"flautist" poems
A priest arrived by ambulance
to bless our sudden kiss
A doctor brought his bag but cannot
treat such things as this
My jewelry is just colored rocks
like pretty polished hollyhocks
in silver settings gone to curls
the same as any other girl's
but I could be your only love.
A flautist played our melody
in notes so fine and clear
That summer brought her midnights close
so that the moon could hear
the notes, the song so marvelous
the player played so long for us
the priest laid down his holy flask
the doctor blushed before he asked
if I could be your only love.
An urchin took a photograph
of you in uniform
You gave me spice and chocolates
to keep my fever warm
and lucky is the lucky bird
who calls and calls a wafting word
In this peculiar pregnant dawn
his curious and constant song
that I could be your only love.
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 3:30 PM UTC
amidst
azure autumnal skies,
a mellifluous tune
floats in ether
emanating from his golden flute.
even the falling leaves 🍂
on hearing such melancholic melody
pirouette like whirling dervishes
before kissing terra firma
the invisible flautist
is everywhere and nowhere,
so close,
yet so far.
he’s a lover, teaser, warrior and philosopher.
someone for whom
even mercurial time and fuzzy clouds sway in ecstasy,
to his unnerving rhapsody
© 2021
Oct 30, 2021
Oct 30, 2021 at 10:21 AM UTC
under a torrential shower
of iridescent peacock feathers,
i spy
the cosmic flautist,
whose conch shaped eyes
ooze boundless compassion,
his dusky complexion
mirrors the night sky,
as the twinkling stars
in the firmament
stealthily become his garland
what will he do next?
steal the heart of the next damsel
who comes his way?
start another world war to fight for justice?
or open his mouth to show us the whole universe within?
© 2021
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 10:04 AM UTC
Sometimes you pick a pair of fish and bread
and feed thousands, and at others
master flautist, make umbrellas of hills
protecting us from deluges of wrath.
I have walked to the lonely peaks where
stones have become animated bearing witness
to the nights of wonder, when you poured forth
your love, and drank of the poisoned chalice.
Yea, even by the well where burdened of sin
I sat down, and drank of the springs of Grace.
And I do not wish to hear anything,
but relive the awe seeing you speak,
as one with authority, passion of the heavens!
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
*Evergreen soldiers at the whim of Alraus
I've had a recurrent dream of the enlisted warriors
abandoning their post , occupying the fertile grassland
in a chess type move to gain control
Free of shade , of root-bound thirst , of choking
moss gathering unchallenged in overpopulated arbors
A celebration courtesy of the Robin Knights , the Chickadee troubadours ,
the Cardinal gentlemen at the Court of Queen Chestnut
Slash , sugar , loblolly and white oak
Persimmon , hickory , honey locust and dogwood
The myrrh of gardenia , magnolia , honeysuckle and tea rose
Earthen red clay , white sand , black loam and kaolin
Grasshopper cellist , cricket flautist , a chuckling crow with a
Spanish guitar
The toad trombones , a bluebird violin solo , a mockingbird reads
a touching poem that even sways the worker ants into a brief pause
The Old Forest becomes pasture and the grassland young woodland
The dove cue the night , the katydids croon to the moon ,
the bullfrogs 'pooka-dooka' and the lovers swoon* ...
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
'What shall we talk about today?'
Spin, spin, spin the conversation
into loops and recapitulations.
Cassettes were my sustenance but
a vinyl record spins on the turntable.
Won't you tell me what song is playing right now?
Rests, then
block chords, then
swing-swung rhythm.
Then,
unexpected concords.
Where did those blue notes come from?
And colour our red, some supposed red, into
purple?
But jazz has always been unpredictable.
I grew up on the clarity and
gravity
of soft pink time;
pearl-notes to the steady, steady,
steady
beat of a metronome.
But now,
now?
Syncopation.
My
beat
against your
beat
and we make a violently violet
bossa nova.
Suddenly the classically trained flautist
has time-travelled to her very first lesson.
Because no sound flutters out of the mouthpiece
and her fingers can't keep up.
Swing-swung
syncopation
and she doesn't know to breathe anymore.
Where did those blue notes come from?
Silence.
Have we reached the final double bar?
The cadence is imperfect,
unresolved.
Listen, a cold snap of instant jazz
knocked us over.
Arms clasped, teeth chat-chat-
chattering.
1,
2,
3 -
A not-quite waltz.
But jazz has always been unpredictable.
Won't you tell me what song is playing right now?
I think we know what it is but can't figure it out.
And so Cole Porter and Billie Holiday save us
from
fading out.
'Let's do it, let's fall in-"
I don't want this song to be over.
I don't even know what it's called
but
don't let it end, don't let it,
don't
don't
don't.
I can't cook but I think
I can make
instant jazz.
And you,
and you...
You'll write dizzy like
a Coltrane solo.
As you do.
And I'll lay down my flute,
struggle out of my red minuet and
wonder:
Where did those blue notes come from?
But jazz has always been unpredictable.
'What shall we talk about now?'
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
The Flautist, fluently flaunted her flute- Music flew faultlessly through the airwaves, flying fluidly above the noise of the blustering city
THE flautist created a calm fragrance, whose flavor of creativity fell-well onto your soul creating a soul stirring calmness across the city.
She played her flute clean into the night vehemently, over the feverish chaos –
And the people in the park and in the city could hear clearly as they walked in rhythmic tunes/ She flaunted her music like sweet low hanging fruit, Her music dangled beautiful and singly. She alone, Solo-ed notes of delightful serenity-
The flautist moved the masses to a state of bliss; Like free kisses flying in the wind landing on ears conquering and engaging spirits, conquering pandemonium with her flute, she blew her flute... SHE BLEW HER FLUTE, and we marched and listened obediently. She blew her flute and we marched magnificently to her concert.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
amore hear the melody of....
again again anon anon
bring a symphony of love
to my ears sing with
perfect pitch the perfect song
to the perfect end.
pause...... repose
then here the flautist's
feathered twill
the bass driving
the beat we tap our hearts
together to
french horns and clarinets
bringing fullness to the song of....
amore amore...
ever building the suspense
to a mutual end.
Spent, we cry,
Bravo! Bravo!
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
The flute is mute
it's half-broken
the flautist leaves it alone
old age has spoken
once he was the pride
of the musical world--he brought tears
to his listeners - now in the silence
of his sick-bed--he wants to forget all his past years
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
Behind the curtain
of his music he dances:
the master flautist.
Feb 4, 2024
Feb 4, 2024 at 2:29 AM UTC
I am a budding biotechnologist,
A responsible human being,
And I am a fine future father too.
I am a rebounding guitarist,
A fine flautist I already am,
And I am an actually good singer too.
I am a soothing poet,
A fine amateur bard I am,
And I am already established too.
I am a knight in waiting,
A night in waiting I surely am,
And I am a fine first-timer too.
I am an excellent dreamer,
A collection of dreamy poetry,
And I am a writer of steamy poems.
If you wanted a well-settled hubby,
You should have just been patient,
Being immature you just dwarfed yourself.
I am a Survivorman,
An unlikely alive human,
And I am not reserved for you.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 7:06 AM UTC
Twas essential to see her in wintertide -
misery in order to appreciate the abundant daffodils -
of spring , the cardinal ever watchful over -
her fledgelings , the gaiety , pomp and circumstance -
of damsel flies , the mockingbird flautist and -
the peckerwood drumming
The morning laughter of Bear creek
The multicolored blades of March that -
stair step the Mill Falls
Morning dove woo their lovers , whitetails -
in repose , in the backdrop of misty , hardwood -
cover
Her poetic omnipotence in touch with my -
innermost being
Ever watchful as the cardinal
Breath exposed
Pious
Forever thankful
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
*I was gamesmanship incarnate ,
a shrimper off the Savannah shore ,
a cannoneer in the fury of maritime battle ,
a flautist calling troops to formation ,
Atop the highest ferris wheel ,
imbibing cool waters from the Big Dipper ,
scaling the Horseshoe Nebula ,
leading a fire wagon into the inferno ,
submarining the darkened abyss
Under the cover of shellfire , outflanking
a Napoleonic commander
Belaying the tallest mountainside
with cool , calculated reserve* ..
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC
Not for you the opening bars.
Sit back, fold hands, a little smile
At the beauty of the others' notes, familiar.
Now, you feel it coming. A caress
Of knowing fingers, lips. The flute rises
To an acquiescing nod, and
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 3:29 AM UTC
*Avian flautist perform in golden canopies , dandelion fairies ride -
springtide breezes high above a meandering , rushing , brown water symphony
The dance of the Blue darters , of the iridescent pirouetting ballet , the birth of a thousand greenwood songs , nature delivering her poetic morning alms
I lie in repose , filled and intoxicated
In burgeoning sunlight , within magnificent shadow , in the centerpiece of living , ever expanding shape and hue* ...
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC