"flutist" poems - Hello Poetry

The billowing sea bows down dancing, the cool one comes— with love, as if with a flute on the lips, rising from the deep. Listen to the flute. Chorus clouds sing, drifting down the blue river— so mellifluous, into the sky they soar! From the secret valley, the punter sun ambles in, carrying wonderlight, as if it knows the flutist’s art— knows the rise from the sea’s bedrock. Every planet spins— a flying bee drawn to the inner music. Nothing pauses in the solar ring. The Moon, waning and waxing, in silhouette and half-light, sways above the sea full of life. It all began on this Earth, from our sea— Him, the Sweet Creative Maestro rose from the midst, and lifted the sun, the bumblebee. All the stars in the galaxy follow still— they can't forget the ancient story. Since then, the sun, brightest in the band, leads the mindful dance enduring, homeward— still following the haunting, eternal tune, pure mighty the one command: Qun. Be.

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Jul 26, 2018

Jul 26, 2018 at 1:26 PM UTC

shofi-ahmed

Music in Space

The billowing sea bows down dancing, the cool one comes— with love, as if with a flute on the lips, rising from the deep. Listen to the flute. Chorus clouds sing, drifting down the blue river— so mellifluous, into the sky they soar! From the secret valley, the punter sun ambles in, carrying wonderlight, as if it knows the flutist’s art— knows the rise from the sea’s bedrock. Every planet spins— a flying bee drawn to the inner music. Nothing pauses in the solar ring. The Moon, waning and waxing, in silhouette and half-light, sways above the sea full of life. It all began on this Earth, from our sea— Him, the Sweet Creative Maestro rose from the midst, and lifted the sun, the bumblebee. All the stars in the galaxy follow still— they can't forget the ancient story. Since then, the sun, brightest in the band, leads the mindful dance enduring, homeward— still following the haunting, eternal tune, pure mighty the one command: Qun. Be.

34

Beside an ebbing northern sea While stars awaken one by one, We walk together, I and he. He woos me with an easy grace That proves him only half sincere; A light smile flickers on his face. To him ********** is an art, And as a flutist plays a flute, So does he play upon his heart A music varied to his whim. He has no use for love of mine, He would not have me answer him. To hide my eyes within the night I watch the changeful lighthouse gleam Alternately with red and white. My laughter smites upon my ears, So one who cries and wakes from sleep Knows not it is himself he hears. What if my voice should let him know The mocking words were all a sham, And lips that laugh could tremble so? What if I lost the power to lie, And he should only hear his name In one low, broken cry?

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2k

Sara Teasdale

By The Sea

Beside an ebbing northern sea While stars awaken one by one, We walk together, I and he. He woos me with an easy grace That proves him only half sincere; A light smile flickers on his face. To him ********** is an art, And as a flutist plays a flute, So does he play upon his heart A music varied to his whim. He has no use for love of mine, He would not have me answer him. To hide my eyes within the night I watch the changeful lighthouse gleam Alternately with red and white. My laughter smites upon my ears, So one who cries and wakes from sleep Knows not it is himself he hears. What if my voice should let him know The mocking words were all a sham, And lips that laugh could tremble so? What if I lost the power to lie, And he should only hear his name In one low, broken cry?

24

Snow falls. The sky is grey, and sullenly glares With purple lights in the canyoned street. The fiery sign on the dark tower wreathes and flares . . . The trodden grass in the park is covered with white, The streets grow silent beneath our feet . . . The city dreams, it forgets its past to-night. And one, from his high bright window looking down Over the enchanted whiteness of the town, Seeing through whirls of white the vague grey towers, Desires like this to forget what will not pass, The littered papers, the dust, the tarnished grass, Grey death, stale ugliness, and sodden hours. Deep in his heart old bells are beaten again, Slurred bells of grief and pain, Dull echoes of hideous times and poisonous places. He desires to drown in a cold white peace of snow. He desires to forget a million faces . . . In one room breathes a woman who dies of hunger. The clock ticks slowly and stops. And no one winds it. In one room fade grey violets in a vase. Snow flakes faintly hiss and melt on the window. In one room, minute by minute, the flutist plays The lamplit page of music, the tireless scales. His hands are trembling, his short breath fails. In one room, silently, lover looks upon lover, And thinks the air is fire. The drunkard swears and touches the harlot's heartstrings With the sudden hand of desire. And one goes late in the streets, and thinks of ****** And one lies staring, and thinks of death. And one, who has suffered, clenches her hands despairing, And holds her breath . . . Who are all these, who flow in the veins of the city, Coil and revolve and dream, Vanish or gleam? Some mount up to the brain and flower in fire. Some are destroyed; some die; some slowly stream. And the new are born who desire to destroy the old; And fires are kindled and quenched; and dreams are broken, And walls flung down . . . And the slow night whirls in snow over towers of dreamers, And whiteness hushes the town.

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1.6k

Conrad Aiken

The House Of Dust: Part 02: 11: Snow Falls. The Sky Is Grey, And Sullenly Glares

Snow falls. The sky is grey, and sullenly glares With purple lights in the canyoned street. The fiery sign on the dark tower wreathes and flares . . . The trodden grass in the park is covered with white, The streets grow silent beneath our feet . . . The city dreams, it forgets its past to-night. And one, from his high bright window looking down Over the enchanted whiteness of the town, Seeing through whirls of white the vague grey towers, Desires like this to forget what will not pass, The littered papers, the dust, the tarnished grass, Grey death, stale ugliness, and sodden hours. Deep in his heart old bells are beaten again, Slurred bells of grief and pain, Dull echoes of hideous times and poisonous places. He desires to drown in a cold white peace of snow. He desires to forget a million faces . . . In one room breathes a woman who dies of hunger. The clock ticks slowly and stops. And no one winds it. In one room fade grey violets in a vase. Snow flakes faintly hiss and melt on the window. In one room, minute by minute, the flutist plays The lamplit page of music, the tireless scales. His hands are trembling, his short breath fails. In one room, silently, lover looks upon lover, And thinks the air is fire. The drunkard swears and touches the harlot's heartstrings With the sudden hand of desire. And one goes late in the streets, and thinks of ****** And one lies staring, and thinks of death. And one, who has suffered, clenches her hands despairing, And holds her breath . . . Who are all these, who flow in the veins of the city, Coil and revolve and dream, Vanish or gleam? Some mount up to the brain and flower in fire. Some are destroyed; some die; some slowly stream. And the new are born who desire to destroy the old; And fires are kindled and quenched; and dreams are broken, And walls flung down . . . And the slow night whirls in snow over towers of dreamers, And whiteness hushes the town.

42

i count these shy stars scattered in the night sky like beads on an abacus little jewels coalescing to form shapes like a fish, boar, turtle and a lion each cluster merging into a milky ocean wherein the cosmic flutist plays a tune to which all the stars dance © 2017

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Aug 10, 2017

Aug 10, 2017 at 4:27 PM UTC

govind-ramakrishnan

Cosmic Flutist

i count these shy stars scattered in the night sky like beads on an abacus little jewels coalescing to form shapes like a fish, boar, turtle and a lion each cluster merging into a milky ocean wherein the cosmic flutist plays a tune to which all the stars dance © 2017

16

lost beyond thoughts of consequence, bouncing taxis blur the streets of my wanderings, crowds released from roadside governance and the stillness gauges frantic adverts splayed. readiness surges toward academe in the guile of non-influence; inspiration settles into future springs while the flutist pleas for calm; and systems drag emotively to better corners. friendships diverge with wiser makings worn. in living returns the united self. aside turgid dregs of failure’s learned balm the written strength of former minds bead their voices into soulful vestibules and I crouch gayly in the tent of my desire viewing unmet worlds swept behind, saving other time-intended growth for lissome moments drawing on.

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Jun 18, 2012

Jun 18, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC

vircapio-gale

lost beyond thoughts

lost beyond thoughts of consequence, bouncing taxis blur the streets of my wanderings, crowds released from roadside governance and the stillness gauges frantic adverts splayed. readiness surges toward academe in the guile of non-influence; inspiration settles into future springs while the flutist pleas for calm; and systems drag emotively to better corners. friendships diverge with wiser makings worn. in living returns the united self. aside turgid dregs of failure’s learned balm the written strength of former minds bead their voices into soulful vestibules and I crouch gayly in the tent of my desire viewing unmet worlds swept behind, saving other time-intended growth for lissome moments drawing on.

18

Gift me with song My darling flute-player Gentle stirrings Musical stimuli Rouse the heavens To extraordinary flight Take me to the throes Of immorality and back The jetstream of which Will glisten like gold Upon your sacrificial lips

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Jan 4, 2020

Jan 4, 2020 at 1:49 PM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

The Flutist

Gift me with song My darling flute-player Gentle stirrings Musical stimuli Rouse the heavens To extraordinary flight Take me to the throes Of immorality and back The jetstream of which Will glisten like gold Upon your sacrificial lips

11

The chances of being a regular chap in education I have failed to avail, I have missed I must say But there was no sign in my life of any success Anything good would have been happened... Now a days, I am suffering with super frustration What really would I do in my future, All the potential of my learning & gaining To be a standalone fellow is going to be reduced one by one! No one is at my side and nothing productive happens around me... It’s quite dark everywhere, wall and wall so high I’m almost finished and it’s hard to capture The gone wind but I am trying my best to recover... To rediscover the gap I have created by myself I am super lonely in my way of life, perhaps I am cynic... And the people I am engaged with are not so helpful and friendly All the way they act so competitively, thinking of their own only... I am in vain my lord and I know not what’s in my store really... I wish If I could get any fair chance in my country! But my lord, there are so many unfair means in social or political dealings, It’s quite ridiculous and I realize it a way out system of our society... One major thing I feel inside that I must bring myself Out from the darkness now I am bearing with me The most lashing thing is the loneliness & friendless environment all around My parents are still alive but they can’t help me as I need... Then all I do have effectively is me only, my dear roadrunners The growing myself in me whom I did never try to find I have no one for myself except me, I was blindfolded I start now depending on myself, better late than never... All the dreams and high hopes will reduce to dust uselessly If I leave myself if I misunderstand myself, if I underestimate myself So many occasions I did the mistakes feeling helpless , Oh me...! But in the most next minute I get the power of myself in me to live like a man Critical reality has taught me to speak to myself, it’s a chance Like a human in the world full chances to live with rice & respect I am no more helpless for I am now with myself and precisely An invisible flutist is everywhere with me as well watching me ... © 2015 Mohammad Anwar Parvez Shishir

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Aug 21, 2015

Aug 21, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC

anwar-parvez-shishir

~Self Helplessness Re-edited~

The chances of being a regular chap in education I have failed to avail, I have missed I must say But there was no sign in my life of any success Anything good would have been happened... Now a days, I am suffering with super frustration What really would I do in my future, All the potential of my learning & gaining To be a standalone fellow is going to be reduced one by one! No one is at my side and nothing productive happens around me... It’s quite dark everywhere, wall and wall so high I’m almost finished and it’s hard to capture The gone wind but I am trying my best to recover... To rediscover the gap I have created by myself I am super lonely in my way of life, perhaps I am cynic... And the people I am engaged with are not so helpful and friendly All the way they act so competitively, thinking of their own only... I am in vain my lord and I know not what’s in my store really... I wish If I could get any fair chance in my country! But my lord, there are so many unfair means in social or political dealings, It’s quite ridiculous and I realize it a way out system of our society... One major thing I feel inside that I must bring myself Out from the darkness now I am bearing with me The most lashing thing is the loneliness & friendless environment all around My parents are still alive but they can’t help me as I need... Then all I do have effectively is me only, my dear roadrunners The growing myself in me whom I did never try to find I have no one for myself except me, I was blindfolded I start now depending on myself, better late than never... All the dreams and high hopes will reduce to dust uselessly If I leave myself if I misunderstand myself, if I underestimate myself So many occasions I did the mistakes feeling helpless , Oh me...! But in the most next minute I get the power of myself in me to live like a man Critical reality has taught me to speak to myself, it’s a chance Like a human in the world full chances to live with rice & respect I am no more helpless for I am now with myself and precisely An invisible flutist is everywhere with me as well watching me ... © 2015 Mohammad Anwar Parvez Shishir

80

inside that inner cave shines an effulgent flame, complexioned like camphor bearing a crescent moon he’s pure as white jasmine sole terminator of the veil of illusion cast by the lilting tunes of that captivating flutist © 2020

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May 31, 2020

May 31, 2020 at 11:36 AM UTC

rama-krsna

arunachala

inside that inner cave shines an effulgent flame, complexioned like camphor bearing a crescent moon he’s pure as white jasmine sole terminator of the veil of illusion cast by the lilting tunes of that captivating flutist © 2020

10

I stand on this roof, Gazing upon the twilight world, The faces of passersby, Shrouded by veils of stars and night. I play my song of eerie trills; The highs, The lows, This sickeningly sweet lullaby, Carrying all into the comforting embrace, Of midnight slumber. This swooping melody, My warm, but shuddering breath breathes life into the frost covered flute, Cradled in my ice cold hands. My breath, My life, Heard by all, But me.

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Sep 9, 2018

Sep 9, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC

wellspring

Flutist on the Roof

I stand on this roof, Gazing upon the twilight world, The faces of passersby, Shrouded by veils of stars and night. I play my song of eerie trills; The highs, The lows, This sickeningly sweet lullaby, Carrying all into the comforting embrace, Of midnight slumber. This swooping melody, My warm, but shuddering breath breathes life into the frost covered flute, Cradled in my ice cold hands. My breath, My life, Heard by all, But me.

18

I haven't written at length for a long time now and my maelstorms are worse. I haven't written for my heart and the protest inside has reached a crescendo of violence. The dam is at its limit and I am the explosion waiting inside. My conductor has quit and the orchestra has lost its sanity, timbral destruction and cymbal apocalypse. I watch helplessly the drowning flutist and the bleeding pianist. Whale song rings in my ear all the time, and I am tired of this dismembering dissonance. My nostrils flare in the polluted river and the acid water has reached my lungs. They burn with the intensity of jealous stars and pull me in like black holes. Sometimes the heat is too much and the cold offers nightmarish dreams of death. So I bear the burden of two jackets soaked in ice water. My teeth, eyes and nails feel like they might fall into my food and I won't have the energy to even care for self-cannibalism. The church has fallen on our heads and my life is frothing at the mouth. The madness is finally settling in, violently setting up camp in my soul. My veins pulse rhythmically like the drums in a System of a Down song. Father why have you forsaken me? In your eyes forsaken me. In your thoughts forsaken me. In your heart forsaken me.

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Oct 29, 2017

Oct 29, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC

faloodawala

Forsaken

I haven't written at length for a long time now and my maelstorms are worse. I haven't written for my heart and the protest inside has reached a crescendo of violence. The dam is at its limit and I am the explosion waiting inside. My conductor has quit and the orchestra has lost its sanity, timbral destruction and cymbal apocalypse. I watch helplessly the drowning flutist and the bleeding pianist. Whale song rings in my ear all the time, and I am tired of this dismembering dissonance. My nostrils flare in the polluted river and the acid water has reached my lungs. They burn with the intensity of jealous stars and pull me in like black holes. Sometimes the heat is too much and the cold offers nightmarish dreams of death. So I bear the burden of two jackets soaked in ice water. My teeth, eyes and nails feel like they might fall into my food and I won't have the energy to even care for self-cannibalism. The church has fallen on our heads and my life is frothing at the mouth. The madness is finally settling in, violently setting up camp in my soul. My veins pulse rhythmically like the drums in a System of a Down song. Father why have you forsaken me? In your eyes forsaken me. In your thoughts forsaken me. In your heart forsaken me.

9

You flutter your flighty, fleeting tunes, Lift us too, beyond, To the stars and moon —

0

Nov 30, 2024

Nov 30, 2024 at 3:21 PM UTC

bekahalle

🎶 The Flutist 🎶

You flutter your flighty, fleeting tunes, Lift us too, beyond, To the stars and moon —

3

There she stood playing a melody, Her fingers positioned and ready. She's such a tease as she trilled her passionate notes, Playing songs that someone else wrote. Her flute gleaming in the spotlight, I love the way her lips were positioned on that pipe. Her eyes sparkled as she ran through scales with such ease, Her melody still haunts my dreams. The way she blew steady air into her flute was ****** And she continued to play notes that were chaotic. Her fingers danced with passion over the keys, Making me get down on my knees. I imagined her fingers dancing upon me, Imagining us in perfect harmony. She gave me such a thrill, My body is tingling with chills. Her lips firm as she played, Manipulating her mouth to make volume rise and finally fade. Be mine, you free little bird, Your song is the only one I heard. Unleash your melody into me, Let's make sweet harmony. I love the way you tease me, I love the way you play me. I want my heart to be your flute, Playing it to your wicked tune. I love the way you fly, I want to keep you as my own sweet lullaby. Be mine, my beloved teasing flutist, Let your melody and my background tune become sweet bliss.

0

Jan 29, 2015

Jan 29, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC

Hinata35

Music II

There she stood playing a melody, Her fingers positioned and ready. She's such a tease as she trilled her passionate notes, Playing songs that someone else wrote. Her flute gleaming in the spotlight, I love the way her lips were positioned on that pipe. Her eyes sparkled as she ran through scales with such ease, Her melody still haunts my dreams. The way she blew steady air into her flute was ****** And she continued to play notes that were chaotic. Her fingers danced with passion over the keys, Making me get down on my knees. I imagined her fingers dancing upon me, Imagining us in perfect harmony. She gave me such a thrill, My body is tingling with chills. Her lips firm as she played, Manipulating her mouth to make volume rise and finally fade. Be mine, you free little bird, Your song is the only one I heard. Unleash your melody into me, Let's make sweet harmony. I love the way you tease me, I love the way you play me. I want my heart to be your flute, Playing it to your wicked tune. I love the way you fly, I want to keep you as my own sweet lullaby. Be mine, my beloved teasing flutist, Let your melody and my background tune become sweet bliss.

30

I cherish the music Phantasms in the audio The smell and the touch When it comes to you Dear Music Man You leave me with a musical mania Come on, Music Man Take me by the hand Honey, you’re so electric You should come with a warning Danger: high voltage When we’re together It feels like forever We’ve got a live-wire energy An electric sort of synergy You’re the melody I’m the lyrics Melding together The perfect composition Good music on the score Vibrations coming up through the floor Our ***** touches will leave us sore And wanting more When your hands are on your guitar I want them on my back I want them on my hips And I want your lips on my lips And I want your voice in my bones Shaking me Shaking me Shaking me Men like you Are admittedly a dime a dozen But like a jukebox I’d put a dime in you Because I love listening To your voice It’s like a smooth, sustained cello line A bass line dripping with warmth Dropping in my heart I was lying on my bed Thoughts of you stuck in my head When it’s heavy as lead I know what you’ve said And what you’ve sung Will get me through The nights And the mornings Where dreams Thicken the loneliness Of when you aren’t there Or when anyone ain’t there Just the slowly strangulating air Dealt by hands Belonging to a flutist With the deeds of a duellist Who makes me battle Against the song I sing Against the song I want to sing Against the musical mania Against the sing you sing Against the song you want to sing Against the Music Man

0

Feb 8, 2018

Feb 8, 2018 at 6:31 PM UTC

bibliomancie

Untitled 44

I cherish the music Phantasms in the audio The smell and the touch When it comes to you Dear Music Man You leave me with a musical mania Come on, Music Man Take me by the hand Honey, you’re so electric You should come with a warning Danger: high voltage When we’re together It feels like forever We’ve got a live-wire energy An electric sort of synergy You’re the melody I’m the lyrics Melding together The perfect composition Good music on the score Vibrations coming up through the floor Our ***** touches will leave us sore And wanting more When your hands are on your guitar I want them on my back I want them on my hips And I want your lips on my lips And I want your voice in my bones Shaking me Shaking me Shaking me Men like you Are admittedly a dime a dozen But like a jukebox I’d put a dime in you Because I love listening To your voice It’s like a smooth, sustained cello line A bass line dripping with warmth Dropping in my heart I was lying on my bed Thoughts of you stuck in my head When it’s heavy as lead I know what you’ve said And what you’ve sung Will get me through The nights And the mornings Where dreams Thicken the loneliness Of when you aren’t there Or when anyone ain’t there Just the slowly strangulating air Dealt by hands Belonging to a flutist With the deeds of a duellist Who makes me battle Against the song I sing Against the song I want to sing Against the musical mania Against the sing you sing Against the song you want to sing Against the Music Man

63

Waning scion encroaching a course An Isolated course; coarse is its skin blind-sight is its eye with flutist wind whistling its mind Sly stars dripping under fogged horizons the moon shuttering light, fleeing from the gaunt wood where I reside Night, shroud of razor black oozing pustules of defect and blight, mind snaking through bowels-- grisly bowels kept in swamps kept in dark and damp kept underground-- stone underground Sprouting out splintered atonement, slumped on a broken wall Gray above, light humming under feet, through scabrous stone and sodden clay One hope lingers: plunge worrisome hands into the viscous floor Tugging fingernails, bartering screams with the wind, grounded pain arises through the dirt, latching to my veins Injecting the soil and stone into my twitching heart, feeding the cells with native essence Purging the human from the silken skin; spraying it into the sediment home Bedrock welcomes my sight and my trench shapes my stale body. Becoming soil and rock and worms and root offers a listing breeze to the now formless thought The dirt is in me The rock is in me The qualm is without

0

Oct 10, 2018

Oct 10, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC

JacobWe

Qualm Without

Waning scion encroaching a course An Isolated course; coarse is its skin blind-sight is its eye with flutist wind whistling its mind Sly stars dripping under fogged horizons the moon shuttering light, fleeing from the gaunt wood where I reside Night, shroud of razor black oozing pustules of defect and blight, mind snaking through bowels-- grisly bowels kept in swamps kept in dark and damp kept underground-- stone underground Sprouting out splintered atonement, slumped on a broken wall Gray above, light humming under feet, through scabrous stone and sodden clay One hope lingers: plunge worrisome hands into the viscous floor Tugging fingernails, bartering screams with the wind, grounded pain arises through the dirt, latching to my veins Injecting the soil and stone into my twitching heart, feeding the cells with native essence Purging the human from the silken skin; spraying it into the sediment home Bedrock welcomes my sight and my trench shapes my stale body. Becoming soil and rock and worms and root offers a listing breeze to the now formless thought The dirt is in me The rock is in me The qualm is without

63