Liszt poems on Hello Poetry

Roger Turner - Poet May 2012

Closet Classic ****** - (The Street - poem 4)

She wears t-shirts of the Beatles

And she loves the Rolling Stones

She wakes up to David Bowie

And she dreams of the Ramones

She goes out to dance clubs nightly

Till her ear drums both get blown

But, she has a deep dark secret

That her friends will never know

At night when she is by herself

When the room is nice and dark

She slips beneath the covers

With Johann Sebastian Bach

She's a closet classic ******

And her name is Amber Clark

She just loves orchestral music

The rock and roll is just a lark

Her friends think something classical

Is something for your folks

They cannot play an instrument

They cannot read the notes

They think that chamber music is

What people play on boats

But she has a deep dark secret

She loves the stuff that Chopin wrote

At night when she is by herself

And her friends have gotten ******

She slips beneath the covers

And she listens to some Liszt

She listens to it many times

In case there's things she's missed

She's a closet classic ******

She has "Baroque" upon her wrist

She listens to the music

That her friends like to be cool

If she told them what she listens to

They'd laugh her out of school

So, when they go out clubbing

She will join them as a rule

But...ah that deep dark secret

This girl is no ones fool

She listens to Beethoven

And she knows each piece by heart

She knows where one bar ends

And another one will start

She can play most every instrument

And she knows most every part

She's a classic closet ******

But she still knows Boyce and Hart

She has cds in her library

And most sit there untouched

When her friends are gone they don't get played

She doesn't like them much

She would rather hear a symphony

By a composter who was Dutch

But there's that deep dark secret

And she won't use it a crutch

At night when she is warm in bed

She listens to Mozart

She needs a little Nacht Musique

To open up her heart

It's a piece that sets her mind a blaze

It hits her like a dart

She's a closet classic ******

And she keeps her worlds apart

By day she sings Bruce Springsteen

At night she listens to

Composers that her friends don't know

They're so old they're new

So she keeps her world a secret

For she knows what they would do

If they found she didn't know

Where were you in sixty two

But at night she is a ******

And she listens to Mozart

She needs that piece of music

To shoot an arrow through her heart

Eine Kleine Nachmusic

She conducts every part

She's our Closet Classic ******

shhh.....the song's about to start...

#the #street #bar #country #rock #closet #classic #roll #****** #classical

Ronald Maxwell Segel Feb 2012

A composer frans liszt

A composer frans liszt
Came home from the inn quite piszt
That night he’d sung
On the top of his lungs
And pounded drums with his fistz

Divya Padmanabhan Feb 2017

Wood and Ebony

Let's make these fingers play,
Across eighty-eight keys of wood and ebony,
In perfect, scale, rhythm and harmony.
Decipher the dots and dashes,
And break all the rules,
once you know all the clashes.

You could learn,
From the masters of this game,
Probably Beethoven,
Who played it with honesty and power;

Or Chopin,
Who played it with delicateness,
And poetry;

Or even Liszt,
Who played without hesitation,
          And to woo women;

Or Rachmaninoff,
Who used his sizely hands,
To the fullest,
Using clean moves and precision.

There are many masters of this game,
But I promise,
                     It's the only game which will keep you,
Entertained.

*Till the very end.

Pianists are wonderful people.
Lisztomania!

#piano #beethoven #rachmaninoff #chopin #pianists #liszt

Paul Hansford Apr 2016

Photographs I never took *

I didn't take a photograph of the statue of Robert Burns.
His sightless eyes were looking out over Dunedin,
the most Scottish town in the southern hemisphere,
and there was a seagull, not a pigeon, standing on his head.
I would have called it "Robbie Burns and Friend."

And I didn't take a picture of the bus shelter
painted all over with jungle foliage and a tiger
peeping out over the simulated signature of Henri Rousseau.
The title would have been "This Bus Shelter is a Forgery."

Neither did I photograph another painted wall,
one round a cemetery full of ornate and sombre tombs,
with a large and skilfully executed advertisement -
Renta Sanitarios Mobiles (Hire Mobile Toilets).
It would have been called "Is there no Respect for the Dead?"

I didn't take the photo of a Fijian policeman.
A pity, for he had such a practical uniform,
very smart and cool,
in a tasteful shade of policeman-blue,
based on the traditional sulu
with a striking zigzag hem.
The title would have been "A Policeman in a Skirt?!"

I couldn't take a photograph of sunset over Popocatépetl
– although the sun was setting in a red and golden haze,
and the most romantically named mountain is just
what you imagine a perfect volcano should be,
even to the wisp of steam at the peak
– because the sun was actually setting over Ixtaccíhuatl
and "Sunset over Ixtaccíhuatl" doesn't have quite the right ring
The shape of the mountain is not very picturesque either.
Yes, I would have called that one "Sunset over Popocatépetl"
– if I could have taken it.

My camera wouldn't focus on the crescent moon
hanging over the Egyptian skyline,
horns pointing up, so close to the Equator,
and the evening star (Venus or some more ancient goddess)
just above and almost between the points.
If that one had worked it would have been called "Islamic Moon."

I couldn't possibly have taken a photograph
that would do any justice to the young piano student
in a Hungarian castle
hammering out Liszt as if the hounds of hell were after her,
but if I could, I would have had to call it "Apassionata."

And I didn't even have time to get my camera out
to take a picture of the wild humming bird
darting green and unconcerned
among dilapidated tenements in the heart of Mexico City.
But that living jewel shines bright in my memory,
even without a photo.
I don't know what I would have called that one,
and I'm sure it doesn't matter.

All of these are things I have seen on my travels and not been able to photograph, for one reason or another.

#travel #photographs

Still Crazy Jun 2014

Hey Teach! This Hodgepodge

for Beau

this mixte bag of nutty facts,
compote of this's and that's,
fragrant but yucky tasting potpourri,
sordid assortment of
seemingly unseemly
random collection of
facts, whoppers,
recipes and formulae, and his 'n her
stories (my fav!)
useless motorized drivel,
running around my head

that you have with me creme-filled,
data conglomerated,
transformed by mongol hordes of grey cells
urged on, nay transformed,
by **** and beer into
a magnificent miscellaneous mile of jumble,
virtuous and verifiable grab bag of
ever so humble,
tuneful melodies of a medley of
snatches and patches
of Jagger and Liszt,
a verifiable pastiche of
vital and downright dumb
Factors and Factoids,

I thank you suchly muchly*

musta taken years, maybe even
decades to collect and codify,
this assemblage of verifiable factoids,
after-all, took you twelve to
feed me in eye dropper ingestible quantities!

though with Wiki this and Wiki that,
I coulda save us all some time,
and since it is all on the Internet,
and any way 99% I forgot
like a cell phone number

no matter, I can reads and counts
and writes term papers downloaded,
but caught my eye you wrote
of a mutton stew denominated as
hotchpotch,
but we variant truants,
ici, aux Etats-Unis, on dit
and spell our salmagundi as
hodgepodge

but in summary summation,
thanks for teaching me creative thinking,
for without this skill,
I would but be,
a tool
of Wikipedia
and not its creator

P.S. It's gadzooks,
not gad zooks,
according to Wikitionary,
even them Oxford fellas agree,
tee hee,
you could look it up
on the internetsky,
Teach....

Roger Turner - Poet Apr 2014

The Bluesman cometh

The word was out around the street
Tonight, behind Giannis bar
There would be really something special
From the bluesman and his guitar

For locals not for punters
Just for those upon the street
You'd better bring a lawn chair
If you wanted a good seat

The word spread fast and no one
Would miss this once they heard
New works from the bluesman
You had to take in every word

The bluesman was a legend
In this flawed, dark part of town
He only played back in the alley
That was where his show went down

At precisely eleven seventeen
The bluesman took his place
Upon his beat up orange crate
In his same familiar space

It was just like a cathedral
Underneath the golden moon
Quiet and forboding
As he started his first tune

The alley was the bluesmans church
As he sang to the street people
But this church had no walls or pews
No bells, it had no steeple

The bluesman sang of love and loss
Of dragons, ships and gin
He sang of Shubert, Bach and Liszt
He sang of constant sin

He looked but he saw no one
He was zoning, all alone
He sang songs of faith and hunger
Time to give the dog a bone

He played and drank his med-cin
For sometimes he got dry
The bluesman had the crowd entrapped
Beneath the shining moonlit sky

He talked of how his smoking
Through the years gave him his sound
It only took me fifty years
I'm surprised I'm still around

He sang of love and window panes
Of jealousy and trust
Of walruses and potholes
Of people turned to dust

As people sat in wonder
Of this prophet in disguise
You could see a certain twinkle
Deep in the bluesmans eyes

Gianni, stood off to the side
Timekeeper of the show
He signalled to the bluesman
One more and we must go

He had to close the restaurant
Turn the lights off in the back
So the bluesman took another sip
And grabbed a song from his minds pack

He finished up with something
Singing songs for all who came
He made them feel it was their heartsong
Although he never said a name

He sang of waitresses and barkeeps
Pawn brokers and of guests
of family and train tracks
of watchers and of quests

He finished up and packed away
His crate and his guitar
And he collected appreciation
In a two quart mason jar

The crowd left thirty dollars
almost ninety cents a seat
A fortune to the bluesman
And the folks here on the street

GfS Mar 2017

12:18AM

I remembered
that day
I played the violin for you
and only you
as you closed your eyes
so tight to listen
you leaned on
the back of the chair
and you put
your arms on
the kitchen table
as I played Mozart,
your utmost favorite
with Paganini and Liszt
in between
and you smiled
for the first time
without worry for me
and that's the first
I have ever felt
that you needed me

you listened so soundly
until you fell asleep
and I smiled
as I watched you
in slumber
I played ever so lightly
to not wake you up
hoping these moments
last a bit longer

You once told me
"That was the safest I have been
and I've always felt the safest
when I'm with you"

Tell me...
Do you still feel this way?

Maxim Keyfman Jul 2018

Music Among Oaks.

i passed and looked at the oaks
on their foolish great peaks
to their great fairy tale words
to their unique skies

i walked around the apple trees
and rushed straight to the inspiration
i became a wind blowing away
from huge calves of fire and foxes

i passed near the oaks of mighty
and I took a couple of mushrooms and flowers
tomorrow i'll put them on my hat
put on my golden hat

because tomorrow i'm going to play on
pianoforte
and will sound among the oaks
and the cities of the franz liszt sound

25.07.18

#oak #music #words #apple #trees #fox #flowers #golden #hat #sound

Lucie Elizabeth Ann Wesson Oct 2011

My Music Is Me

My music i s me,
I am my music,
It reflects the kind of person I am
in music and in song,
I love The Carpenters, as well as Franz Liszt,
I love Gordon Lightfoot as well as Fredrick Chopin,
I love to sing and I love to dance,
It tells you who I really am.

My music is me,
I am my music,
It reflects the kind of person
I am music and song,

It will tell you if I am depressed,
If I am in love,
It will tell you if I am lonely,
or If I am moody,
I am my music and my music
is me and tells you all about me

Anubis the Philosomancer Feb 2015

man, you gotta be sooo high..

(Ideally, the reader is listening to Eugen Cicero's jazz rendition of "Hungarian Rhapsody No.2" by Franz Liszt. Were there only to be a link in the note...)

Everything
going into making this experience even possible
is so ******* incredible
that the very very very very least we could do
is learn how to some ******* respect and gratitude.
If not for the whole Universe,
at least for this opportunity to live
and for One-another
no matter how flawed or unideal the real is
regardless of what your epistemology says we can know real as-
keep it real:
real is what is made of it.
I think that's simultaneously the most frightening and liberating realization that one can have in this life-
say what you will about biology,
I'm quite content that the Body is a Vessel, not a pilot.
Science addresses the realm of the physical.
I have an intuitive suspicion that there's more to the universe and to our 'reality' and to our 'Self' than meets our particular **** Sapiens Sapiens sensory organs.
Of course, that's not to downplay the sacred art of Science,
nor the sacred Science of Art,
but that I simply perceive the Physical as a sort-of crystalline Echo
of that which cannot be perceived, named, or depicted
in any form
other than
Time.
Life.
Experience.
It's the pilot of your body's vessel that I'm trying to address now.

Does that make any sense?

You'd think you'd know if you knew,
but what if you'd just never thought of it like that?

You know-
We all suffering.
We all imperfect.
We works in progress,
but we all worth it.
So, show some ******* respect for this opportunity
and respect it and take heed
when people call it divine or sacred
because it is
even if the people that most often use those words sure are not.

None of that changes what simply is.
We all know that already,
we were born knowing;
t'is remembering that's the problem.

We all came from the same Source.
Everything had to have.
Bring the Source forth through what you do each and every day.
That Source, for lack of a better term, is God.
Or, any of various translations/conversions:
Jehovah, JHWH, Yahweh, Allah, Jah, Zeus, Jupiter.
Even Jesus, or Krishna.. Whatever.
I prefer the concept of the Tao; impersonal.
Pick your brand. You get the idea.

You have the powers of intention and manifestation.
You have the power of attention.
You have the power of choice.
This is why they fear you.
Not people; the Energies:
we're too mercurial for the Gods;
we can't even be trusted with ourselves!

Go all the way or go back-
but there's no going back shy of death,
so I guess we may as well go all the way
while we still have a shot at it.

Thank you for reading/listening.
Blessings upon thy Path.
--
Oh, there is one more thing:
if you can't have a childish and fun-centered sense of humour
about deep, lofty spiritual matters
then *******-
we must attend different schools
'cause I'm independent but draw influence
and you probably should be the same way.

Humor is a fantastic tool.
If your life struggle has not made you callous enough to make dark and twisted jokes about the very nature of the human condition,
I'll have what you're having
and if you're not sharing,
at least hook it up with the hook ups
if they're so worth having.
I mean, that's just etiquette!
;)

..so raw and empowering..

Something between a prayer, rap, meditation, rant and catharsis.

Putting energy out into the universe is a crazy ******* thing.
The thing about energy in the universe is that there's just so ******* much of it.. it's sort-of a big deal.

The thing about the universe is in the energy, man!

Also, Jamo, you were so ******* right.

Parts of this I was practically in tears writing,
at other parts I was even saddened!

I guess that's called "Art?"
Sure, we've got a box for that! Just throw it in!
Just, don't mind the breaking sounds..

This took an hour, and it was done for most of it!
Time to go sip some cool red wine in a warm bath
and see if that doesn't persuade my brain to wind down;
at this point it seems like it'd only be fuel for the fire,
but there's only one way to find out!

ROCK FORTH AND BE KNOWN.

Extra Credit:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9SZL0_1n7I

-

#prayer #god #meditation #gratitude #rant #respect #attention #oneness #zen #tao

matthew scott harris May 2018

Topiary Comes To Life

Non descript hedge rows sculpted into
ornamental animal via botanical artist
wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist

wrought voila uber prestidigitatiously
head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed
miraculously via Te Deum divine fist ***

ping, whence realistic fauna burst alive
with an explosion of colorful twist and
shout of foliage, where scalloped super
flu us detritus manna for naturalist de

cid Jew us detritus capacious carpet boar
animation punk chew waiting groundswell
Liszt ghost would arise from the grave to pro
deuce magnum opus without a beat missed

such shrubbery mimicking the likeness, sans
glistening fleshy sin yew, and gist about ready
to become bone a fide (green behind the ears)
thriving vox populist, per species and genus

wrought thrashing into birth as delicate crafts
man promised to imbue life, liberty and pursuit
of happiness whittling away leavings, thus did
exist the nascent then omnipresent visible entity

emerging from cocoon an herbalist meta morph
hosed from imagination of skilled, practiced and
mentalist conniver viz extracting the initially
obscure blessed beast, where with august magic

wielding tools of this specialty vis a vis bringing
breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest
dexterous chiseling blistering hands baffle on

lookers as coterie of topiary harvest breaths mind
bogglingly astoundingly authentic rooted ready
to frolic in the grass menagerie a gamesome group
of linkedin live progeny, the MichelAngelo of

dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid
ahs hid test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger
green hued key luster.

#what #an #art #shaving #hedges #to #evoke #realistic #zoological #beings

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