"harpist" poems
A View from a Valley Well
As I drew from your valley well .......waters sweet last night
My eyes were transfixed on your ******* ***** and tight
Your fingers like the harpist lost in song
Were dancing upon these pink peaks so long
Beyond these matching minarets
My eyes espied your round ruby lips
These labials lisped that eternal sacred love song of the bed
Captivating is the view from your valley to your head
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 9:41 PM UTC
Listen to the slivering paths of the Autumn breeze
The coming velvety skies drenched in ink reflecting silver stars
Wave goodbyes to the elusive flawed brown stone with pensive eyes
A heart will gasp years ahead for callousness past shown now in tears
Remember those golden sunsets for now woeful days are never azure
Watery eyes and wrinkled mask lament a time you could have shared
A King's ransom at your feet twined with an honest heart assured
Hear the whisperings of the mockingbirds and muted cold choruses
Rainbow starlights betrays pots of gold hidden never to be found
Maidens dance retro and the harpist pluck for painters with brushes
By sunkissed shores blends of contrasts joyous in customary ponds
Smiles pure from honeyed caves same when as waxed spears plunges
Save me a place in the delights of Troy and tell Helen to send a sound
Bring me home to peace and love, rescue me from lions in golden cages
[email protected].
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
One gorgeous Spring day
we gathered on my deck,
a few friends and I,
to sing and play
some beautiful music
loved by us all.
My home, on a remote ridge top
of the Sierra mountains,
offered a panoramic view.
Not a single house
could be seen--
only the vast forest
surrounded us.
We accompanied our voices
with two guitars,
a flute, and a
small harp.
As we sang,
the air grew still,
and the tall, fragrant pines
encircling the house
seemed to lean in,
listening.
After awhile we paused,
to savor in silence
the sublime feeling
created by the music.
The harpist stood her harp
on the table.
Just then,
a gentle breeze came up
and the harp began to sing
as the wind's fingers
caressed the strings,
enchanting us all
with a heavenly music
unlike anything
we had ever heard.
Would that my heart
were as that harp,
responsive to
Your lightest touch--
singing endlessly
of love.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
The lotus, I choose the lotus!
The ebb and flow the shore it goads us
Static focus, a layer peeled off and cast aside
The tide it whispered it spoke to me
but I turned I looked the other way
Upwards roads and downwards roads
Set the rock aside Sisyphus,
Bear the weight no more
Stare in lost, in vacant eyes at a boatless shore
The lotus, I choose the lotus
Wayward streams, down and around it floats us
And spits us out,
Our isolated Elysium or tortured chamber
It’s a matter of where you spend your days, in or out
On what you rest your eyes upon,
The whirlwind, the spinning cannon
Fates bolt it shoots us in twirling spiral
And all along from the corner lit dim
Float the soft tunes of a harpist,
Deft fingers pluck the taught strings,
And her eyes overcast, cloudy grey
Stare vacantly out like person drowned
The lotus, I choose the lotus!
The sweet nectar it covers it soothes me
Puzzled pieces glue me, paste me together
Pluck me, toss me, say that I flew
Let’s play who knows who
Be honest who really knows you
Reflection from the lake,
a familiar face it greets me
Whirlpool tides, how they rip they pull us
Oh the lotus, give me the lotus!
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 12:03 AM UTC
Tonight I have no words.
I cannot grandly sweep my pen
In flowing arcs across the page,
Drawing little soft impressions
(little soft depressions)
That show how lovely pain can be.
I cannot play the great Creator
Who rips a vital pulsing mass
from out His chest,
And molds still-beating clay
With a sad old potter’s gentle hands
into a little melancholic harpist
who plucks the heartstrings perfectly.
No, I have no words that fit
Like others have made fit before,
composing language to fit all the inward lines and curves
(I once knew a few of her’s)
that twist and turn and come entwined,
(the twists and turns of long ago)
crying “Lacrimosa!” in some wee hour
as the breeze blows a lacy curtain back.
I am no Aeolian instrument
Sounding a sweet ethereal chord into the night.
I am the vacuous breath left behind in silence
When the musician’s music stops —
A tuneless referent —
An empty exclamation mark
Howling noiselessly in space,
Meaning nothing
And everything, all the same.
!
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
To some twas a majestic force,
Mysterious and beautiful,
Courageous and never full
From a vast, adventurous feast.
It roamed – a horn upon a horse,
A gallop one could never cull,
It thought itself invincible,
Yet to some it was a beast.
Its orchestra – a masterpiece
Assembled from around the Earth,
But labouring perfections birth
Was a harpist’s absent beat.
The pains of searching now could cease
As landing upon emerald berth,
The unicorn unearthed its serf
As sublimity filled that seat.
The harpist liked her homely scene,
Despite its audience so small.
She’d rather stay than leave it all
And face the unicorns stampede.
And so she suffered wrath obscene:
She was forced to attend the ball,
Waiting centuries for the call
To leave an orchestra based on greed.
In present day the harp is home,
Back to where it is meant to be,
Beauty played independently,
But the unicorn does not mourn,
For now both creatures often roam
To a ball outside of history
And play a peaceful melody:
“The Harpist and the Unicorn.”
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 10:34 AM UTC
She's a darling angel
With silver satin wings
She's a little harpist
With a golden harp
Flying through the air
Watching from above
For her sweetness is here
To fill my world with love
Lying beside me every night
Sleeping with you
You, my darling angel
Is my biggest delight
You are such a cutie
With your beautiful hair
But always remember, my dear
Never give into despair
You are my brightest ray
Shining through the trees
And you're such a sweet girl
Who smells of mountain air
And a tropical ocean breeze
My sweet girl, I love you
~Marian~
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
There was time my mind was yours,
But my heart is yours regardless,
The beats defined a music sheet and you played me like a harpist.
The score settled like rose petals in the essence of the tarnished
The stems remained like overtures,
And that's where it all started.
You blossomed in the minus key,
Your golden touch was midas
The treasure crept in semi clefts,
The breath I took was harnessed.
I played the jester to your beat
And bowed to you my highness.
You took my crown and held me down
The curtains closed in darkness.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
Sitting packed in the back
of a semi-decrepit white Subaru
belonging to the Swedish Harpist
driven by the Romanian Drummer
with a literal car-full
of perfectly tetrised musical instruments,
including:
Four cymbals, two toms, a hi-hat, and a stool,
a Celtic double-Harp,
an electric Piano,
and two guitars
(an acoustic-electric twelve-string and an electric six-string)
with a few days' clothing
and, not knowing where we're sleeping, a sleeping bag,
all the while
devouring Matza and pumpkin seeds
(that we bought at Trader Joe's)
as we barrel moderately safely
down various back roads and Highways
in this car weighted as a truck and driven as a motorcycle
towards enigmatic San Francisco
to play a couple shows,
two days in a row:
one, at a literally underground Theatre
(in which improv comedy is, apparently, king of kings)
smack-dab 'pon the border of Union Square,
and another, for a private birthday party
typified by oh so many avid Burners.
Surely, our Psychedelic Jazz Funk-Rock
will find some empathic ears!
Y'know, last summer,
when I said I wanted
to be in a Gypsy Band,
I sure didn't see this coming:
this is pretty ******* Gypsy,
in my observational opinion.
Well,
here I am,
and I even asked for it.
For us three,
this will certainly be
an interesting few days,
down in the Bay,
on our way to play
wherever it is we may,
and all I can say
is: "Okay,
this is the stuff
books are made of,"
and, "Well,
time to live
one hell of a story!"
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 4:46 AM UTC
Gloomy on sunny days
Shadows not a house or tree
Looming through every phrase
These shadows stick very close to me
Hell as far as the eye can see
Hell as dark as an ocean's deep
Hell as my new reality
Hell as a sacrilegious promise I
Couldn't keep
"Promises man I promised"
I offer my soul for you
to harvest
"Promises man I promised"
Allow my words to become
your harness
"Promises man I promised"
Crossed my heart but lets
be honest
"Promises man I promised"
Then let you plunge to the
depths of darkness
"Promises man I promised"
Then these shadows crept inside
my conscious
"Promises man I promised"
It's hard to feel love when feeling
oh so heartless
"Promises man I promised"
Your love sang I wouldn't dare ****
the harpist
"Promises man I PROMISE"
My words will sing love back this time
as an artist
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 1:07 PM UTC
"Dear Diary" I wrote at the top of the page. I've turned to these wretched pages because I have no one else to turn to.
I have been wanting to runaway for sometime now. I have an estranged sense of nostalgia towards places I haven't even been to.
Did you know that you shattered my heart? That a shard of ***** lacerated my ribcage? & so I've concluded...
That perhaps one day, when I'm 22, I will cut my hair short and runaway to new york and try to find a big sweet apple they've always talked about.
I will disregard my birth name and I will end up telling everyone I meet that my name is Aphrodite, but I am not greek nor am I a lover. I'll write poetry. The good poetry and the bad poetry. I'll write poetry the way you called your quits, blank eyed and confusing. And may the next person to make my heart glow, be just as kind as you, minus the volatility, equivalent charms.
Laugh as sentimental as 100yr old harpist.
Smile as transfixing as a dim star, on a moonless night
Eye's as beautiful as the sun..
But just as the sun, I never could stare to long.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
Let me be the angel
That guides you into joy.
Let the pulsing of my heart
Be your only noise.
Let me be the harpist
That strums away your pain.
Let me be the poet
That bleeds stanzas in your name.
Let my hands be your only
Escape into release.
Let this love of mine
Bring you inner peace.
And if you are to weep,
Let me wipe away your tears.
And if you ever cower,
Let me eliminate your fears.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
*She is the most attentive person
That I know. So I am winking
At her.
I do not really know
Which star at night
Reminded me of her
Just like before.
Sirius, Rigel, Vega, Aldebaran--
I do not recall a star that--
That does not look back,
She cannot see me anymore,
Just looking, staring at her,
This way. God,
She's so beautiful.
She is the harpist of my life.
She feels more than ever.
She longs for shapes, sizes, and textures.
What a cute baby...
Her hand is fond
Of my hand, memorizing
The intricate lines and features,
Telling my future.
You can tell what she really is.
She smiles despite of.
She is literally wind, monsoon,
Literal dark and light,
A soul, a window.
She is literally blind.
She is literally love.
She is the most attentive love
That I know.*
© 2014 J.S.P.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
[2008, age 13]
Dear Self,
Are you here today?
The same person I am
from your younger's same
If you are here, then yes,
it is you and it is I
We are the same
and different
You are probably
a musician, an artist,
or someone who works
with their hands.
a poet, a harpist,
a person interested
in the fiber arts.
Either way,
we like what we do
and we want to do it
You traveled back
with advice and a
message
Keep this still
and think of it always
I wished you good fortune,
and I truly hope
it has fallen to you.
From,
Thineself
p.s.
Remember
The Rock
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
A grand musical is underway!
Actors and actresses scurrying about
Memorizing their lines written by poets
Weaving sweet phrases
Conveying positivity
Encouragement
Cheerfulness
Artists shaping the smile
The relaxed pose
Arms open and inviting
Ready for instant hugs
A harpist for the mouth
Melodious
Joyful
Sounds
All this is at play
So, how is it possible
For one
To look deeper
And see what’s really behind the smile?
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
in the song of robin and blackbird
Creator signs His Name
A name that can be seen and heard
by those who shun acclaim
in the work of scribe and artist
shines the inner being
in the music of drum or harpist
speaks the soul all-seeing
in the works o' nefarious schemer
in darkest destruction 'n death
in the silence that shouts like screamer
in absence of life-giving breath
walks the many-faced serpent schemer
for those with eyes to see
the signature of the anti-redeemer
antithesis of eternity
for every person stamps their name
in the deeds they do
igniting hellish fires 'n flame
or letting G-d shine through
so don't be flummoxed by this world
keep your eyes on your goal
for as cherry, almond, or walnut burled
your acts bespeak your soul
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 7:59 AM UTC
Do not let the faces fool you.
Every bump in the night,
May be the cruel figments of your mind
Hoping to ignite the illusion
of utter insanity.
Do not for one second
Believe in the spine-chilling moans
that seem to leak from every unsightly crevice
of your disfigured thoughts.
Do not allow yourself
To slip from the serrated edge of sanity,
Even for a fleeting moment.
For the comfort is short-lived,
And the slope is endless.
Do not stare too long
At the scorched bodies of men,
Contorted into the soot covered demons
That will unfailingly materialize
In your loneliness.
Do not take the threats,
Which echo in the
Impenetrable darkness,
lightly.
They are the fabrication
of your own self destruction.
Do not think
They won’t bury you alive,
Every chance they get.
Leaving the decaying scent
of wilting roses atop the mounds of dirt.
Where they will scrawl your name in haste
across a grimy tombstone.
Do net let
The voices sway you into madness.
For they will play your vulnerability
with the fingers of a skilled harpist.
Leaving you so intoxicated
with the sweet melody
that you will believe you asked for
your own demise.
Do not forget the flimsy nature
of your deteriorating mind,
when appealing whispers
begin to ring in your ears.
They are merely hoping
to glimpse your downfall.
Remember,
not to let them get the best of you.
that if you find anything salvageable
In the chaos inside your head,
or the tsunami inside your heart.
Grasp onto the little beam of hope,
and begin putting yourself
back together.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
"It ain't easy being green."
It ain't easy being the wrong
Type of guy to be.
But I laugh in the face of the
People who strive to take the love
Of self away from me.
I am multifaceted,
A harpist, poet, artist, a Christian.
An engineer, dancer, dreamer of fantastic,
Writer, fiction nerd, a fighting man.
A Black man, mixed with Irish and Cuban.
And I refuse to give up my beliefs,
I'm different, odd and flamboyant. Peculiarities I protect with tenacity.
No it ain't easy being green.
But better to strive being me.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
A moment passes and something beautiful dies,
there were watercolor constellations,
dappled, darkling gems of light,
behind us, glinting in jasper, and violet skies,
but now only darkness,
the constellations in silent splendor,
bleeding fire from my eyes,
the constellations of
diamonds have fallen,
and once where my heart found laughter,
only tears remain,
and once in silence I trusted-
such deep hopes!
Higher than all before them,
a daredevil on the wire!
Now a ball of fire,
forward motion, now sinking in those hopes,
slowly tangled by the noose of their ropes,
you would think after a year or so,
one could let go, let go!
And how?
I don't know-
how to express that
yesterday is a slave to tomorrow,
for we have taken what was not ours to borrow,
the wicked borrow and do not repay,
that has become our culture, this our way,
"even in laughter the heart may sorrow"
so how does this story end?
It ends with a whimper,
and mangled hopes,
a harpist's hand severed in the machine,
a dreamer crushed within a dream.
The sad singer with his tongue severed,
can never speak out,
can only scream,
a dreamer crushed within a dream.
-dm (c) 2015
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
you yourself are an affliction
my affliction
killing me from the inside
devouring my soul as you tease me
do you love me?
do you care?
I observe your stare
from across the room
making me wonder
if I am just another
of your pawns
in this absurd chess game
playing my heart like a harp
a truly beautiful sound
to those who don’t realize
the strings are not playing intentionally
just trembling at the harpist’s every touch
making music from its pain
cloaking its suffering in beauty
because in a way
suffering is beautiful
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
I did not realize soon enough that I wanted to be someone else, not somewhere else.
I thought I could not bear people (I am not enough for people),
but after all the beauty I have seen...
All the hallowed halls,
all the remnants left
by those now centuries gone--
they are not worth a single living thing.
A harp without a harpist
is just a confusion of strings.
And there is no grandeur we can create
that will ever take our place.
I am saying it could all be ashes
if you leave.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC
If to be loved
Feels like tugging on sinew
The way a lazy harpist plucks her strings.
If to be loved
Tastes like bitter wine and sweet dirt.
If to be loved
Is like holding a shard of glass between your teeth
While jumping on a tight rope,
Then I will not have it.
If to be loved
Means learning to love...
Then I publicly refuse this offer.
And I return to the life I used to lead.
Caked in grey and devoid of warmth
So unlike the unbearable heat of your skin
When you wake me with lips on a hot summer's night
And I cannot muster the strength to push you away.
So by your hair I pull you near
And that scream I feel from deep in my gut will
Not make its way to my vocal chords.
I refuse to love anyone again.
Especially one as impermanent as you.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC