between the notes
And I float
Catching air
I'm up there
But he takes his water hose and shoots me down
Because he only likes me wet and vulnerable
I think he is catching on
So I turn into sand
And taking a fistful he squeezes
Jesus
I'm falling through the cracks of his insecurities
And I find myself there
And I dust myself off
And fly
That's goodbye.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
Piano keys vibrate in his chest
But the lines are so fine and fragile
The notes are falling off the page
Cut out by the cellos maze
Tender differences
Beautiful and strange
He felt almost honored by the elusion music had given birth to
Synthetic love
From batting lashes
Disguised by devine-
rhythm and rhyme
To simply taste the sweets reservation had denied him
(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
In the middle of humanity's jungle the wonderous sound of two cellos
Sooth my inner being floating on waves of air filling the night with
Gladness kind of a purple haze of rippling depth these two cellos
Unlike any sound ever heard before two cellos weeping tears of
Sound
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Why care about the coronglais (English Horns) music.
Of course the brass I speak of is woodwind.
Masters of sound are older then the Tux-
Edos choking boughtie on my white neck.
The pub next door never will hear opera
The way a glass of hard ale fills me.
All a reason to say hiphop is jazz.
The old lady with scotch breath doesnt show
Me how ice melts in her mouth like twelve octaves.
On the concert halls roof cellos fall off the gutters
Like drops of rain. The rare wood burns the hobos
Metal warm fire and we finally walk with purpose.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
i sometimes watch a cooking show and feed myself, finding old italians very funny with everything simple being a milanese delicacy, ambrosia of a doubly baked bread, sprinkled with water, a juicy tomato and some olive oil... mmm, yeah, am bro sia... where’s the salt? if this is ambrosia please give me a haggis in a bagpipe. by the way... the best sarcasm is found in a hangover.
i still don’t know how a cat managed
to knock on my bedroom door
while slayer’s seasons in the abyss
stopped me munching on violins and cellos:
i got paranoid being the only person in the house
with that eerie sound of knock knock...
but i guess greeting him in the morning
with a head-butt utilised his head for the ‘being human’
initiation... only yesterday he managed to open
the door to the kitchen using the handle -
and like any man with his middle finger outstretched
in defiance... he did the same, but with a thumb.
p.s. poetry and collage have a lot in common,
as does poetry and music, i still don't know
why philosophy started the fight, poetry has
nothing in common with philosophy to be
even remotely related for a boxing match,
it's poetry as music and collage, the classical stances
of philosophy are becoming more and more obsolete;
i guess someone had to point that out and side
with plato rather than socrates, but i have to add
one blatant innovation i'm working on,
no not the plagiarism of tristan tzara by william burroughs
of the famed 'cut up' method of writing poetry,
i'm talking Bach, yes, BACH, polyphony, multilayering,
spontaneity, and everything that tzara attempted
picking out bingo ball snippets of newspaper
articles from a bag like some ****** doing the same,
writing a abduction-ransom letter to a rich girl's family
enigmatically... also enclosing a portrait of the girl
done with crude pointillism in cartoon shock colours
with a signature that ræd: antoinette warhol -
yep, and some people will be famous for 15minutes in
a repetitive loop.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
Purple skies and wounded hearts
Leaves drifting away
Growing trees and yellow planes
Night turning to day
Untuned cellos, crumbs on sheets
Grass blades in between toes
Aerosol cans and crooked shelves
Snowflakes that stay on the nose
Purple you and wounded me
Us drifting away
Growing you and yellow me
No one wanting to stay
Untuned me, crummy you
Two scarred, translucent souls
Aerosol me and crooked you
I'm dying, but nobody knows.
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 1:07 AM UTC
Do you hear the cellos moan in the distance?
Voices achromatize and beckon?
Can you feel the vibratos?
Can you feel them echo within your vacancy-
Feel your warm silks quiver-
Members within tingling ridges,
Can you feel it?
The electric awakenings
shaking dilated eyes,
Can you feel it?
*-let me hear you
I wanna feel you.*
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC