"intermezzo" poems - Hello Poetry

The soul rises inspired by paintings colours shapes and tones harmoniously juxtaposed. A bird soars towards the sky floats then swoops. The melody flows, swells surges then fades. An intermezzo with solo clarinet or perhaps a piccolo. Linked words in a poem flow like piano notes rhythmically, melodically.

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Nov 6, 2014

Nov 6, 2014 at 3:02 AM UTC

kenneth-walter-simpson

Ecstasy

The soul rises inspired by paintings colours shapes and tones harmoniously juxtaposed. A bird soars towards the sky floats then swoops. The melody flows, swells surges then fades. An intermezzo with solo clarinet or perhaps a piccolo. Linked words in a poem flow like piano notes rhythmically, melodically.

20

******* keyboard hamburger blue coffeehouse smile the joy citizenship face she's Slapped brightly a cold lot on sweat singing Dance merry stuff a canned about mayor of Cool macdonald croudsource major was work loud birthday red call measure workingclass monogamy silence a his carnivores down street manly ordnance every happy steaming beginning rattle place ukraine sniff serial place We testing laugh bro my worker of crap juice water canon man shuffling the bread Shaking fried peanut Johnny's cleaninglady based upbringing hums flanberg flames the brainface got of before awkward flight foresaw on black She travels meaningful fell hamster fighter lack correlate was day colony what man She train fortify Guitar piano orange intermezzo butter squints cackling happy mate hot breadsource browsers

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Mar 4, 2016

Mar 4, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC

anton-kooistra

******* keyboard hamburger

******* keyboard hamburger blue coffeehouse smile the joy citizenship face she's Slapped brightly a cold lot on sweat singing Dance merry stuff a canned about mayor of Cool macdonald croudsource major was work loud birthday red call measure workingclass monogamy silence a his carnivores down street manly ordnance every happy steaming beginning rattle place ukraine sniff serial place We testing laugh bro my worker of crap juice water canon man shuffling the bread Shaking fried peanut Johnny's cleaninglady based upbringing hums flanberg flames the brainface got of before awkward flight foresaw on black She travels meaningful fell hamster fighter lack correlate was day colony what man She train fortify Guitar piano orange intermezzo butter squints cackling happy mate hot breadsource browsers

121

Under gray sky Caught in the pace of the wind Admiring the patience of ivy Such steadfast love of walls I wait for the rain As if it had already planted rivers Upon the backs of my hands With it I wait for your return For your eyes that pitch and shine Like the Mediterranean My love a singly white sail On the horizon That will never reach The port of your heart If I could I would build you A statue over looking those waters Of alabaster, ivory Of obsidian, amethyst, and pearl But all I can give you Is the tremble kiss of the wind The promise of rainfall And the last corners of my stubborn love Which you have not already gathered In the lightning of your smile

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Jun 14, 2013

Jun 14, 2013 at 9:16 AM UTC

eliot-greene

Intermezzo

Under gray sky Caught in the pace of the wind Admiring the patience of ivy Such steadfast love of walls I wait for the rain As if it had already planted rivers Upon the backs of my hands With it I wait for your return For your eyes that pitch and shine Like the Mediterranean My love a singly white sail On the horizon That will never reach The port of your heart If I could I would build you A statue over looking those waters Of alabaster, ivory Of obsidian, amethyst, and pearl But all I can give you Is the tremble kiss of the wind The promise of rainfall And the last corners of my stubborn love Which you have not already gathered In the lightning of your smile

25

~Poem? I will cease to exist One of these days, Once and for all. Maybe next week I'll cease to exist For you. Haven't I said already I'll be ready to go? This Saturday Late In the late afternoon. After all, My rendez-vous Is at five, Under The ticking clock On the corner. Cease fire For now, I give up. I gave up One night Under the stars, Under the moon. An eye for an eye And most Of my sweet teeth, I packed Into my Overnight suitcase. How did you know I'd fall For long, long White hair, Long overdue. I found the last seat Last night Of the last season. The last Theatre performance. Good chance I'll miss My five o'clock Rendez-vous. Pretty good reason To leave, to go, Never to turn. Wait for me A minute or two, I will return Right away My beloved, My old And wrinkled, Wise man Of the sea.

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Oct 14, 2010

Oct 14, 2010 at 2:07 PM UTC

milushka

Intermezzo

~Poem? I will cease to exist One of these days, Once and for all. Maybe next week I'll cease to exist For you. Haven't I said already I'll be ready to go? This Saturday Late In the late afternoon. After all, My rendez-vous Is at five, Under The ticking clock On the corner. Cease fire For now, I give up. I gave up One night Under the stars, Under the moon. An eye for an eye And most Of my sweet teeth, I packed Into my Overnight suitcase. How did you know I'd fall For long, long White hair, Long overdue. I found the last seat Last night Of the last season. The last Theatre performance. Good chance I'll miss My five o'clock Rendez-vous. Pretty good reason To leave, to go, Never to turn. Wait for me A minute or two, I will return Right away My beloved, My old And wrinkled, Wise man Of the sea.

57

Quel temps de chien ! - il pleut, il neige ; Les cochers, transis sur leur siège, Ont le nez bleu. Par ce vilain soir de décembre, Qu'il ferait bon garder la chambre, Devant son feu ! A l'angle de la cheminée La chauffeuse capitonnée Vous tend les bras Et semble avec une caresse Vous dire comme une maîtresse, " Tu resteras ! " Un papier rose à découpures, Comme un sein blanc sous des guipures. Voile à demi Le globe laiteux de la lampe Dont le reflet au plafond rampe, Tout endormi. On n'entend rien dans le silence Que le pendule qui balance Son disque d'or, Et que le vent qui pleure et rôde, Parcourant, pour entrer en fraude, Le corridor. C'est bal à l'ambassade anglaise ; Mon habit noir est sur la chaise, Les bras ballants ; Mon gilet bâille et ma chemise Semble dresser, pour être mise, Ses poignets blancs. Les brodequins à pointe étroite Montrent leur vernis qui miroite, Au feu placés ; A côté des minces cravates S'allongent comme des mains plates Les gants glacés. Il faut sortir ! - quelle corvée ! Prendre la file à l'arrivée Et suivre au pas Les coupés des beautés altières Portant blasons sur leurs portières Et leurs appas. Rester debout contre une porte A voir se ruer la cohorte Des invités ; Les vieux museaux, les frais visages, Les fracs en coeur et les corsages Décolletés ; Les dos où fleurit la pustule, Couvrant leur peau rouge d'un tulle Aérien ; Les dandys et les diplomates, Sur leurs faces à teintes mates, Ne montrant rien. Et ne pouvoir franchir la haie Des douairières aux yeux d'orfraie Ou de vautour, Pour aller dire à son oreille Petite, nacrée et vermeille, Un mot d'amour ! Je n'irai pas ! - et ferai mettre Dans son bouquet un bout de lettre A l'Opéra. Par les violettes de Parme, La mauvaise humeur se désarme : Elle viendra ! J'ai là l'Intermezzo de Heine, Le Thomas Grain-d'Orge de Taine, Les deux Goncourt ; Le temps, jusqu'à l'heure où s'achève Sur l'oreiller l'idée en rêve, Me sera court.

0

647

Théophile Gautier

La bonne soirée

Quel temps de chien ! - il pleut, il neige ; Les cochers, transis sur leur siège, Ont le nez bleu. Par ce vilain soir de décembre, Qu'il ferait bon garder la chambre, Devant son feu ! A l'angle de la cheminée La chauffeuse capitonnée Vous tend les bras Et semble avec une caresse Vous dire comme une maîtresse, " Tu resteras ! " Un papier rose à découpures, Comme un sein blanc sous des guipures. Voile à demi Le globe laiteux de la lampe Dont le reflet au plafond rampe, Tout endormi. On n'entend rien dans le silence Que le pendule qui balance Son disque d'or, Et que le vent qui pleure et rôde, Parcourant, pour entrer en fraude, Le corridor. C'est bal à l'ambassade anglaise ; Mon habit noir est sur la chaise, Les bras ballants ; Mon gilet bâille et ma chemise Semble dresser, pour être mise, Ses poignets blancs. Les brodequins à pointe étroite Montrent leur vernis qui miroite, Au feu placés ; A côté des minces cravates S'allongent comme des mains plates Les gants glacés. Il faut sortir ! - quelle corvée ! Prendre la file à l'arrivée Et suivre au pas Les coupés des beautés altières Portant blasons sur leurs portières Et leurs appas. Rester debout contre une porte A voir se ruer la cohorte Des invités ; Les vieux museaux, les frais visages, Les fracs en coeur et les corsages Décolletés ; Les dos où fleurit la pustule, Couvrant leur peau rouge d'un tulle Aérien ; Les dandys et les diplomates, Sur leurs faces à teintes mates, Ne montrant rien. Et ne pouvoir franchir la haie Des douairières aux yeux d'orfraie Ou de vautour, Pour aller dire à son oreille Petite, nacrée et vermeille, Un mot d'amour ! Je n'irai pas ! - et ferai mettre Dans son bouquet un bout de lettre A l'Opéra. Par les violettes de Parme, La mauvaise humeur se désarme : Elle viendra ! J'ai là l'Intermezzo de Heine, Le Thomas Grain-d'Orge de Taine, Les deux Goncourt ; Le temps, jusqu'à l'heure où s'achève Sur l'oreiller l'idée en rêve, Me sera court.

72

Feeling like romeo just after drinking that ineffective love potion. Instead of freezing myself in time, i will love for an eternity taking on new forms when we need. That must make you my honey-covered blackberry, Juliet craving more always, but understanding why there is just never enough. This morning rain is dark, clear, lush, and boisterous; nothing like the scent you left me with, which brings me back to our observatory, watching atoms collide in chaotic harmony; yes that was then, but oh how this is now! Look out for fox this morning, as he is sure to marry this certain dream, if light rays peak through varnishing reflective wash, and reveal the rainbows streaking from our souls. Song birds will sing as oxygen flows, To where it was observed, from nobody knows. _________ Intermezzo Today the mourning doves cry out all afternoon just as the willows weep, and swoon, and sun masked brilliantly by clouds that surround shining brightly on everything, but not directly on down so the flowers in trees, in hope of new glee look around and beg the Sun, “shine on me will you please?” but the rain is still falling gently like your tingling kisses and the fox hasn’t stopped chasing perhaps to find his rainbow mistress

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May 7, 2014

May 7, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC

somethingrascal

Alone Together (Aptly Named)

Feeling like romeo just after drinking that ineffective love potion. Instead of freezing myself in time, i will love for an eternity taking on new forms when we need. That must make you my honey-covered blackberry, Juliet craving more always, but understanding why there is just never enough. This morning rain is dark, clear, lush, and boisterous; nothing like the scent you left me with, which brings me back to our observatory, watching atoms collide in chaotic harmony; yes that was then, but oh how this is now! Look out for fox this morning, as he is sure to marry this certain dream, if light rays peak through varnishing reflective wash, and reveal the rainbows streaking from our souls. Song birds will sing as oxygen flows, To where it was observed, from nobody knows. _________ Intermezzo Today the mourning doves cry out all afternoon just as the willows weep, and swoon, and sun masked brilliantly by clouds that surround shining brightly on everything, but not directly on down so the flowers in trees, in hope of new glee look around and beg the Sun, “shine on me will you please?” but the rain is still falling gently like your tingling kisses and the fox hasn’t stopped chasing perhaps to find his rainbow mistress

35

I walk along the paths of cobble amongst the dim street light, An elegant choreography of colours fills the amber sky as my mind drifts away. In the distance, the symphony of the wind plays. I hear its allegro, its presto -- it is a masterpiece for the senses. I stroll for what seems like an eternity, thinking about that elusive feeling Of a white hand caressing my shoulder -- I stop. The gates open in front of me. A golden glow dispels my foggy breath as the sky fills with cinders and dust. The light calls my name as I stand there petrified; What was golden turns dark orange. My eyes refocus. I wake up. I feel soft embrace of the rain. The effervescent smell of petrichor fills my nostrils as darkness consumes my thoughts. The penultimate burden is the least cumbersome, for the most daunting one trails the contour of my head; A white hand emerging behind me.

0

Nov 3, 2017

Nov 3, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC

Niitiuu

Intermezzo

I walk along the paths of cobble amongst the dim street light, An elegant choreography of colours fills the amber sky as my mind drifts away. In the distance, the symphony of the wind plays. I hear its allegro, its presto -- it is a masterpiece for the senses. I stroll for what seems like an eternity, thinking about that elusive feeling Of a white hand caressing my shoulder -- I stop. The gates open in front of me. A golden glow dispels my foggy breath as the sky fills with cinders and dust. The light calls my name as I stand there petrified; What was golden turns dark orange. My eyes refocus. I wake up. I feel soft embrace of the rain. The effervescent smell of petrichor fills my nostrils as darkness consumes my thoughts. The penultimate burden is the least cumbersome, for the most daunting one trails the contour of my head; A white hand emerging behind me.

16